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THE 


GLOBE EDITION. 

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i 



THE WORKS 



OF 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



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Gift 
Mrs. Hennen Jennings 
April 26, 1933 



PREFACE. 



1 In preparing the text of this volume, we have in general followed the same rules 

| as in the so-called 'Cambridge Shakespeare': rules which we adopted originally 

' after much deliberation, and of which the soundness has been confirmed by our 

! subsequent experience. 

As however the two editions differ in plan, the one recording in foot-notes 
; all the various readings and conjectural emendations, the other giving only the 
! text, we have in some particulars modified our rules. 

For instance, in cases where the text of the earliest editions is manifestly faulty, 
but where it is impossible to decide with confidence which, if any, of several 
suggested emendations is right, we have in the ' Cambridge Shakespeare ' left the 
original reading in our text, mentioning in our notes all the proposed alterations : 
in this edition, we have substituted in the text the emendation which seemed most 
probable, or in cases of absolute equality, the earliest suggested. But the whole 
I number of such variations between the texts of the two editions is very small. 



In this volume, whenever the original text has been corrupted in such a way as 
j to affect the sense, no admissible emendation having been proposed, or whenever 
a lacuna occurs loo great to be filled up with any approach to certainty by con- 
jecture, we have marked the passage with an obelus (t). 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Troilus and Cressida ......•• 622 

coriolanus ......»•• 654 

Titus Andronicus .... • • 688 

Romeo and Juliet ... . .712 

Timon of Athens .....-•• 74 1 

Julius Cesar ...... • 764 

1 Macbeth ...... ... 788 

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark . . ... Sir 

King Lear ...-••••■ 8 47 

Othello, the Moor of Venice ...... 879 

Antony and Cleopatra . . . • • • .911 

Cvmbeline ......... 944 

Pericles .......... 977 



POEMS. 

Venus and Adonis ........ 1003 

The Rape of Lucrece ........ 1014 

Sonnets ......... 1031 

A Lover's Complaint ........ 1050 

The Passionate Pilgrim ....... 1053 

Sonnets to sundry Notes of Music ..... 1055 

The Phojnix and the Turtle . ..... 1057 

Glossary ......... 1059 



THE TEMPEST. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Alonso, King: of Naples. 
Sebastian, his brother. 
Prospero, the right Duke of Milan. 
Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke 

of Milan. 
Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples. 
Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor. 
Adrian, j Lords> 
Francisco, J 

Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. 
Tki.nculo, a Jester. 
Stephano, a drunken Butler. 
Master of a Ship. 



Boatswain. 
Mariners. 

Miranda, daughter to Prospero. 

Ariel, an airy Spirit. 

Iris, "1 

Ceres, \ 

Juno, )■ presented by Spirits. 

Nymphs, 

Reapers, J 

Other Spirits attending on Prospero. 

Scene — A ship at Sea: an is/and. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. On a ship at sea: a tempestuous 
noise of thunder and lightning- heard. 

Enter a Ship-Master and a Boatswain. 

Mast. Boatswain ! 

Boats. Here, master: what cheer? 

Mast. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, 
yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, 
bestir. {Exit. 

Enter Mariners. 
Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, 
my hearts ! yare, yare ! Take in the topsail. 
Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou 
burst thy wind, if room enough ! 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdin- 
and, Gonzalo, and others. 

A Ion. Good boatswain, have care. Where's 
the master? Play the men. n 

Boats. I pray now, keep below. 

Ant. Where is the master, boatswain? 

Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our 
labour : keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. 

Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What cares 
these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : 
silence ! trouble us not. 

Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast 
aboard. 2 1 

Boats. None that I more love than myself. 
You are a counsellor; if you can command these 
elements to silence, and work the peace of the 
present, we will not hand a rope more ; use your 
authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have 
lived so long, and make yourself ready in your 
cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. 
Cheerly, good hearts ! Out of our way, I say. 

[Exit. 

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: 
methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; 
his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, 
good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his 
destiny our cable, for our own doth little advant- 



age. If he be not born to be hanged, our case 
is miserable. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Boatswain. 

Boats. Down with the topmast! yare! lower, 

lower ! Bring her to try with main-course. [A 

cry within.) A plague upon this howling ! they 

are louder than the weather or our office. 40 

Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
Yet again! what do j^ou here? Shall we give 
o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink? 

Seb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blas- 
phemous, incharitable dog ! 

Boats. Work you then. 

A?n. Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, in- 
solent noisemaker ! We are less afraid to be 
drowned than thou art. 

Gon. I '11 warrant him for drowning ; though 
the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as 
leaky as an unstanched wench. 

Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! set her two 
courses off to sea again ; lay her off. 

Enter Mariners wet. 
Mariners. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! 
all lost ! 

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? 
Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let's 
assist them, 
For our case is as theirs. 
Se/>. I 'm out of patience. 

'Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by 
drunkards: 
This wide-chapp'd rascal — would thou mightst 
lie drowning 60 

The washing of ten tides ! 

Gon. , He'll be hang'd yet, 

Though every drop of water swear against it 
And gape at widest to glut him. 

toise within: ' Merc}- on us ! — 
'We split, we split!' — 'Farewell my wife and 

children!' — 
'Farewell, brother!' — 'We split, we split, we 
split!'] 
Ant. Let's all sink with the king. 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act i. 



Seb. Let's take leave of him. 

[Exeunt Ant. and Scb. 

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs 
of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, 
brown furze, any thing. The wills above be 
done ! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The island. Before Prospero's cell. 

Enter Prospero and Miranda. 

Mir. Ifbyyourart, my dearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered 
With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel, 
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 10 

Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere 
It should the good ship so have swallow' d and 
The fraughting souls within her. 

Pros. Be collected : 

No more amazement : tell your piteous heart 
There's no harm done. 

Mir. O, woe the day ! 

Pros. No harm. 

I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 20 

And thy no greater father. 

Mir. ' More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pros. 'Tis time 

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me. So : 

[Lays down his mantle. 
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes ; have 

comfort. 
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch' d 
The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such provision in mine art 
So safely ordered that there is no soul — 
No, not so much perdition as an hair 30 

Betid to any creature in the vessel 
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. 

Sit down ; 
For thou must now know farther. 

Mir. You have often 

Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd 
And left me to a bootless inquisition, 
Concluding ' Stay : not yet.' 

Pros. The hour's now come ; 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell? 
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not 40 
Out three years old. 

Mir. Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pros. By what ? by any other house or person ? 
Of any thing the image tell me that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mir. 'Tis far off 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not 
Four or five women once that tended me ? 



Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But 
how is it 
That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time? 50 

If thou remember'st aught ere thou earnest here, 
How thou earnest here thou mayst. 

Mir. But that I do not. 

Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve 
year since, , 

Thy father was the Duke of Milan and 
A prince of power. 

Mir. Sir, are not you my father? 

Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
Was Duke of Milan ; and thou his only heir 
And princess no worse issued. 

Mir. O the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 
Or blessed was't we did? 

Pros. Both, both, my girl : 61 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved 

thence, 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mir. O, my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, 
Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, 
farther. 

Pr. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio — 
I pray thee, mark me — that a brother should 
Be so perfidious ! — he whom next thyself 
Of all the world I loved and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as at that time 70 

Through all the signories it was the first 
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed 
In dignity, and for the liberal arts 
Without a parallel ; those being all my study, 
The government I cast upon my brother 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me? 

Mir. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
How to deny them, who to advance and who 80 
To trash for over-topping, new created 
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 

'em, 
Or else new form'd 'em ; having both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state 
To what tune pleased his ear ; that now he was 
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, 
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st 
not. 

Mir. O, good sir, I do. 

Pros. I pray thee, mark me. 

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
To closeness and the bettering of my mind go 
With that which, but by being so retired, 
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awaked an evil nature ; and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood in its contrary as great 
As my trust was ; which had indeed no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what ray revenue yielded, 
But what my power might else exact, like one 
t Who having into truth, by telling of it, 100 

Made such a sinner of his memory, 
To credit his own lie, he did believe 
He was indeed the duke ; out o' the substitution, 



Scene ii.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



And executing the outward face of royalty, 
With all prerogative : hence his ambition grow- 
ing- 
Dost thou hear? 

Mir. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pros. To have no screen between this part he 
play'd 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library 
Was dukedom large enough : of temporal royal- 
ties no 
He thinks me now incapable ; confederates — 
So dry he was for sway — wi' the King of Naples 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage, 
Subject his coronet to his crown and bend 
The dukedom yet unbow'd — alas, poor Milan ! — 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mir. O the heavens ! 

Pros. Mark his condition and the event ; then 
tell me 
If this might be a brother. 

Mir. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
Good wombs have borne bad sons. 

Pros. Now the condition. 120 

This King of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises 
Of homage and I know not how much tribute, 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan 
With all the honours on my brother : whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open 
The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of dark- 
ness, 130 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me and thy crying self. 

Mir. Alack, for pity ! 

I, not remembering how I cried out then, 
Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint 
That wrings mine eyes to't. 

Pros. Hear a little further 

And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
Which now's upon 's ; without the which this story 
Were most impertinent. 

Mir. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us ? 

Pros. Well demanded, wench : 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they 
durst not, 140 

So dear the love my people bore me, nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business, but 
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepared 
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh 
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again, 150 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mir. Alack, what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pros. O, a cherubin 

Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst 
smile, 
I Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
I When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, 



Under my burthen groan'd ; which raised in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mir. How came we ashore? 

Pros. By Providence divine. 
Some food we had and some fresh water that 160 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity, being then appointed 
Master of this design, did give us, with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, 
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gen- 
tleness, 
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me 
From mine own library with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Mir. Would I might 

But ever see that man ! 

Pros. Now I arise : [Resumes his mantle. 
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 170 
Here in this island we arrived; and here 
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than other princesses can that have more time 
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful. 

Mir. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, I 
pray you, sir, 
For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason 
For raising this sea-storm? 

Pros. Know thus far forth. 

By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience 180 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star, whose influence 
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions: 
Thou art inclined to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
And give it way : I know thou canst not choose. 
[Miranda sleeps. 
Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. 
Approach, my Ariel, come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! 
I come 
To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, 190 

To swim, to dive into the tire, to ride 
On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task 
Ariel and all his quality. 

Pros. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform' d to point the tempest that I bade thee? 

A ri. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flamed amazement : sometime I'ld divide, 
And burn in many places ; on the topmast, 
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the pre- 
cursors 201 
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And sight-outrunning were not ; the fire and cracks 
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune 
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble, 
Yea, his dread trident shake. 

Pros. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
Would not infect his reason? 

A ri. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners 210 
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel. 



1 — 2 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act i. 



Then all afire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair up-staring, — then like reeds, not hair, — 
Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, ' Hell is 
empty, 
! And all the devils are here.' 

Pros. Why, that's my spirit! 

But was not this nigh shore ? 

A ri. Close by, my master. 

Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 

A ri. Not a hair perish'd ; 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 
But fresher than before : and, as thou' badest me, 
In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle. 220 
The king's son have I landed by himself; 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs 
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, 
His arms in this sad knot. 

Pros. Of the king's ship 

The mariners say how thou hast disposed 
And all the rest o' the fleet. 

Art. Safely in harbotir 

Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid : 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 230 

Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, 
I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet 
Which I dispersed, they all have met again 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote, 
Bound sadly home for Naples, 
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd 
And his great person perish. 

Pros. Ariel, thy charge 

Exaclly is perform'd : but there's more work. 
What is the time o' the day ? 

A ri. Past the mid season. 

Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt 
six and now 240 

Must by us both be spent most preciously. 

A ri. Is there more toil ? Since thou dost give 
me pains, 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, 
Which is not- yet perform'd me. 

Pros. How now ? moody ? 

What is't thou canst demand? 

A ri. My liberty. 

Pros. Before the time be out ? no more ! 

Ari. I prithee, 

Remember I have done thee worthy service ; 
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, 

served 
Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst 

promise 
To bate me a full year. 

Pros. Dost thou forget 250 

From what a torment I did free thee ? 

A ri. No. 

Pros. Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread 
the ooze 
Of the salt deep, 

To run upon the sharp wind of the north, 
To do me business in the veins o' the earth 
When it is baked with frost. 

A ri. I do not, sir. 

Pros. Thou best, malignant thing ! Hast thou 
forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy 
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? 

Ari. No, sir. 



Pros. Thou hast. Where was she born ? 

speak ; tell me. 260 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. 

Pros. O, was she so ? I must 

Once in a month recount what thou hast been, 
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd : for one thing she did 
They would not take her life. Is not this true ? 

Ari. Ay, sir. 

Pros. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought 
with child 
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, 
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant ; 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, 
By help of her more potent ministers 
And in her most unmitigable rage, 
Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain 
A dozen years ; within which space she died 
And left thee there ; where thou didst vent thy 
groans 2S0 

As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this 

island — ■ 
Save for the son that she did litter here, 
A freckled whelp hag-born — not honour'd with 
A human shape. 

A ri. Yes, Caliban her son. 

Pros. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in ; thy groans 
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts 
Of ever angry bears : it was a torment 
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 290 

Could not again undo : it was mine art, 
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine and let thee out. 

Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pr. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak 
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

Ari. Pardon, master; 

I will be correspondent to command 
And do my spiriting gently. 

Pros. Do so, and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 

Ari. That's my noble master ! 

What shall I do ? say what ; what shall I do ? 300 

Pros. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea : 
be subject 
To no sight but thine and mine, invisible 
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape 
And hither come in't : go, hence with diligence ! 
[Exit A riel. 
Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

Mir. The strangeness of your story put 
Heaviness in me. 

Pros. Shake it off. Come on ; 

We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never 
Yields us kind answer. 

Mir. 'Tis a villain, sir, 

I do not love to look on. 

Pros. But, as 'tis, 310 

We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
Fetch in our wood and serves in offices 



Scene ii.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



That profit us. What, ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
Thou earth, thou ! speak. 

Cal. [Witkitt] There's wood enough within. 

Pros. Come forth, I say ! there's other busi- 
ness for thee : 
Come, thou tortoise ! when ? 

Re-cuter Ariel like a water-nymph. 

Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
Hark in thine ear. 

A ri. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 

Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil 
himself 
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 320 

Enter Caliban. 
Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen 
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye 
And blister you all o'er ! 

Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt 

have cramps, 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
All exercise on thee ; thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made 'em. 

Cal. I must eat my dinner. 330 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
Which thou takest from me. When thou earnest 

first, 
Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, 

wouldst give me 
Water with berries in't, and teach me how 
To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
That bum by day and night : and then I loved 

thee 
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and 

fertile : 
Cursed be I that did so ! All the charms 
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! 
For I am all the subjects that you have, 341 

Which first was mine own king : and here you 

sty me 
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
The rest o' the island. 

Pros. Thou most lying slave, 

Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have 

used thee, 
Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged 

thee 
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
The honour of my child. 

Cal. O ho, O ho ! would 't had been done ! 
Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 350 
This isle with Calibans. 

Pros. Abhorred slave, 

Which any print of goodness wilt not take, 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each 

hour 
One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known. But thy vile 

race, 
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which 

good natures 



Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confined into this rock, 361 

Who hadst deserved more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit 
on't 
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you 
For learning me your language ! 

Pros. _ Hag-seed, hence ! 

Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou'rt best, 
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ? 
If thou neglecYst or dost unwillingly 
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, 
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar 370 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

Cal. No, pray thee. 

[Aside] I must obey: his art is of such power, 
It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 

Pros. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban. 

Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; 
Ferdinan d folloiving. 

Ariel's song. 
Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands: 
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd 

The wild waves whist, 
Foot it featly here and there ; 330 

And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. 
Burthen [dispcrsedly\ Hark, hark ! 

Bow-wow. 
The watch-dogs bark : 

Bow-wow. 
A ri. Hark, hark ! I hear 

The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. 

Fer. Where should this music be ? i' the air or 
the earth? 
It sounds no more : and, sure, it waits upon 
Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, 
Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 390 
This music crept by me upon the waters, 
Allaying both their fury and my passion 
With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 
Full fathom five thy father lies ; 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes : 

Nothing of him that doth fade 
But doth suffer a sea-change 400 

Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 

Burthen. Ding-dong. 
Art. Hark ! now I hear them, — Ding-dong, bell. 

Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd 
father. 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. 

Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
And say what thou seest yond. 

Mir. What is't? a spirit? 

Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 410 
It carries a brave form. But 'lis a spirit. 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act ii. 



Pros. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps and hath 

such senses 

As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest 

Was in the wreck ; and, but he 's something stain'd 

With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst 

call him 
A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows 
And strays about to find 'em. 

Mir. I might call him 

A thing divine, for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 

Pros. [Aside] It goes on, I see, 
As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll 
free thee 420 

Within two days for this. 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe my prayer 
May know if you remain upon this island ; 
And that you will some good instruction give 
How I may bear me here : my prime request, 
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid or no ? 

Mir. No wonder, sir; 

But certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ! heavens ! 

I am the best of them that speak this speech, 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 

Pros. How? the best? 430 

What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me ; 
And that he does I weep : myself am Naples, 
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld 
The king my father wreck'd. 

Mir. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the Duke of 
Milan 
And his brave son being twain. 

Pros. [Aside] The Duke of Milan 

And his more braver daughter could control thee, 
If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight 440 
They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel, 
I '11 set thee free for this. [ To Fer. ] A word, good 

sir; 
I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 

Mir. Why speaks my father so ungently? This 
Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father 
To be inclined my way ! 

Fer. O, if a virgin, 

And your affection not gone forth, I '11 make you 
The queen of Naples. 

Pros. Soft, sir ! one word more. 

[Aside] They are both in either's powers; but 
this swift business 450 

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light. [To Fer.] One word more ; 

I charge thee 
That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
The name thou owest not ; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on 't. 

Fer. No, as I am a man. 

Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
temple : 
If the ill spirit have so fair a house, 
Good things will strive to dwell with't. 

Pros. . Follow me. 

Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. Come ; 



I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: 461 

Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and 

husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. 

Fer. No ; 

I will resist such entertainment till 
Mine enemy has more power. 

[Draws, and is charmed from moving. 

Mir. O dear father, 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He 's gentle and not fearful. 

Pros. What ? I say, 

My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy 
conscience 470 

Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward, 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick 
And make thy weapon drop. 

Mir. Beseech you, father. 

Pros. Hence ! hang not on my garments. 

Mir. Sir, have pity ; 

I'll be his surety. 

Pros. Silence ! one word more 

Shall make me chide t.iee, if not hate thee. What ! 
An advocate for an impostor ! hush! 
Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, 
Having seen but him and Caliban : foolish wench! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban 480 

And they to him are angels. 

Mir. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pros. Come on ; obey : 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again 
And have no vigour in them. 

Fer. So they are ; 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's 

threats, 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
Might I but through my prison once a day 490 
Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 
Let liberty make use of; space enough 
Have I in such a prison. 

Pros. [Aside] It works. [To Fer.] Come on. 
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! [To Fer.] Fol- 
low me. 
[To Ari.] Hark what thou else shalt do me. 

Mir. Be of comfort ; 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 
Than he appears by speech : this is unwonted 
Which now came from him. 

Pros. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds : but then exactly do 
All points of my command. 

A ri. To the syllable. 500 

Pros. Come, follow. Speak not for him. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Another part of the island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have 
cause, 



Scene i.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



So have we all, of joy; for our escape 

Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe 

Is common ; every day some sailor's wife, 

The masters of some merchant and the merchant 

Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, 

I mean our preservation, few in millions 

Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 

Our sorrow with our comfort. 

A Ion. Prithee, peace. 

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 

Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. it 

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his 
wit; by and by it will strike. 

Gon. Sir, — 

Seb. One: tell. 

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that 's 
offer'd, 
Comes to the entertainer — 

Seb. A dollar. 

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed : you have 
spoken truer than you purposed. 20 

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant 
you should. 

Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 

Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his 
tongue ! 

A Ion. I prithee, spare. 

Gon. Well, I have done : but yet, — 

Seb. He will be talking. 

A nt. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, 
first begins to crow? 

Seb. The old cock. 30 

Ant. The cockerel. 

Seb. Done. The wager? 

Ant. A laughter. 

Seb. A match ! 

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 

Seb. Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid. 

Adr. Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible, — 

Seb. Yet,— 

Adr. Yet,— 

Ant. He could not miss 't. 40 

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender and 
delicate temperance. 

A nt. Temperance was a delicate wench. 

Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly 
delivered. 

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most 
sweetly. 

Seb. As if it had lungs and rotten ones. 

Ant. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 

Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 

Ant. True; save means to live. 50 

Seb. Of that there 's none, or little. 

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks ! how 
green ! 

A nt. The ground indeed is tawny. 

Seb. With an eye of green in't. 

Ant. He misses not much. 

Seb. No ; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 

Gon. But the rarity of it is, — which is indeed 
almost beyond credit, — 

Seb. As many vouched rarities are. 

Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their 
freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed 
than stained with salt water. 

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, 
would it not say he lies? 



Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 

Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh 
as when we put them on first in Afric, at the 
marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to 
the King of Tunis. 71 

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper 
well in our return. 

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such 
a paragon to their queen. 

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 

Ant. Widow! a pox o' that ! How came that 
widow in ? widow Dido ! 

Seb. What if he had said ' widower Eneas' 
too? Good Lord, how you take it! 

Adr. ' Widow Dido' said you? you make me 
study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 

Adr. Carthage? 

Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 

Seb. His word is more than the miraculous 
harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too. 

Ant. What impossible matter will he make 
easy next? 

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in 
his pocket and give it his son for an apple. 91 

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 
bring forth more islands. 

Gon. Ay. 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments 
seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at 
the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. 

Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 

Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 100 

Ant. O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido. 

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the 
first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. 

Ant. That sort was well fished for. 

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar- 
riage ? 

Alon. You cram these words into mine ears 
against 
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 
Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, 
Who is so far from Italy removed no 

I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
Hath made his meal on thee? 

Fran. Sir, he may live : 

I saw him beat the surges under him, 
And ride upon their backs : he trod the water, 
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
The surge most swoln that met him; his bold 

head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd. 
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt 121 

He came alive to land. 

A /on. No, no, he's gone. 

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great 
loss, 
That would not bless our Europe with your 

daughter, 
But rather lose her to an African ; 
Where she at least is banish'd from your eye, 
Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. 

Alon. Prithee, peace. 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act ii. 



Seb. You were kneel'd to and importuned 
otherwise 
By all of us, and the fair soul herself 
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at 130 
Which end o' the beam should bow. We have 

lost your son, 
I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have 
More widows in them of this business' making 
Than we bring men to comfort them : 
The fault's your own. 

A Ion. So is the dear'st o' the loss. 

Go?i. My lord Sebastian, 
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness 
And time to speak it in : you rub the sore, 
When you should bring the plaster. 

Seb. Very well. 

Ant. And most chirurgeonly. _ 140 

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 
When you are cloudy. 

Seb. Foul weather? 

Ant. Very foul. 

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, — 
Ant. He 'Id sow 't with nettle-seed. 
Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do? 
Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. 
Gon. V the commonwealth I would by con- 
traries 
Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, 
And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; 
No occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
And women too, but innocent and pure ; 
No sovereignty; — 

Seb. Yet he would be king on't. 

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for- 
gets the beginning. 

Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 
duce 
Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 160 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people. 

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? 
Ant. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves. 
Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
To excel the golden age. 

Seb. God save his majesty ! 

Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 

Gon. And, — do you mark me, sir? 

A Ion. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk no- 
thing to me. 171 
Gon. I do well believe your highness; and 
did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, 
who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that 
. they always use to laugh at nothing. 
Ant. 'Twas you we laughed at. 
Gon. Who in this kind of merry fooling am 
nothing to you : so you may continue and laugh 
at nothing still. 

Ant. What a blow was there given ! 180 

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle ; you 

would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she 

would continue in it five weeks without changing. 



Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music. 
Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 
Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 

Gsn. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventure 
my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me 
asleep, for I am very heavy? 

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 190 

[A II sleep except A Ion. , Seb. , and A nt. 

A Ion. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine 

eyes 

Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I 

find; 
They are inclined to do so. 

Seb. Please you, sir, 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, 
It is a comforter. 

Ant. We two, my lord, 

Will guard your person while you take your rest, 
And watch your safety. 

A Ion. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. 

[A lonso sleeps. Exit A riel. 

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 

Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 

Seb. Why 200 

Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not 
Myself disposed to sleep. 

Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent ; 
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What 

might, 
Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?-— No more : — 
And yet me thinks I see it in thy face, 
What thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thee, 

and 
My strong imagination sees a crown 
Dropping upon thy head. 

Seb. What, art thou waking? 

A nt. Do you not hear me speak? 

Seb. I do ; and surely 

It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st 211 

Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? 
This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving, 
And yet so fast asleep. 

Ant. Noble Sebastian, 

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep— die, rather; wink'st 
Whiles thou art waking. 

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 

There's meaning in thy snores. 

A nt. I am more serious than my custom : you 
Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do 220 

Trebles thee o'er. 

Seb. Well, I am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 

Seb. Do so : to ebb 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. 

Ant. O, 

If you but knew how you the purpose cherish 
Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, 
You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, 
Most often do so near the bottom run 
By their own fear or sloth. 

Seb. Prithee, say on : 

The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim 
A matter from thee, and a birth indeed 230 

Which throes thee much to yield. 

Ant. Thus, sir: 

Although this lord of v/eak remembrance, this, 



Scene i.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



Who shall be of as little memory 

When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded, — 

For he's a spirit of persuasion, only 

Professes to persuade, — the king his son's alive, 

'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd 

As he that sleeps here swims. 

Seb. I have no hope 

That he's undrown'd. 

Ant. O, out of that 'no hope' 

What great hope have you ! no hope that way is 
Another way so high a hope that even 241 

Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me 
That Ferdinand is drownVl ? 

Seb. He's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me, 

Who's the next heir of Naples? 

Seb. Claribel. 

A?it. She that is queen of Tunis; she that 
dwells 
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from 

Naples 
'Can have no note, unless the sun were post — 
The man i' the moon's too slow — till new-born chins 
Be rough and razorable : she that — from whom? 
We alf were sea-swallowM, though some cast 
again, 251 

And by that destiny to perform an act 
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come 
In yours and my discharge. 

Seb. What stuff is this ! how say you? 

'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis ; 
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
There is some space. 

Ant. A space whose every cubit 

Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel 
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake.' Say, this were death 
That now hath seized them ; why, they were no 
worse 261 

Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples 
As well as he that sleeps ; lords that can prate 
As amply and unnecessarily 
As this Gonzalo : I myself could make 
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
For vour advancement ! Do you understand me? 

Seb. Methinks I do. 

Ant. And how does your content 

Tender your own good fortune ? 

Seb. I remember 270 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 

Ant. True: 

And look how well my garments sit upon me ; 
Much feater than before: my brother's servants 
Were then my fellows; now they are my men. 

Seb. But, for your conscience ? 

Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that? if 'twere a kibe, 
'Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not 
This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, 
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they 
And melt ere they molest ! Here liesyour brother, 
No better than the earth he lies upon, 281 

If he were that which now he's like, that's dead: 
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, 
To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who 
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, 



They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; 
They'll tell the clock to any business that 
We say befits the hour. 

Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 290 

Shall be my precedent ; as thou got'st Milan, 
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one strike 
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest ; 
And I the king shall love thee. 

Ant. Draw together ; 

And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
To fall it on Gonzalo. 

Seb. O, but one word. {They talk apart. 

Re-enter Ariel, invisible. 
Ari. My master through his art foresees the 
danger 
That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me forth — 
For else his project dies — to keep them living. 

[Sings in Gonzalo' s ear. 

While you here do snoring lie, 300 

Open-eyed conspiracy 

His time doth take. 
If of life you keep a care, 
Shake off slumber, and beware: 

Awake, awake ! 

Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 

Con. Now, good angels 

Preserve the king. [They wake. 

A Ion. Why, how now ? ho, awake ! Why are 
you drawn? 
Wherefore this ghastly looking? 

Gon. What's the matter? 

Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, 
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
Like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake you? 
It struck mine ear most terribly. 

A Ion. I heard nothing. 

Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, 
To make an earthquake ! sure, it was the roar 
Of a whole herd of lions. 

A Ion. Heard you this, Gonzalo? 

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a hum- 
ming, 
And that a strange one too, which did awake me: 
I shaked you, sir, and cried : as mine eyes open'd, 
I saw their weapons drawn : there was a noise. 320 
That 's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard, 
Or that we quit this place : let's draw our weapons. 

A Ion. Lead off this ground; and let's make 
further search 
For my poor son. 

Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 

For he is, sure, i' the island. 

A Ion. Lead away. 

A ri. Prospero my lord shall know what I have 
done : 
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Another part 0/ the island. 

Enter CALIBAN with a burden of wood. A 
noise of thunder heard. 

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens, fiats, on Prosper fall and make 

him 
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me 
And yet 1 needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act ii. 



Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the mire, 
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em ; but 
For every trifle are they set upon me ; 
Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me 
And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which 10 
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount 
Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I 
All wound with adders who with cloven tongues 
Do hiss me into madness. 

Enter Trinculo. 

Lo, now, lo ! 
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me 
For bringing wood in slowly. I '11 fall flat ; 
Perchance he will not mind me. 

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear 
off any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; 
I hear it sing i' the wind : yond same black cloud, 
yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that 
would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it 
did before, I know not where to hide my head : 
yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pail- 
fuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead 
or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very 
ancient and fish-like smell ; a kind of not of the 
newest Poor-John. A strange fish ! Were I in 
England now, as once I was, and had but this fish 
painted, not a holiday fool there but would give 
a piece of silver : there would this monster make 
a man ; any strange beast there makes a man : 
when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame 
beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. 
Legged like a man ! and his fins like arms ! Warm 
o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion ; hold 
it no longer : this is no fish, but an islander, that 
hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.] 
Alas, the storm is come again ! my best way is to 
creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter 
hereabout : misery acquaints a man with strange 
bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of 
the storm be past. 

E7iter Stephano, singing: a bottle in his hand. 

Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, 
Here shall I die ashore — ■ 

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's 
funeral: well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. 

[Sings. 

The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I, 

The gunner and his mate 
Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery, 50 
But none of us cared for Kate ; 
For she had a tongue with a tang, 
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang ! 
She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch, 
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she 
did itch : 
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! 

This is a scurvy tune too : but here's my comfort. 

[Drinks. 

Cat. Do not torment me : Oh ! 

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils 
here ? Do you put tricks upon 's with savages and 
men of Ind, ha? I have not scaped drowning to 
be afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been 
said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs 



cannot make him give ground ; and it shall be 
said so again while Stephano breathes at's nostrils. 

Cat. The spirit torments me ; Oh ! 

Ste. This is some monster of the isle with 
four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. 
Where the devil should he learn our language? 
I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. 
If I can recover him and keep him tame and get 
to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor 
that ever trod on neat's-leather. 

Cat. Do not torment me, prithee ; I '11 bring 
my wood home faster. 

Ste. He's in his fit now and does not talk after 
the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he 
have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to 
remove his fit. If I can recover him and keep 
him tame, I will not take too much for him ; he 1 
shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. 

Cat. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou 
wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling : now Pros- 
per works upon thee. 

Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth; 
here is that which will give language to you, cat : 
open your mouth ; this will shake your shaking, 
I can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell 
who's your friend : open your chaps again. 

Trin. I should know that voice : it should be 
— but he is drowned; and these are devils: O 
defend me ! 

Ste. Four legs and two voices : a most deli- 
cate monster ! His forward voice now is to speak 
well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter 
foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in 
my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. 
Come. Amen ! I will pour some in thy other 
mouth. 

Tri?i. Stephano ! 100 

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, 
mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will 
leave him ; I have no long spoon. 

Trin. Stephano ! If thou beest Stephano, 
touch me and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo — 
be not afeard — thy good friend Trinculo. 

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I'll 
pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Tnnculo's 
legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo in- 
deed ! How earnest thou to be the siege of this 
moon-calf? can he vent Trinculos? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
stroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I 
hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm over- 
blown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaber- 
dine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, 
Stephano ? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped ! 

Ste. Prithee, do not turn me about ; my sto- 
mach is not constant. 

Cat. [Aside] These be fine things, an if they 
be not sprites. 121 

That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor. 
I will kneel to him. 

Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How earnest 
thou hither? swear by this bottle how thou earnest 
hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack which the 
sailors heaved o'erboard, by this bottle ! which I 
made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands 
since I was cast ashore. 

Cnl. I '11 swear upon that bottle to be thy true 
subject; for the liquor is not earthly. 

Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escapedst. 



Scene ii.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



Trin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck : I can 
swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 

Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst 
swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this? 
Ste. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a 
rock by the sea-side where my wine is hid. How 
now, moon-calf! how does thine ague? 

Cal. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? 140 
Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was 
the man i' the moon when time was. 

Cal. I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee : 
My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and thy 
bush. 
Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I 
will furnish it anon with new contents: swear. 

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
monster ! 1 afeard of him ! A very weak mon- 
ster ! The man i' the moon ! A most poor cre- 
dulous monster! Well drawn, monster, in good 
sooth ! 

Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' 
island ; 
And I will kiss thy foot : I prithee, be my god. 

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and 
drunken monster! when 's god's asleep, he'll rob 
his bottle. 

Cal. I '11 kiss thy foot ; I '11 swear myself thy 

subject. 
Ste. Come on then ; down, and swear. 
Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this 
puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster ! 
1 could find in my heart to beat him, — ■ 160 

Ste. Come, kiss. 

Trin. But that the poor monster's in drink : 
an abominable monster ! 

Cal. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll 
pluck thee berries ; 
I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough. 
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
I '11 bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
Thou wondrous man. 

Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a 
wonder of a poor drunkard ! 170 

Cal. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs 
grow ; 
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 
Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmoset : I '11 bring thee 
To clustering filberts and sometimes I '11 get thee 
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? 
Ste. I prithee now, lead the way without any 
more talking. Trinculo, the king and all our 
company else being drowned, we will inherit 
here : here ; bear my bottle : fellow Trinculo, 
we'll fill him by and by again. 
Cal. [Sings drunkenly\ 

Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! 
Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster ! 
Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish; 
Nor fetch in firing 
At requiring; 
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: 
'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban 
Has a new master: get a new man. 
Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom, 
hey-day, freedom ! 191 

Ste. O brave monster ! Lead the way. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 
Scene I. Be/ore Prospero's cell. 
Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log: 
Fer. There be some sports are painful, and 

their labour 
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task 
Would be as heavy to me as odious, but 
The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead 
And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, 
And he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
Some thousands of these logs and pile them up, 
Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such 

baseness 
Had never like executor. I forget : 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my 

labours, 
t Most busy lest, when I do it. 

Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance, 
unseen. 

Mir. Alas, now, pray you, 

Work not so hard: I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
Pray, set it down and rest you : when this burns, 
'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father 
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; 20 
He's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set before I shall discharge 
What I must strive to do. 

Mi;: If you'll sit down, 

I 'II bear your logs the while : pray, give me that ; 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

Fer. No, precious creature ; 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
While I sit lazy by. 

Mir. It would become me 

As well as it does you : and I should do it 
With much more ease; for my good will is to it, 
And yours it is against. 

Pros. Poor worm, thou art infected ! 

This visitation shows it. 

Mir. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble mistress: 'tis fresh morning 
with me 
When you are by at night. I do beseech you — 
Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers — 
What is your name? 

Mir. Miranda. — O my father, 

I have broke your hest to say so ! 

Fer. Admired Miranda ! 

Indeed the top of admiration ! worth 
What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
I have eyed with best regard and manyatime 40 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues 
Have I liked several women ; never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed 
And put it to the foil : but you, O you, 
So perfect and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best ! 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act hi. 



Mir. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
More that I may call men than you, good friend, 
And my dear father : how features are abroad, 
I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, 
The jewel in my dower, I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you, 
Nor can imagination form a shape, 
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle 
Something too wildly and my father's precepts 
I therein do forget. 

Fer. I am in my condition 

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; 60 

I would, not so !— and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery than to suffer 
The flesh-fTy blow my mouth. Hear my soul 

speak : 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
To make me slave to it ; and for your sake 
Am I this patient log-man. 

Mir. Do you love me? 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this 
sound 
And crown what I profess with kind event 
If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert 70 

What best is boded me to mischief! I 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world 
Do love, prize, honour you. 

Mir. I am a fool 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pros. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds between 'em ! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you ? 

Mir. At mine unworthiness that dare not offer 
What I desire to give, and much less take 
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 80 

The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but I '11 be your servant, 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest ; 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mir. My husband, then? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. 

Mir. And mine, with my heart in 't : and now 
farewell 90 

Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand thousand ! 

[Exeunt Fer. and Mir. severally. 

Pros. So glad of this as they I cannot be, 
Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I '11 to my book, 
For yet ere supper-time must I perform 
Much business appertaining. [Exit. 

Scene II. Another part of the island. 

Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. 

Ste. Tell not me; when the butt is out, we 
will drink water; not a drop before: therefore 
bear up, and board 'em. Servant-monster, drink 
to me. 



Trin. Servant-monster ! the folly of this is- 
land! They say there's but five upon this isle: 
we are three of them ; if th' other two be brained 
like us, the state totters. 

Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee : 
thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 10 

Trin. Where should they be set else? he were 
a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his 
tail. 

Ste. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue 
in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me ; 
I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five and 
thirty leagues off and on. By this light, thou 
shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 

Trin. Yeur lieutenant, if you list; he's no 
standard. 20 

Ste. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster. 

Trin. Nor go neither ; but you'll lie like dogs 
and yet say nothing neither. 

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
beest a good moon-calf. 

Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy 
shoe. 
I'll not serve him ; he's not valiant. 

Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster : I 
am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou de- 
boshed fish, thou, was there ever man a coward 
that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt 
thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and 
half a monster? 

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
my lord? 

Trin. ' Lord ' quoth he ! That a monster 
should be such a natural ! 

Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I 
prithee. 

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your 
head : if you prove a mutineer, — the next tree ! 
The poor monster's my subject and he shall not 
suffer indignity. 

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be 
pleased to hearken once again to the suit I made 
to thee? 

Ste. Marry, will I : kneel and repeat it ; I will 
stand, and so shall Trinculo. 

Enter Ariel, invisible. 

Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a 
tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheat- 
ed me of the island. 50 

Art. Thou liest. 

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou : 
I would my valiant master would destroy thee ! 
I do not lie. 

Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more 
in's tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of 
your teeth. 

Trin. Why, I said nothing. 

Ste. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed. 

Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 60 

From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
Revenge it on him, — for I know thou darest, 
But this thing dare not, — 

Ste. That 's most certain. 

Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve thee. 

Ste. How now shall this be compassed? Canst 
thou bring me to the party? 

Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee 
asleep, 



Scene ii. 



THE TEMPEST. 



Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. 

Ari. Thouliest; thou canst not. 70 

Cal. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy 
patch ! 
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows 
And take his bottle from him : when that's gone 
He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not 

show him 
Where the quick freshes are. 

Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger: 
interrupt the monster one word further, and, by 
this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors and 
make a stock-fish of thee. 

Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll 
go farther off. 81 

Ste. Didst thou not say he lied? 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Beats Trin.] 
As you like this, give me the lie another time. 

Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits 
and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle ! this can 
sack and drinking do. A murrain on your mon- 
ster, and the devil take your fingers ! 

Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 90 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, 
stand farther off. 

Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time 
I'll beat him too. 

Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with 
him, 
P th' afternoon to sleep : there thou mayst brain 

him, 
Having first seized his books, or with a log 
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember 
First to possess his books; for without them 100 
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
One spirit to command : they all do hate him 
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. 
He has brave utensils, — for so he calls them, — 
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. 
And that most deeply to consider is 
The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
Calls her a nonpareil : I never saw a woman, 
But only Sycorax my dam and she ; 
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax no 

As great'st does least. 

Ste. Is it so brave a lass? 

Cal. Ay,lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter 
and I will be king and queen, — save our graces ! — 
and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost 
thou like the plot, Trinculo? 

Trin. Excellent. 

Ste. Give me thy hand : I am sorry I beat 
thee ; but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue 
in thy head. 121 

Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep : 
Wilt thou destroy him then? 

Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. 

Cal. Thou makest me merry; I am full of 
pleasure : 
Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch 
You taught me but while-ere? 

Sir. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 
any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. 



Flout 'em and scout 'em 130 

And scout 'em and flout 'em; 
Thought is free. 
Cal. That's not the tune. 

[A riel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe. 
Ste. What is this same? 

Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played 
by the picture of Nobody. 

Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy 
likeness: if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. 
Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 
Ste. He that dies pays all debts : I defy thec. 
Mercy upon us ! 141 

Cal. Art thou afeard? 
Ste. No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt 

not. 
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices 
That, if I then had waked after long sleep, 
Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, 
The clouds methought would open and show 
riches 150 

Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, 
I cried to dream again. 

Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, 
where I shall have my music for nothing. 
Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 
Ste. That shall be by and by: I remember 

the story. 
Trin. The sound is going away ; let's follow 
it, and after do our work. 

Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. I would I 
could see this taborer ; he lays it on. 160 

Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and otlters. 

Gou. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir : 
My old bones ache : here's a maze trod indeed 
Through forth-rights and meanders ! By your 

patience, 
I needs must rest me. 

A Ion. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 

Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
Even here I will put off my hope and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd 
Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. 10 

Ant. [Aside to Sel>.] I am right glad that he's 
so out of hope. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolved to effect 

Seb. [Aside to Ant.] The next advantage 
Will we take throughly. 

Ant. [Aside to Seb.] Let it be to-night: 
For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance 
As when they are fresh. 

Seb. [Aside to Ant.] I say, to-night: no more. 
[Solemn and strange music. 

A Ion. What harmony is this? My good 
friends, hark! 

Con. Marvellous sweet music ! 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act iv. 



EnterVROSVERO above, invisible. Enter several 

strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet; they 

dance about it with gentle actions of saluta- 
tion; and, inviting t/ie King, &c. to eat, they 

depart. 

A Ion. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What 
were these? 20 

Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe 
That there are unicorns, that in Arabia 
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both; 

And what does else want credit, come to me, 
And I '11 be sworn 'tis true : travellers ne'er did lie, 
Though fools at home condemn 'em. 

Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders — 
For, certes, these are people of the island — 30 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, 

note, 
Their manners are more gentle-kind than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pros. [Aside] Honest lord, 

Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present 
Are worse than devils. 

A Ion. I cannot too much muse 

Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, ex- 
pressing, 
Although they want the use of tongue, a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pros. [Aside] Praise in departing. 

Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 

Seb. No matter, since 40 

They have left their viands behind ; for we have 

stomachs. 
Will't please you taste of what is here? 

A Ion. Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we 
were boys, 
Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 

at 'em 
Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men 
Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now 

we find 
Each putter-out of five for one will bring us 
Good warrant of. 

A Ion. I will stand to and feed, 

Although my last : no matter, since I feel 50 

The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, 
Stand to and do as we. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel, like a 
harpy; claps his wings upoti the table; and, 
with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. 
Art. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, 
That hath to instrument this lower world 
And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea 
Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island 
Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men 
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; 
And even with such-like valour men hang and 

drown 
Their proper selves. 

[A Ion., Seb. &=c. draw their swords. 
You fools ! I and my fellows 60 
Are ministers of Fate : the elements, 



Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
One dowle that 'sin my plume: my fellow-ministers 
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, 
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths 
And will not be uplifted. But remember — 
For that's my business to you — that you three 
From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 70 

Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
Him and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the crea- 
tures, 
Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, 
They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me : 
Lingering perdition, worse than any death 
Can be at once, shall step by step attend 
You and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you 

from — 
Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
Upon your heads — is nothing but heart-sorrow 81 
And a clear life ensuing. 

He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, 

enter the Shapes again, and dance, with mocks 

and mows, and carrying out the table. 

Pros. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated 
In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds 'have done. My high charms 

work 
And these mine enemies are all knit up 
In their distractions; they now are in my power; 
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit 91 
Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd, 
And his and mine loved darling. [Exit above. 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why 
stand you 
In this strange stare? 

A Ion. O, it is monstrous, monstrous ! 

Methought the billows spoke and told me of it; 
The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder, 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced 
The name of Prosper : it did bass my trespass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and 100 
I '11 seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded 
And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I '11 fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I '11 be thy second. 

[Exeunt Seb. and Ant. 

Gon. All three of them are desperate : their 
great guilt, 
Like poison given to work a great time after, 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly 
And hinder them from what this ecstasy 
May now provoke them to. 

Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Before Prospero's cell. 

Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pros. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
Your compensation makes amends, for I 



Scene i.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



*5 



Have given you here a thrid of mine own life, 

Or that for which I live ; who once again 

I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations 

Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 

Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 

I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 

Do not smile at me that I boast her off, 

For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise 10 

And make it halt behind her. 

Fer. I do believe it 

Against an oracle. 

Pros. Then, asmygiftand thine own acquisition 
Worthily purchased, take my daughter : but 
If thou dost break her virgin-knot before 
All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rite be minister'd, 
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
To make this contract grow; but barren hate, 
Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew 20 
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly 
That you shall hate it both : therefore take heed, 
As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fair issue and long life, 
With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, 
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser genius can, shall never melt 
Mine honour into lust, to take away 
The edge of that day's celebration 
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are found- 
er'd, 30 

Or Night kept chain'd below. 

Pros. Fairly spoke. 

Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own. 
What, Ariel ! my industrious servant, Ariel ! 

Enter Ariel. 
Ari. What would my potent master? here I am. 
Pros. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last 
service 
Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, 
O'er whom I give thee power, here to this place : 
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 40 
Some vanity of mine art : it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. 

Ari. Presently? 

Pros. Ay, with a twink. 
Ari. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,' 
And breathe twice and cry 'so, so,' 
Each one, tripping on his toe, 
Will be here with mop and mow. 
Do you love me, master? no? 
Pros. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not ap- 
proach 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

Ari. Well, 1 conceive. [Exit. 50 

Pros. Look thou be true ; do not give dalliance 
Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious, 
Or else, good night your vow ! 

Fer. I warrant you, sir; 

The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 
Abates the ardour of my liver. 

Pros. Well. 

Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary, 
Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly ! 
No tongue ! all eyes ! be silent. [Soft musit . 



Enter Iris. 
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease; 
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; 
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, 
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy 

broom-grove.-,, 
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, 
Where thou thyself dost air ; — the queen o' the sky. 
Whose watery arch and messenger am I, 71 

Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign 

grace, 
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, 
To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain : 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 

Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; 
Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers 
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers, 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 80 
My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down, 
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy queen 
Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green? 

Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the blest lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 

If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, 
Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot 
The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 90 
I have forsworn. 

Iris. Of her society 

Be not afraid : I met her deity 
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her son 
Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have 

done 
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 
Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid 
Till Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; 
Mars's hot minion is returned again; 
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, 
Swears he will shoot no more but play with spar- 
rows 100 
And be a boy right out. 

Cer. High'st queen of state, 

Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. 

Enter J uko. 

Juno. How does my bounteous sister? Go 
with me 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
And honour'd in their issue. [They sing: 

Juno. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, 
Long continuance, and increasing, 
Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
Juno sings her blessings on you. 

Cer. Earth's increase, foison plenty, no 

Barns and garners never empty, 
Vines w ith clustering bunches growing, 
1'lants with goodly burthen bowing; 



1 6 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act iv. 



Spring come to you at the farthest 
In the very end of harvest ! 
Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold 
To think these spirits? 

Pros. Spirits, which by mine art 120 

I have from their confines call'd to enact 
My present fancies. 

Fer. Let me live here ever ; 

So rare a wonder'd father and a wife 
Makes this place Paradise. 

[Juno and Ceres whisper, and send 
Iris on employment. 
Pros. Sweet, now, silence ! 

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 
There's something else to do : hush, and be mute, 
Or else our spell is marr'd. 

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wind- 
ring brooks, 
With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks, 
Leave your crisp channels and on this green land 
Answer your summons ; Juno does command : 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love ; be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 
You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary, 
Come hither from the furrow and be merry : 
Make holiday ; your rye-straw hats put on 
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they 
join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; 
towards the end whereof Prospero starts sud- 
denly, and speaks; after zuhich, to a strange, 
hollow, and conftised noise, they heavily va- 
nish. 

Pros. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates 140 
Against my life : the minute of their plot 
Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done! 
avoid ; no more ! 

Fer. This is strange : your father 's in some 
passion 
That works him strongly. 

Mir. Never till this day 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pros. You do look, my son, in a moved sort, 
As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir. 
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits and 
Are melted into air, into thin air: 150 

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
"Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; 
Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled : 
Be not disturb' d with my infirmity: 160 

If you be pleased, retire into my cell 
And there repose : a turn or two I '11 walk, 
To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mir. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. 



Pros. Come with a thought. I thank thee, 
Ariel : come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy 
pleasure ? 

Pros. Spirit, 

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 

A ri. Ay, my commander : when I presented 
Ceres, 
I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd 
Lest I might anger thee. 

Pros. Say again, where didst thou leave these 
varlets? 170 

A ri. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with 
drinking ; 
So full of valour that they smote the air 
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending 
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor; 
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their 

ears, 
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses 
As they smelt music : so I charm'd their ears 
That calf-like they my lowing follow' d through 
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and 
thorns, 180 

Which entered their frail shins : at last I left them 
I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, 
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
O'erstunk their feet. 

Pros. This was well done, my bird. 

Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither, 
For stale to catch these thieves. 

Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. 

Pros. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 190 

And as with age his body uglier grows, 
So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, 
Even to roaring. 

Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering ap- 
parel, &>c. 

Come, hang them on this line. 

Prospero and Ariel remain, invisible. Enter 
Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. 

Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind 
mole may not 
Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. 

Ste. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a 
harmless fairy, has done little better than played 
the Jack with us. 

Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at 
which my nose is in great indignation. 200 

Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If 
I should takea displeasure against you, look you, — 

Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 

Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. 
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 
Shall hoodwink this mischance : therefore speak 

softly. 
All's hush'd as midnight yet. 

Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 

Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour 
in that, monster, but an infinite loss. 210 



Scene i.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



71 



Trin. That's more to me than my wetting: 
yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. 

Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be 
o'er ears for my labour. 

Cal. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou 
here, 
This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. 
Do that good mischief which may make this island 
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
For aye thy foot-licker. 

Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have 
bloody thoughts. 220 

Trin. O king Stephano! Opeer! O worthy 
Stephano ! look what a wardrobe here is for thee! 

Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 

Trin. O, ho, monster! we know what belongs 
to a frippery. O king Stephano ! 

Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, 
I'll have that gown. 

Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 

Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
mean 230 

To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone 
And do the murder first : if he awake, 
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches, 
Make us strange stuff. 

Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is 
not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the 
line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair 
and prove a bald jerkin. 

Trin. Do, do: we steal by line and level, an't 
like your grace. 240 

Ste. I thank thee for that jest; here's a gar- 
ment fort: wit shall not go unrewarded while I 
am king of this country. ' Steal by line and level' 
is an excellent pass of pate; there's another gar- 
ment for't. 

Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon 
your fingers, and away with the rest. 

Cal. I will have none on't: we shall lose our 
time, 
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villanous low. 250 

Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers : help to bear 
this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I '11 
turn you out of my kingdom : go to, carry this. 

Trin. And this. 

Ste. Ay, and this. 

A noise of kunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, 
in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt theni 
about, Prospero and Ariel setting them on. 

Pros. Hey, Mountain, hey ! 

A ri. Silver ! there it goes, Silver ! 

Pros. Fury, Fury ! there, Tyrant, there ! hark ! 

hark ! [Cal. , Ste. , and Trin. are driven out. 

Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints 

With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews 

With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make 

them 
Than pard or cat o' mountain. 

Ari. Hark, they roar ! 

Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this 
hour 
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : 
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little 
Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Before Prosperous cell. 

Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. 

Pros. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? 

Ar. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, 
You said our work should cease. 

Pros. I did say so, 

When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
How fares the king and's followers? 

A ri. Confined together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge, 
Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, 
In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; 
They cannot budge till your release. The king, 
His brother and yours, abide all three distracted" 
And the remainder mourning over them, 
Brimful of sorrow and dismay : but chiefly 
Him that you term'd, sir, ' The good old lord, 

Gonzalo;' 
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly 

works 'em 
That if you now beheld them, your affections 
Would become tender. 

Pros. Dost thou think so, spirit? 

An. Mine would, sir, were I human. 

Pros. And mine shall. 20 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, 
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art? 
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to 

the quick. 
Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, ! 
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel : 30 
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, 
And they shall be themselves. 

Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit. 

Pros. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes 
and groves, 
And ye that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him 
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that 
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, 
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime 
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid, 40 
Weak masters though ye be, 1 have bedimm'd 
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault 
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory 
Have 1 made shake and by the spurs pluck' d up 
The pine and cedar : graves at my command 
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth 
By my so potent art. But this rough magic 50 
I here abjure, and, when I have required 
Some heavenly music, which even now I do, 
To work mine end upon their senses that 
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth', 



And deeper than did ever plummet sound 

I'll drown my book. {Solemn music. 

lie-cater Ariel before: then Alonso, with a 
franti& gesture, attended by Gonzalo; Se- 
bastian and Antonio in like manner, at- 
tended by Adrian and Francisco: they all 
c?iter tli£ circle which Prospero had made, 
and there stand charmed; -which Prospero 
observing^ speaks : 
A solemn air and the best comforter 
To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains, 
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand, 
For you are spell-stopp'd. 
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, 
Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, 
Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace, 
And as the morning' steals upon the night, 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, 
My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
To him thou follow'st ! I will pay thy graces 70 
Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. 
Thou art pinch' d for't now, Sebastian. Flesh 

and blood, 
You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Se- 
bastian, 
Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong, 
Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive 

thee, 
Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding 
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide 80 

Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 
That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them 
That yet looks on me, or would know me : Ariel, 
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell : 
I will disease me, and myself present 
As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit; 
Thou shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel s-ijigs and helps to attire him. 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 

In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 

There I couch when owls do cry. 90 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 
Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall 
miss thee ; 
But yet thou shalt have freedom,: so, so, so. 
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain 
Being awake, enforce them to this place, 100 

And presently, I prithee. 

A ri. I drink the air before me, and return 
Or ere your pulse twice beat. {Exit. 

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder and amaze- 
ment 
Inhabits here : some heavenly power guide us 
Out of this fearful country ! 

Pros. Behold, sir king, 

The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 



For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ; 
And to thee and thy company I bid no 

A hearty welcome. 

A Ion. Whether thou be'st he or no, 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, 
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
Beats as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw 

thee, 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave, 
An if this be at all, a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat 
Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should 

Prospero 
Be living and be here? 

Pros. First, noble friend, 120 

Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot 
Be measured or confined. 

Gon. Whether this be 

Or be not, I '11 not swear. 

Pros. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all ! 
{Aside to Seb. and Ant.'] But you, my brace of 

lords, were I so minded, 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you 
And justify you traitors : at this time 
I will tell no tales. 

Seb. {Aside] The devil speaks in him. 

Pros: No. 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know, 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou be'st Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation ; 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wreck'dupon this shore ; where I have lost — 
How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! — 
My dear son Ferdinand. 

Pros. I am woe for't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience 140 
Says it is past her cure. 

Pros. I rather think 

You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace 
For the like loss 1 have her sovereign aid 
And rest myself content. 

A Ion. You the like loss ' 

Pros. As great to me as late ; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you, for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter? 

O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
Where my son lies. When did youi lsse your 
daughter ? 

Pros. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire 
That they devour their reason and scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
Been justled from your senses, know for certain 
That I am Prospero and that very duke- 
Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most 
strangely 160 



SCENE I.] 



THE TEMPEST. 



*9 



s Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was 
landed, 
I To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; 
! For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
J Not a relation for a breakfast nor 
J Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
I This cell's my court: here have I few attendants 
! And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. 
; My dukedom since you have given me again, 
i I will requite you with as good a thing; 

At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye 170 

As much as me my dukedom. 

Here Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Mi- 
r a n da playing a t chess. 

Mir. Sweet lord, you play me false. 

Per. No, my dear'st love, 

I would not for the world. 

Mir. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
wrangle, 
And I would call it fair play. 

A Ion. If this prove 

A vision of the Island, one dear son 
Shall -I twice lose. 

Seb. A most high miracle ! 

Per. Though the seas threaten, they are 
merciful ; 
I have cursed them without cause. [Kneels. 

A Ion. Now all the blessings 

Of a glad father compass thee about ! 180 

Arise, and say how thou earnest here. 

Mir. O, wonder ! 

How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, 
.That has such people in't ! 

Pros. 'Tis new to thee. 

A Ion. What is this maid with whom thou 
wast at play? 
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, 
And brought us thus together? 

Per. Sir, she is mortal ; 

But by immortal Providence she's mine : 
I chose her when I could not ask my father 190 
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She 
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
But never saw before ; of whom I have 
Received a second life ; and second father 
This lady makes him to me. 

A ion. I am hers : 

But, O, how oddly will it sound that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness ! 

Pros. There, sir, stop: 

Let us not burthen our remembrance with 
A heaviness that's gone. 

Gon. I have inly wept, 200 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you 

gods,_ 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ! 
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither. 

A Ion. I say, Amen, Gonzalo ! 

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his 
issue 
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice 
Beyond a common joy, and set it down 
With gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis 



And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 210 
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom 
In a poor isle and all of us ourselves 
When no man was his own. 

A Ion. \ To Per. and Mir. ] Give me your hands : 
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart 
That doth not wish you joy ! 

Gon. Be it so ! Amen ! 

fic-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 
a mazedly following. 

O, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us: 

I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 

This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, 

That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore? 

Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely 
found 211 

Our king and company; the next, our ship — 
Which, but three glass-es since, we gave out split — 
Is tight and yare and bravely rigg"d as when 
We first put out to sea. 

Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Sir, all this service 
Have I done since I went. 

Pros. [Aside to Ari. ) My tricksy spirit ! 

A Ion. These are not natural events; they 
strengthen 
From strange to stranger. Say, how came you 
hither? 

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
I 'Id strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
And — how we know not — all clapp'd under hatches; 
Where but even now with strange and several 

noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, 
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, 
We were awaked ; straightway, at liberty ; 
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master 
Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you, 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them 
And were brought moping hither. 

AH. [Aside to Pros.] Was 't well done? 240 

Pros. [Aside to Ari.] Bravely, my diligence. 
Thou shalt be free. 

A Ion. This is as strange a maze as e'er men 
trod; 
And there is in this business more than nature 
Was ever conduct of: some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. 

Pros. Sir, my liege, 

Do not infest your mind with beating on 
The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure 
Which shall be shortly, single I '11 resolve you, 
Which to you shall seem probable, of every 
These happen 'd accidents; till when, be cheerful 
And think of each thing well. [Aside to Ari.] 

Come hither, spirit: 251 J 

Set Caliban and his companions free; 
Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel] How fares my 

gracious sir? 
There are yet missing of your company 
Some few odd lads that you remember not. 

Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano 
and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. 
Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let 
no man take care for himself; for all is but for- 
tune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! 



THE TEMPEST. 



[Act v. 



Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in 
my head, here's a goodly sight. 260 

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed ! 
How fine my master is ! I am afraid 
He will chastise me. 

Seb. Ha, ha ! 

What things are these, my lord Antonio? 
Will money buy 'em? 

Ant. Very like ; one of them 

Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 

Pros. Mark but the badges of these men, my 
lords, 
Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, 
His mother was a witch, and one so strong 
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
And deal in her command without her power. 271 
These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil — 
For he's a bastard one — had plotted with them 
To take my life. Two of these fellows you 
Must know and own ; this thing of darkness I 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 

Alon. IsnotthisStephano, my drunken butler? 

Seb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? 

A Ion. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : where 
should they 
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? 280 
How earnest thou in this pickle? 

Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I 
saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of 
my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. 

Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ! 

Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, 
but a cramp. 

Pros. You 'id be king o' the isle, sirrah? 

Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 

Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd 
on. [Pointing to Caliban. 

Pros. He is as disproportion^ in his manners 
As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; 291 

Take with you your companions; as you look 
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter 
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass 
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god 
And worship this dull fool ! 

Pros. Go to ; away ! 

A Ion. Hence, and bestow your luggage where 
you found it. 

Seb. Or stole it, rather. 300 

[Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin. 



Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your 
train 300 

To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest 
For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste 
With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it 
1 rO quick away ; the story of my life 
And the particular accidents gone by 
Since I came to this isle : and in the morn 
1 '11 bring you to your ship and so to Naples, 
Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved solemnized; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 310 
Every third thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. 

Pros. I'll deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales 
And sail so expeditious that shall catch 
Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to Ari.] My Ariel, 

chick, 
That is thy charge : then to the elements 
Be free, and fare thou well ! Please you, draw 
near. [Exeunt. 



EPILOGUE. 

SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. 

Now my charms are all o'erthrown, 
And what strength I have's mine own, 
Which is most faint : now, 'tis true, 
I must be here confined by you, 
Or sent to Naples. Let me not, 
Since I have my dukedom got 
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
In this bare island by your spell ; 
But release me from my bands 
With the help of your good hands : 
Gentle breath of yours my sails 
Must fill, or else my projeel fails, 
Which was to please. Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant, 
And my ending is despair, 
Unless I be relieved by prayer, 
Which pierces so that it assaults 
Mercy itself and frees all faults. 
As you from crimes would pardon'd be, 
Let your indulgence set me free. 



the 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



DRAMATIS PER- 



Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 

p,:o^r E 'i thet - Gcntiemcn - 

ANTONIO, Father to Proteus. 

Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. 

Eglamoi/R, Agent for Silvia in her escape. 

Host, where Julia lodges. 

Outlaws, with Valentine. 

Si'EED, a clownish servant to Valentine. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. Verona. An open place. 
Enter Valentine and Proteus. 
Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: 
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. 
Were't not affection chains thy tender days 
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
I rather would entreat thy company 
To see the wonders of the world abroad 
Than, living dully sluggardized at home, 
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
P.ut since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein, 
Even as I would when I to love begin. 10 

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, 
adieu ! 
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply scest 
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
Wish me partaker in thy happiness 
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy dan- 
ger, 
If ever danger do environ thee, 
Commend thy grievance to nrj holy prayers, 
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. 

Val. And on a love-book pray for my success? 

Pro. Upon some book I love I '11 pray for thee. 

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep 

love : 2 i 

How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 

Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
For .he was more than over shoes in love. 

Val. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love, 
And yet you never swum the Hellespont. 

Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the 

boots. 
Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. 
Pro. r What? 

Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought 
with groans; 
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs ; one fading mo- 
ment's mirth 30 
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: 
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ; 
If lost, why then a grievous labour won; 
or, but a folly bought wi'h wit, 
I Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 



LAUNCH, the like to Proteus. 
PANTHINO, Servant to Antonio. 
Julia, beloved of Proteus. 
SILVIA, beloved of Valentine. 
Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia- 
Servants, Musicians. 
Scene, Verona; Milan; the frontiers of 
Mantua. 



Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call 

Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll 
prove. 

Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love. 

Val. Love is your master, for he masters you : 
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 40 

Methinks, should not be chronicled for wi-e 

Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweet 
The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

/ 'al. And writers say, as the most forward bud 
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, 
Losing his verdure even in the prime 
And all the fair effects of future hopes. 50 

But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee 
That art a votary to fond desire ? 
Once more adieu ! my father at the road 
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 

Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 

Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our 
leave. 
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters 
Of thy success in love and what news else 
Betideth here in absence of thy friend; 
And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 60 

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! 

Val. As much to you at home ! and so, fare- 
well. [ Exit. 

Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love: 
He leaves his friends to dignify them more; 
I leave myself, my friends and all, for love. 
Thou, J\ilia. thou hast metamorphosed me, 
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
War with good counsel, set the world at nought ; 
Made wit, with musing weak, heart sick with 
thought. 

Enter Speed. 
Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! Saw you my 
ma ' 70 

Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 

Milan. 
Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, 
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 
I Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray, 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act i. 



An if the shepherd be a while away. 

Speed. You conclude that my master is a shep- 
herd then and I a sheep ? 

Pro. I do. 

Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, 
whether I wake or sleep. 80 

Pro. A silly answer and fitting well a sheep. 

Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 

Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circum- 
stance. 

Pro. It shall go hard but I '11 prove it by an- 
other. 

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and 
not the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my mas- 
ter, and my master seeks not me : therefore I am 
no sheep. 91 

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shep- 
herd ; the shepherd for food follows not the sheep : 
thou for wages followest thy master ; thy master 
for wages follows not thee : therefore thou art a 
sheep. 

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry 
'baa.' 

Pro. But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my 
letter to Julia? 100 

Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your 
letter to her, a laced mutton, and she, a laced 
mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my 
labour. 

Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store 
of muttons. 

Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you 
were best stick her. 

Pro. Nay : in that you are astray, 'twere best 
pound you. 1 10 

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve 
me for carrying your letter. 

Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, — a 
pinfold. 

Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over 
and over, 
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to 
your lover. 

Pro. But what said she? 

Speed. [First nodding] Ay. 

Pro. Nod — Ay — why, that's noddy. 

Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod : 
and you ask me if she did nod ; and I say, 'Ay.' 

Pro. And that set together is noddy. 122 

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set 
it together, take it for your pains. 

Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the 
letter. 

Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear 
with yo«. 

Pro. "Why, sir, how do you bear with me? 

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; 
having nothing but the word 'noddy' for my pains. 

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Speed. And yet'it cannot overtake your slow 
purse. 

Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: 
what said she? 

Speed. Open your purse, that the money and 
the matter may be both at once delivered. 

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What 
said she? 140 

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. 



Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from 
her? 

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all 
from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for deliver- 
ing your letter: and being so hard to me that 
brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to 
you in telling your mind. Give her no token but 
stones; for she's as hard as steel. 

Pro. What said she? nothing? 150 

Speed. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy 
pains.' To testify your bounty, I thank you, you 
have testerned me ; in requital whereof, hence- 
forth carry your letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll 
commend you to my master. 

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from 
wreck, 
Which cannot perish having thee aboard, 
Being destined to a drier death on shore. 

[Exit Speed. 
I must go send some better messenger : 
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 160 
Receiving themfrom such a worthless post. [Exit. 

Scene II. The same. Garden of Julia's hozise. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
yul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love? 
L uc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheed- 

fully. 
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen 
That every day with parle encounter me, 
In thy opinion which is worthiest love? 
Lzic. Please you repeat their names, I'll show 
my mind 
According to my shallow simple skill. 

Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Egla- 

mour? 
L?tc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 
But, were I you, he never should be mine. 11 
Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Aiercatio? 
Euc. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so so. 
Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? 
Euc. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us ! 
Jtil. How now ! what means this passion at his 

name? 
Luc. Pardon, dear madam: tis a passing shame 
That I, unworthy body as I am, 
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? 
Ltic. Then thus : of many good I think him best. 
Jul. Your reason ? 

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ; 
I think him so because I think him so. 

Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love 

on him? 
Lnc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast 

away. 
Jul. Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved 

me. 
Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves 

ye. 

Jul. His little speaking shows his love but 
small. 29 

Luc. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. 

Jul. They do not love that do not show their 
love. 

Lice. O, they loye least that let men know 
their love. » 



SCENE II.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Jul. I would I knew his mind. 

Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 

Jul. 'To Julia.' Say, from whom! 

Lite. That the contents will show. 

Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee? 

Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, 
from Proteus. 
He would have given it you ; but I, being in the 

way, 
Did in your name receive it: pardon the fault, I 
pray. 40 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines.? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth? 
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth 
And you an officer fit for the place. 
There, take the paper: see it be return'd; 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than 
hate. 

Jul. Will ye be gone? 

Luc. That you may ruminate. 

[Exit. 

Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the 
letter: 50 

It were a shame to call her back again 
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
And would not force the letter to my view ! 
Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that 
Which they would have the profferer construe 'ay.' 
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love 
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse 
And presently all humbled kiss the rod ! 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 60 

When willingly I would have had her here ! 
How angerly I taught my brow to frown, 
When inward j >y enforced my heart to smile! 
My penance is to call Lucetta back 
And ask remission for my folly past. 
What ho ! Lucetta ! 



Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. What would your ladyship? 

Jul. Is't near dinner-time? 

Luc. I would it were, 

That you might kill your stomach on your meat 
And not upon your maid. 

Jul. What is't that you took up so gingerly? 

Luc. Nothing. 71 

Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then? 

Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. 

Jul. And is that paper nothing? 

Luc. Nothing concerning me. 

Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 

Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
Unless it have a false interpreter. 

Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in 
rhyme. 

Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. 
Give me a note : your ladyship can set 81 

Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible. 
Best sing it to the tune of ' Light o' love.' 

Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 

Jul. Heavy! belike it hath some burden 
then? 

Luc. Ay, and melodious were it, would you 
sing it. 



9° 



Jul. And why not you ? 

Luc. I cannot reach so high. 

Jul. Let's see your song. How now, minion! 

Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing 
it out: 
And yet methinks I do not like this tune. 

Jul. You do not? 

Luc. No, madam; it is too sharp. 

Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 

Luc. Nay, now you are too flat 
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant : 
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 

Jul. The mean is drown'd with your "unruly 
bass. 

L^uc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. 

Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble 
me. 
Here is a coil with protestation ! [ Tears the letter. 
( to get you gone, and let the papers lie: 100 

You would be fingermg them, to anger me. 

Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be 
best pleased 
To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the 
same ! 

hateful hands, to tear such loving words J 
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey 
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings ! 

1 '11 kiss each several paper for amends. 

Look, here is writ ' kind Julia.' Unkind Julia ! 
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, no 

I throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
And here is writ ' love- wounded Proteus.' 
Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed 
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly 

heal'd ; 
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
But twice or thrice was ' Proteus' written down. 
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away 
Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
Except mine own name : that some whirlwind bear 
Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock 121 

And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, 
' Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
To the sweet Julia:' that I'll tear away. 
And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
He couples it to his complaining names. 
Thus will I fold them one upon another : 
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. Madam, 130 

Dinner is ready, and your father stays. 
Jul. Well, 'let us go. 

Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell- 
tales here? 
Jul. If you respecl them, best to take them up. 
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them 
down : 
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 
Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights 
you see ; 
I sec things too, although you judge I wink. 
Jul. Come, come; will't please you go? 140 
[Exeunt. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act ii. 



Scene III. The same Antonio's house. 
Enter Antonio a?id Panthino. 

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was 
that 
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? 

Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. 

Ant. Why, what of him? 

Pan. He wonder'd that your lordship 

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, 
While other men, of slender reputation, 
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
Some to discover islands far away ; 
Some to the studious universities. 10 

For any or for all these exercises 
He said that Proteus your son was meet, 
And did request me to importune you 
To let him spend his time no more at home, 
Which would be great impeachment to his age, 
In having known no travel in his youth. 

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me 

' to that 
Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have consider'd well his loss of time 
And how he cannot be a perfect man, 20 

Not being tried and tutor'd in the world: 
Experience is by industry achieved 
And perfected by the swift course of time. 
Then tell me, whither were I best to send him? 

Pan. I think your lordship is not ignorant 
How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
Attends the emperor in his royal court. 

Ant. I know it well. 

Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship 
sent him thither : 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 30 
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, 
And be in eye of every exercise 
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 

Afit. I like thy counsel; well hast thou ad- 
vised : 
And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it 
The execution of it shall make known. 
Even with the speediest expedition 
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 

Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don 
Alphonso 
With other gentlemen of good esteem 40 

Are journeying to salute the emperor 
And to commend their service to his will. 

Ant. Good company; with them shall Pro- 
teus go : 
And, in good time ! now will we break with him. 

Ente?- Proteus. 
Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. 
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
To seal our happiness with their consents ! 
O heavenly Julia ! 50 

Ant. How now ! what letter are you reading 

there? 
Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word 
or two 
Of commendations sent from Valentine, 
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 

A tit. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news. 



Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he 
writes 
How happily he lives, how well beloved 
And daily graced by the emperor ; 
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 

Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? 

Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will 61 
And not depending on his friendly wish. 

A nt. My will is something sorted with his wish. 
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; 
For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time 
With Valentinus in the emperor's court: 
What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 70 

Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. 

Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent 
after thee : 
No more of stay ! to-morrow thou must go. 
Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Exeunt Ant. and Pan. 

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of 
burning, 
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. 
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 80 

Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
Hath he excepted most against my love. 
O, how this spring of love resembleth 

The uncertain glory of an April day, 
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 

And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 

Re-enter Panthino. 
Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : 

He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. 89 
Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto, 
And yet a thousand times it answers 'no.' 

{Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Milan. The Duke's palace. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Speed. Sir, your glove. 

Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. 

Speed. Why, then, this may be yours, for this 
is but one. 

Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine : 
Sweet ornament that decks a thing dwine ! 
Ah, Silvia, Silvia ! 

Speed. Madam Silvia ! Madam Silvia I 

Val. How now, sirrah? 

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 

Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? 

Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 10 

Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. 

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being 
too slow. 

Val. Go to, sir : tell me, do you know Madam 
Silvia? 

Speed. She that your worship loves? 

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? 

Speed. Marry, by these special marks : first, 



Scene i.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe 
your arms, like a maiecontent; to relish a love- 
song, like a robin-redoreast; to walk alone, like 
one' that had the pestilence : to sigh, like a school- 
boy that had lost his A B C: to weep, like a 
young wench that had buried her grandam; to 
fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one 
that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a 
at Hallowmas. You were wont, when y 
ed, to crow like a cock ; when you walked, to 
walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it 
was presently after dinner: when you looked 
sadly, it was for want of money: and now you 
are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I 
look on you, I can hardly think you my master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me? 

Speed. They are all perceived without ye. 

Val. Without me? they cannot. 

Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, 
without you were so simple, none else would: 
but you are so without these follies, that these 
follies are within you and shine- through you like 
the water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees 
you but is a physician to comment on your ma- 
lady. 

/ 'it/. But tell me, dost thou know my lady 
Silvia? 

Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits at 
supper? 

Val. Hast thou observed that? even she, I 
mean. 

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 50 

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on 
her. and yet knowest her not? 

Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir? 

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured. 

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 

/ al. What dost thou know? 

Speed. That she is not so fair as, of you, well 
favoured. 

I 'al. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but 
her favour infinite. 60 

Speed. That's because the one is painted and 
the other out of all count. 

Val. How painted? and how out of count? 

Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her 
fair, that no man counts of her beauty. 

Val. How esteemest thou me? I account of 
her beaut}-. 

Speed. You never saw her since she was de- 
formed. 

Val. How long hath she been deformed? 70 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

I'd I. I have loved her ever since I saw her; 
and still I see her beautiful. 

Speed. I f you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why? 

Speed. Because Love is blind. O. that you 
had mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights 
they were wont to have when you chid at Sir 
Proteus for going ungartered ! 

Val. What should I see then? ?o 

Speed. Your own present folly and her passing 
deformity: for he, being in love, could riol si e t 1 
garter his hose, and you, being in love, cannot 
see to put on your hose. 

Val. Belike, boy, then, you are in love : for 
last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed : 



I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which 
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 90 

Speed. I would you were set, so your affe&ii in 
would cease. 

Val. Last night she enjoined me to write- 
some lines to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you? 

Val. I have. 

Speed. Are they not lamely writ? 

Val No, boy, but as-well a> I can do them. 
Peace ! here she comes. 

Speed. [Aside] <) excellent motion! O ex- 
ceeding puppet ! Now will he interpret to her. 

Enter Silvia. 

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good- 
morrows. 

Speed. [Aside] 0, give ye good even! here's 
a million of manners. 

Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two 
thousand. 

Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest, 
and she gives it him. 

/ 'al. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter 
Unto the secret nameless friend of your-: 
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in 
But for my duty to your ladyship. 
Sil. I thank you, gentle servant : 'tis very 

clerkly done. 
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly 
off; 
For being ignorant to whom it goes 
I writ at random, very doubtfully. 
Sil. Perchance you think too much of so 

much pains? 
Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write. 
Please you command, a thousand times as much ; 
And yet— 

Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the se- 
quel; 
And yet I will not name it ; and yet I care not ; 
And yet take this again ; and yet I thank 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
Speed. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet 

another 'yet.' 
J 'a I. What means your ladyship? do vou not 

like it? 
Sil. Yes, yes : the lines are very quaintly writ ; 
But since unwillingly, take them again. 
Nay, take them. 130 

Val. Madam, they are for you. 
Sil. Ay, ay : you writ them, sir, at my request ; 
But I will none of them : the;, - are for you; 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 
Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship 

another. 
Sil And when it's writ, for my sake read it 
over, 
And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. 
Val. If it please me, madam, what then? 
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your 
labour: 
And so, good morrow, servant. [Exit 140 

Speed. <)jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 

steeple ! 
My master sues to her, and she hath taught her 
suitor. 



26 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act I] 



He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better, 
That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
write the letter? 
Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning 
with yourself? 

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 'tis you that have 
the reason. 150 

Val. To do what? 

Speed. To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia. 
Val. To whom? 
Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a 

figure. 
Val. What figure? 
Speed. By a letter, I should say. 
Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? 
Speed. What need she, when she hath made 
you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive 
the jest? 160 

Val. No, believe me. 

Speed. No ..believing you, indeed, sir. But 
did you perceive her earnest? 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 
Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and 
there an end. 

Val. I would it were no worse. 
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well: 170 

For often have you writ to her, and she, in 

modesty, 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again 

reply ; 
Or fearing else some messenger that might her 

mind discover, 
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto 

her lover. 
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. 
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time. 
Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the cha- 
meleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that 
am nourished by my victuals and would fain have 
meat. O, be not like your mistress; be moved, 
be moved. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Verona. Julia's house. 
Enter Proteus and Julia. 
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the 
sooner. 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 

[Giving a ring. 
Pro. Why, then, we '11 make exchange ; here, 

take you this. 
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; 
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day 
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, " 10 
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; 
That tide will stay me longer than I should. 
Julia, farewell ! [Exit Julia. 

What, gone without a word? 



Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; 
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. 

E7iter Panthino. 
Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. 
Pro. Go ; I come, I come. 20 

Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. A street. 
Enter Launce, leading a dog. 
Launce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have 
done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have 
this very fault. I have received my proportion, 
like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir 
Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab 
my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives : my 
mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister 
crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her 
hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet 
did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear : he 
is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more 
pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept 
to have seen our parting; why, my grandam, 
having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at 
my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of 
it. This shoe is my father : no, this left shoe is 
my father : no, no, this left shoe is my mother : 
nay, that cannot be so neither : yes, it is so, it is 
so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the 
hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; a 
vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is 
my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily 
and as small as a wand : this hat is Nan, our 
maid : I am the dog : no, the dog is himself, and 
I am the dog — Oh ! the dog is me, and I am my- 
self; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; 
Father, your blessing : now should not the shoe 
speak a word for weeping : now should I kiss my 
father ; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my 
mother: O, that she could speak now like a wood 
woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there 'tis; here's 
my mother's breath up and down. Now come I 
to my sister ; mark the moan she makes. Now 
the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks 
a word ; but see how I lay the dust with my tears. 

Enter Panthino. 

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard ! thy master 
is shipped and thou art to post after with oars. 
What's the matter? why weepest thou, man? 
Away, ass! you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any 
longer. 

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; 
for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 

Pan. What's the unkindest tide? 

Launce. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my 
dog. 

Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the 
flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage, 
and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, 
in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, m 
losing thy service, — Why dost thou stop my 
mouth ? 51 

Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. 

Pan. Where should I lose my tongue? 

Launce. In thy tale. 

Pan. In thy tail ! 



Scene hi.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



-7 



Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and 
the master, and the service, and the tied ! Why, 
man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it 
with my tears ; if the wind were down, I could 
drive the boat with my sighs. 60 

Fan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to 
call thee. 

Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. 

Pan. Wilt thou go? 

Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 

Scexit IV. Milan. The Duke's palace. 
Enter Silvia, ValentinEjThukio^w^Speed. 

Si I. Servant ! 

Val. Mistress? 

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you, 

Val, Ay, boy, it's fur love. 

Speed. Not of you. 

Val. Of my mistress, then. 

Speed. 'Twere good you knocked him. [Exit. 

Sil. Servant, you are sad. 

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 

T/ut. Seem you that you are not? 10 

Val. Haply I do. 

Thu. So do counterfeits. 

Val. So do you. 

Thu. What seem I that I am not ? 

Val. Wise. 

Thu. What instance of the contrary? 

Val. Your folly. 

Thu. And how quote you my folly? 

Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 20 

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 

Thu. How ? 

Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio ! do you change 
colour? 

Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of 
chameleon. 

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 
blood than live in your air. 

Val. You have said, sir. 

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 30 

Val, I know it well, sir; you always end ere 
you begin. 

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and 
quickly shot off. 

Val. 'Lis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 
Sil. Who is that, servant? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the 
fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your lady- 
ship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly I 
in your company. 40 

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with 
me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an exche- 
quer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to 
give your followers, for it appears, by their bare 
liveries, that they live by your bare words. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more : here 
comes my father. 

Enter Duke. 
Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard 
beset. 
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : 50 
What say you to a letter from your friends 
Of much good news? 



Val. My lord, I will be thankful 

To any happy messenger from thence. 

Duke. Know ye Don Antonio, your country- 
man? 
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
To be of worth and worthy estimation 
And not without desert so well reputed. 
Duke. Hath he not a son? 
Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well de- 
serves 
The honour and regard of such a father. 60 

Duke. You know him well? 
Val. I know him as myself; for from our 
infancy 
We have conversed and spent our hours together : 
And though myself have been an idle truant, 
< ) mi t ting the sweet benefit of time 
To clothe mine age with arfgel-like perfection, 
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
Made use and fair advantage of his days; 
His years but young, but his experience old ; 
His head unmellow'd, but his judgement ripe ; 70 
And, in a word, for far behind his worth 
Conies all the praises that I now bestow, 
He is complete in feature and in mind 
With all good grace to grace a ercntleman. 
Duke. L'eshrew me, sir, but if he make this 
good, 
He is as worthy for an empress' love 
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me, 
With commendation from great potentates; 
And here he means to spend his time awhile : 80 
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had 

been he. 
Duke. Welcome him then according to his 
worth. 
Silvia, I speak to you, and you, sir Thurio; 
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it: 
I will send him hither to you presently. {Exit. 
Val. This is the gentleman I told your lady- 
ship 
Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchised 
them 90 

Upon some other pawn for fealty. 

Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them pri- 
soners still. 
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and, being 
blind, 
How could he see his way to seek out you ? 
Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye 

at all. 
Vol To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: 
Upon a homely object Love can wink. 
Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the 
gentleman. 

Enter Proteus. [Exit Thurio. 
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I 
beseech you, 100 

Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome 
hither, 
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
I'al. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act ii. 



To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 

Sil, Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 

Pro. Not so, sweet lady : but too mean a 
servant 
To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 

Val. Leave off discourse of disability : 
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant, no 

Pro. My duty will I boast of; nothing else. 

Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed : 
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 

Pro. I '11 die on him that says so but yourself. 

Sil. That you are welcome? 

Pro. That you are worthless. 

Re-enter Thurio. 

Thu. Madam, my lord your father would 
speak with you. 

Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir 
Thurio, 
Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome: 
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; 
When you have done, we look to hear from you. 

Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 
[Exeunt Silvia and Thurio. 

Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence 
you came? 

Pro. Your friends are well and have them 
much commended. 

Val. And how do yours? 

Pro. I left them all in health. 

Val. How does your lady? and how thrives 
your love? 

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
I have done penance for contemning Love, 
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 
With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs ; 
For in revenge of my contempt of love, 
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes 
And made them watchers of mine own heart's 

sorrow. 
O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord 
And hath so humbled me as I confess 
There is no woe to his correction 
Nor to his service no such joy on earth. 
Now no discourse, except it be of love ; 140 

Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep, 
Upon the very naked name of love. 

Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye. 
Was this the idol that you worship so ? 

Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly 
saint? 

Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 

Val. Call her divine. 

Pro. I will not natter her. 

Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 

Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills, 
And I must minister the like to you. 150 

Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not 
divine, 
Yet let her be a principality, 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 

Pro. Except my mistress. 

Val. Sweet, except not any ; 

Except thou wilt except against my love. 

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 

Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too : 



She shall be dignified with this high honour — 
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss 160 
And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower 
And make rough winter everlastingly. 

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is 
^ this? 

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing 
To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing; 
She is alone. 

Pro. Then let her alone. 

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is 
mine own, 
And I as rich in having such a jewel 
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 170 
The water nectar and the rocks pure gold. 
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, 
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love. 
My foolish rival, that her father likes 
Only for his possessions are so huge, 
Is gone with her along, and I must after, 
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 

Pro. But she loves you? 

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd : nay, more, 
our marriage-hour, 
With all the cunning manner of our flight, 180 
Determined of; how I must climb her window, 
The ladder made of cords, and all the means 
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. 
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 

Pro. Go on before ; I shall inquire you forth : 
I must unto the road, to disembark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use, 
And then I'll presently attend you. 

Val. Will you make haste? 190 

Pro. I will. [Exit Valentine. 

Even as one heat another heat expels, 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite forgotten, 
tls it- mine, or Valentine's praise, 
Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
That makes me reasonless to reason thus? 
She is fair ; and so is Julia that I love — 
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 200 
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, 
And that I love him not as I was wont. 
O, but I love his lady too too much, 
And that's the reason I love him so little. 
How shall I dote on her with more advice, 
That thus without advice begin to love her ! 
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 
And that hath dazzled my reason's light; 210 

But when I look on her perfections, 
There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
If I can check my erring love, I will ; 
If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Exit. 

Scene V. The same. A street. 
Enter Speed and Launce severally. 
Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to 
Milan ! 

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, 
for I am not welcome. I reckon this always. 



Scene v.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



-■-) 



that a man is never undone till he be hanged, 
nor never welcome to a place tiil some certain 
shot be paid and the hostess say ' Welcome !' 

Speed. Come on, you madcap, I'll to the 
alehouse with you presently; where, for one 
shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thousand 
welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part 
with Madam Julia? 

Lauuce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, 
they parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him? 

Laztnce. No. 

Speed. How then? shall he marry her? 

Launce. No, neither. 

Speed. What, are they broken ? 

Lauuce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 

Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter 
with them? 

Lauuce. Marry, thus ; when it stands well 
with him, it stands well with her. 

Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand 
thee not. 

Lauuce. What a block art thou, that thou 
canst not ! My staff understands me. 

Speed. What thou sayest? 

Lauuce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, 
I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Lauuce. Why, stand-under and under-stand 
is all one. 

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? 

Lauuce. Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will; if 
he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail and say 
nothing, it will. 

Speed. The conclusion is then that it will. 

Lauuce. Thou shalt never get such a secret 
from me but by a parable. 

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
how sayest thou, that my master is become a 
notable lover? 

Launce. I never knew him otherwise. 

Speed. Than how? 

Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest 
him to be. 

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mis- 
takest me. 50 

Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant 
thy master. 

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot 
lover. 

Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though 
he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me 
to the alehouse ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a 
Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. 

Speed. Why? 

Lauuce. Because thou hast not so much cha- 
rity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. 
Wilt thou go? 

Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. The same. 77^ Duke's palace. 

Efiter Proteus. 
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn : 
And even that power which gave me first my oath 
Provokes me to this threefold perjury : 
Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear. 



sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd, 
Teach me, thy tempted subject., to excuse it! 
At first 1 did adore a twinkling star, 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 10 

Unheedful vows may needfully be broken, 
And he wants wit that wants resolved will 
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for betier. 
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do; 

But there I leave to love where I should love. 

Julia I lose and Valentine I lose: 

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 20 

It" I lose them, thus find I by their loss 

For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia. 

I to myself am dearer than a friend, 

For love is still most precious in itself; 

And Silvia — witness Heaven, that made her fair ! — 

Shows Julia but a swarthy Kthiope. 

I will forget that Julia is alive, 

Remembering that my love to her is dead; 

And Valentine I '11 hold an enemy, 

Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 30 

I cannot now prove constant to myself, 

Without some treachery used to Valentine. 

This night he meancth with a corded ladder 

To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window, 

Myself in counsel, his competitor. 

Now presently I'll give her father notice 

Of their disguising and pretended flight ; 

Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine; 

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter; 

But, Valentine being gone, I '11 quickly cross 40 

By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, 

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit. 

Scene VII. Verona. Julia's house. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me ; 
And even in kind love I do conjure thee, 
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly characler'd and engraved, 
To lesson me and tell me some good mean 
How, with my honour, I may undertake 
A journey to my loving Proteus. 

Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long! 

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; 10 
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, 
And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. 

Luc. Better forbear till Proteus make return. 

Jul. O, know'st thou not his looks are my 
soul's food? 
Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 
By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow 
As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 20 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot 
fire, 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more 
it burns. 
The current that with gentle murmur glides, 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act hi. 



Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth 

rage; _ 
But when his fair course is not hindered, 
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, 30 

And so by many winding nooks he strays 
With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
Then let me go and hinder not my course : 
I '11 be as patient as a gentle stream 
And make a pastime of each weary step, 
Till the last step have brought me to my love; 
And there I '11 rest, as after much turmoil 
A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Luc. But in what habit will you go along? 

Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 
The loose encounters of lascivious men: 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may beseem some well-reputed page. 

Lite. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your 
hair. 

Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings 
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots. 
To be fantastic may become a youth 
Of greater time than I shall show to be. 

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your 
breeches? 

Jul. That fits as well as ' Tell me, good my lord, 
What compass will you wear your farthingale?' 
Why even what fashion thou best likest, Lucetta. 

Luc. You must needs have them with a cod- 
piece, madam. 

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ! that will be ill- 
favour'd. 

Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth 
a pin, 
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. 

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have 
What thou thinkest meet and is most mannerly. 
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me 
For undertaking so unstaid a journey? 60 

I fear me, it will make me scandalized. 

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home and 
go not. 

Jul. Nay, that I will not. 

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like your journey when you come, 
No matter who's displeased when you are gone : 
I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: 
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears 
And instances of infinite of love 70 

Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effecl: ! 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth ; 
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, 
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, 
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. 

Luc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you come 
to him ! 

Jul. Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that 
wrong 80 

To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
Only deserve my love by loving him; 
And presently go with me to my chamber, 
To take a note of what I stand in need of, 
To furnish me upon my longing journey. 



All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 

My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 

Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. 

Come, answer not, but to it presently ! 

I am impatient of my tarriance. {Exeunt. 90 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Milan. The Duke's palace. 
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; 
We have some secrets to confer about. 

[Exit Thu. 
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? 

Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would 
discover 
The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; 
But when I call to mind your gracious favours 
Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
My duty pricks me on to utter that 
Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, 
This night intends to steal away your daughter: 
Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
I know you have determined to bestow her 
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; 
And should she thus be stol'n away from you, 
It would be much vexation to your age. 
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
To cross my friend in his intended drift 
Than, by concealing it. heap on your head 
A pack of sorrows which would press you down, 
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 21 

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest 
care; 
Which to requite, command me while I live. 
This love of theirs myself have often seen, 
Haply when they have judged me fast asleep, 
And oftentimes have purposed to forbid 
Sir Valentine her company and my court : 
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err 
And so unworthily disgrace the man, 
A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, 30 

I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find 
That which thyself hast now disclosed to me. 
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, 
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a 
mean 
How he her chamber-window will ascend 
And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 40 
For which the youthful lover now is gone 
And this way comes he with it presently ; 
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly 
That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 

Pro. Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming. 
[Exit. 50 

Enter Valentine. 
Dtike. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 



Scene r.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERON. 



Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
And I am going to deliver them. 

Duke. Be they of much import? 

Val. The tenour of them doth but signify 
My health and happy being at your court. 

Duke. Nay then, no matter; stay with me 
awhile ; 
I am to break with thee of some affairs 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought 61 
To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. 

Val. I know it well, my Lord ; and, sure, the 
match 
Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentle- 
man 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities 
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: 
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him? 

Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, 
froward. 
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty, 
Neither regarding that she is my child 70 

Nor fearing me as if I were her father; 
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; 
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like 

duty, 
I now am full resolved to take a wife 
And turn her out to who will take her in : 
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower; 
For me and my possessions she esteems not. 

Val. What would your Grace have me to do 
in this? So 

Duke. fThere is a lady in Verona here 
Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy 
And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor — 
For long agone I have forgot to court ; 
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed — 
How and which way I may bestow myself 
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respeel not 
words : 
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind 90 

More than quick words do move a woman's mind. 

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent 
her. 

Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best 
contents her. 
Send her another; never give her o'er; 
For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
But rather to beget more love in you : 
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 100 

For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away !' 
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels* faces. 
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 

Duke. But she I mean is promised by her 
friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, 
And kept severely from resort of men, 
That no man hath access by day to her. 

Val. Why, then, I would resort to her by night. 



Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys 
kept safe, m 

That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
Val. What lets but one may enter at her 

window? 
Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the 
ground, 
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 

Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of 
cords, 
To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks. 
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
So bold Leander would adventure it. 120 

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 
/ 'til. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell 

me that. 
Duke. This very night; for Love is like a 
child, 
That longs for every thing that he can come by. 
Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a 

ladder. 
Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone : 
How shall I best convey the ladder thither? 
Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may 
bear it 
Under a cloak that is of any length. 130 

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will r.erve the 

turn ? 
Val. Ay, my good lord. 

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 

I '11 get me one of such another length. 

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my 

lord. 
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a 
cloak ? 
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. 
What letter is this same? What's here? 'To 

Silvia'! 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding. 
I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 
'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly, 

And slaves they are to me that send then 1 
O, could their master come and go as lightly. 
Himself would lodge where senseless they are 
lying ! 
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; 
While I, their king, that hither them importune, 
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath 
bless'd them, 
Because myself do want my servants' fortune : 
I curse myself, for they are sent by me, 
That they should harbour where their lord would 

be.' 
What's here? 150 

'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee." 
'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. 
Why, Phaethon, — for thou art Mcrops' son, — 
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car 
And with thy daring folly burn the world ? 
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 
Go, base intruder! overweening ^]a\c ! 
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mate-;. 
And think my patience, more than thy desert. 
Is privilege for thy departure hence : 160 ! 

Thank me for this more than for all the favours 
Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee. 
But if thou linger in my territories 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act hi 



Longer than swiftest expedition 

Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 

By heaven ! my wrath shall far exceed the love 

I ever bore my daughter or thyself. 

Be gone ! I will not hear thy vain excuse ; 

But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from 

hence. {Exit. 

Val. And why not death rather than living 

torment? 170 

To die is to be banish'd from myself; 
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her 
Is self from self: a deadly banishment ! 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? 
Unless it be to think that she is by 
And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
There is no music in the nightingale; 
Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 1S0 

There is no day for me to look upon ; 
She is my essence, and I leave to be, 
If I be not by her fair influence 
Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death : 
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Enter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 

Eaunce. Soho, soho ! 

Pro. What seest thou? 190 

Launce. Him we go to find: there's not a 
hair on's head but 'tis a Valentine. 

Pro. Valentine? 

Val. No. 

Pro. Who then? his spirit? 

Val. Neither. 

Pro. What then? 

Val. Nothing. 

Launce. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I 
strike? 

Pro. Who wouldst thou strike? 200 

Launce. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Launce. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray 
you, — 

Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, 
a word. 

Val. My ears are stopt and cannot hear good 
news, 
So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, 
For they are harsh, untuneable and bad. 

Val. Is Silvia dead? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 210 

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. 
Hath she forsworn me ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. 
What is your news ? 

Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you 
are vanished. 

Pro. That thou art banished— O, that's the 
news ! — 
From hence, from Silvia and from me thy friend. 

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, 
And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 220 
Doth Silvia know that I am banished? 



Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the 
doom — 
Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force — 
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; 
With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 

them 
As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears. 
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 231 
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
Besides, her intercession chafed him so, 
When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
That to close prison he commanded her, 
With many bitter threats of biding there. 

Val. No more; unless the next word that 
thou speak'st 
Have some malignant power upon my life : 
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 240 

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not 
help, 
And study help for that which thou lament' st. 
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence .- 
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 250 
The time now serves not to expostulate : 
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate ; 
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs. 
As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself, 
Regard thy danger, and along with me ! 

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest 
my boy, 
Bid him make haste and meet me at the North- 
gate. 
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valen- 
tine. 
Val. O my dear Silvia ! Hapless Valentine ! 260 
[Exeunt Val. and Pro. 
Launce. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet 
I have the wit to think my master is a kind of" a 
knave : but that's all one, if he be but one knave. 
He lives not now that knows me to be in love ; 
yet I am in love ; but a team of horse shall not 
pluck that from me ; nor who 'tis I love ; and yet 
'tis a woman; but what woman, I will not tell 
myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a 
maid, for she hath had gossips ; yet 'tis a maid, 
for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. 
She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel; 
which is much in a bare Christian. [Pulling out 
a paper. 1 Here is the cate-log of her condition. 
'Imprimis : She can fetch and carry.' Why, a 
horse can do no more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, 
but only carry; therefore is she better than a 
jade. 'Item: She can milk;' look you, a sweet 
virtue in a maid with clean hands. 

Enter Sr-EED. 
Speed. How now, Signior Launce ! what news 
with your mastership? 280 



Scene i.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



3'. 



Launce. With my master's ship? why, it is 
at sea. 

Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the 
word. What news, then, in your paper? 

Launce. The blackest news that ever thou 
heardest. 

Speed. Why, man, how black? 

Launce. Why, as black as ink. 

Speed. Let me read them. 

Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou canst 
not read. 291 

Speed: Thou liest ; I can. 

Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this : who 
begot thee? 

Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 

Launce. illiterate loiterer! it was the son 
of thy grandmother : this proves that thou canst 
not read. 

Speed. Come, fool, come ; try me in thy paper. 

Launce. There; and Saint Nicholas be thy 
speed ! 301 

Speed. [Reads] 'Imprimis: She can milk.' 

Launce. Ay, that she can. 

Speed. ' Item : She brews good ale.' 

Launce. And thereof comes the proverb : 
' Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.' 

Speed. ' Item : She can sew.' 

Launce. That's as much as to say, Can 
she so? 

Speed. ' Item : She can knit.' 310 

Launce. What need a man care for a stock 
with a wench, when she can knit him a stock? 

Speed. ' Item: She can wash and scour.' 

Launce. A special virtue ; for then she need 
not be washed and scoured. 

Speed. 'Item: She can spin.' 

Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels, 
when she can spin for her living. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath many nameless 
virtues.' 320 

Launce. That's as much as to say, bastard 
virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers and 
therefore have no names. 

Speed. ' Here follow her vices.' 

Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. 

Speed. ' Item : She is not to be kissed fasting, 
in respect of her breath.' 

Launce. Well, that fault may be mended with 
a breakfast. Read on. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath a sweet mouth.' 330 

Launce. That makes amends for her sour 
breath. 

Speed. ' Item: She doth talk in her sleep.' 

Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep 
not in her talk 

.Speed. ' Item : She is slow in words.' 

Launce. O villain, that set this down among 
her vices ! To be slow in words is a woman's 
only virtue : I pray thee, out with't, and place it 
for her chief virtue. 340 

Speed. 'Item: she is proud.' 

Launce. Out with that too; it was Eve's 
legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. 'Item: She hath no teeth.' 

Launce. I care not for that neither, because 
I love crusts. 

Speed. 'Item: She is curst.' 

Launce. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth 
to bite. 



Speed. 'Item: She will often praise her 
liquor.' 35! 

Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall : if 
she will not, I will; for good things should be 
praised. 

Speed. ' Item : She is too liberal.' 

Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's 
writ down she is slow of; of her purse she 
shall not, for that I'll keep shut: now, of another 
thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, 
proceed. 360 

Speed. ' Item : She hath more hair than wit, 
and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
faults.' 

Launce. Stop there; I'll have her: she was 
mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last 
article. Rehearse that once more. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath more hair than wit,' — 

Launce. More hair than wit? It may be; 
I'll prove it. The cover of the salt hides the 
salt, and therefore it is more than the salt ; the 
hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, 
for the greater hides the less. What's next? 

Speed. 'And more faults than hairs,' — 

Launce. That's monstrous : O, that that were 
out! 

Speed. 'And more wealth than faults.' 

Launce. Why, that word makes the faults 
gracious. Well, I'll have her: and if it be a 
match, as nothing is impossible, — 

Speed. What then? 380 

Lawicc. Why, then will I tell thee — that thy 
master stays for thee at the North-gate. 

Speed. For me ? 

Launce. For thee ! ay, who art thou? he hath 
stayed for a better man than thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him? 

Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast 
stayed so long that going will scarce serve the 
turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of 
your love-letters ! [Exit. 391 

Launce. Now will he be swinged for reading 
my letter; an unmannerly slave, that will thrust 
himself into secrets ! I'll after, to rejoice in the 
boy's correction. [Exit. 

Scene II. The same. The Duke's palace. 

Enter Duke and THURIO. 
Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will 
love you, 
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 

1 hu. Since his exile she hath despised me 
most, 
Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, 
That I am desperate of obtaining her. 

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. 
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts 
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. 10 

Enter Proteus. 
How now, Sir Proteus ! Is your countryman 
According to our proclamation gone? 

Pro. Gone, my good lord. 

Duke, My daughter takes his going grievously. 

Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 



34 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act iv. 



Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee — 
For thou hast shown some sign of good deserts- 
Makes me the better to confer with thee. 

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace 
Let me not live to look upon your grace. 21 

Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would 
effect 
The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. 

Pro. I do, my lord. 

Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
How she opposes her against my will. 

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was 
here. 

Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
What might we do to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio? 30 

Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent, 
Three things that women highly hold in hate. 

Duke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in 
hate. 

P?'o. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken 
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. 

Duke. Then you must undertake to slander 
him. 

Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do : 
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, 40 

Especially against his very friend. 

Duke. Where your good word cannot advant- 
age him, 
Your slander never can endamage him ; 
Therefore the office is indifferent, 
Being entreated to it by your friend. 

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord: if I can 
do it 
By ought that I can speak in his dispraise, 
She shall not long continue love to him. 
But say this weed her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. 50 

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from 
him, 
Lest it should ravel and be good to none, 
You must provide to bottom it on me ; 
Which must be done by praising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. 

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this 
kind, 
Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
You are already Love's firm votary 
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access 60 

Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
Where you may temper her by your persuasion 
To hate young Valentine and love my friend. 

Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : 
But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; 
You must lay lime to tangle her desires 
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. 70 

D?ike. Ay, 
Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 

Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty 
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears 
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line 



That may discover such integrity : 
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, 
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
Make tigers tame and huge leviathans 80 

Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
After your dire-lamenting elegies, 
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
With some sweet concert; to their instruments , 
Tune a deploring dump : the night's dead silence 
Will well become such sweet-complaining griev- 
ance. 
This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 

Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been 
in love. 

Thu. And thy advice this night I '11 put in 
practice. 
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 90 
Let us into the city presently 
To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. 
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn 
To give the onset to thy good advice. 

Duke. About it, gentlemen ! 

Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after 
supper, 
And afterward determine our proceedings. 

Duke. Even now about it ! I will pardon you. 
lEjceunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest. 
Enter certai?i Outlaws. 

First Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a pas- 
senger. 

Sec. Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but 
down with 'em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 
Third Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that 
you have about ye : 
If not, we'll make you sit and rifle you. 
Speed. Sir, we are undone; these are the 
villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 
Val. My friends, — 
First Out. That 's not so, sir : we are your 

enemies. 
Sec. Out. Peace! we'll hear him. 
Third Out. Ay, by my beard, will we, for 
he's a proper man. 10 

Val. Then know that I have little wealth to 
lose: 
A man I am cross'd with adversity ; 
My riches are these poor habiliments, 
Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
You take the sum and substance that I hav.e. 
Sec. Out. Whither travel you ? 
Val. To Verona. 
First Out. Whence came you? 
Val. From Milan. 

Third Out. Have you long sojourned there? 
Val. Some sixteen months, and longer might 
have stay'd, 
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 

First Out. What, were you banish'd thence ? 
Val. I was. 

Sec. Out. For what offence? 
Val. For that which now torments me to re- 
hearse : 



Scene i.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



35 



I I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; 
j But yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
J Without false vantage or base treachery. 

First Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were 
done so. 30 

' Eut were you banish'd for so small a fault? 

Veil. 1 was, and held me glad of such a doom. 
I Sec. Out. Have you the tongues'/ 

Val. My youthful travel therein made me 
happy. 
Or else 1 often had been miserable. 

I Third Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's 
fat friar, 
This fellow were a king for our wild factum ! 
First Out. We'll have him. .Sirs, a word. 
Speed. Master, be one of them ; it's an 
honourable kind of thievery. 40 

Val. Peace, villain ! 
Sec. Out. Tell us this : have you any thing to 

take to? 
\'al. Nothing but my fortune. 
Third < het. Know, then, that some of us are 
gentlemen, 
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
I Thrust from the company of awful men; 

Vtyselfwas from Verona banished 
' For practising to steal away a lady, 
j An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 

Sec. Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentle- 
man, 50 
Who. in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 
First Out. And I for such like petty crimes 
as these. 
But to the purpose — for we cite our faults, 
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives ; 
And partly, seeing you are beautified 
With goodly shape and by your own report 
A linguist and a man of such perfection 
As we do in our quality much want — 

Sec. Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd 
man, 
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : 60 
Are you content to be our general? 
To make a virtue of necessity 
And live, as we do, in this wilderness? 

Third Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of 
our consort? 
Say ay, and be the captain of us all : 
We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee, 
Love thee as our commander and our king. 
First Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, 

thou diest. 
Sec . Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we 

have offer'd. 
Val. I take your offer and will live with you. 
Provided that you do no outrages 71 

On silly women or poor passengers. 

Third Out. No, we detest such vile base prac- 
tices. 
Come, go with us. we'll bring thee to our crews, 
And show thee all the treasure we have got ; 
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy disp ise. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Milan. Outside the Duke's palace, 
under Silvia's chamber. 

Enter Proteus. 
Pro. Already have T been false to Valentine 



And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 

Under the colour of commending him, 

I have access my own love to prefer : 

But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 

To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 

When I protest true loyalty to her, 

She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; 

When to her beauty I commend my vows, 

She bids me think how 1 have been forsworn 10 

In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved: 

And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, 

The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 

Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 

The more it grows and fawneth on her still. 

But here comes Thurio : now must we to her 

window, 
And give some evening music to her ear. 

Enter Thurio and Musicians. 
Thu. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept 

before us? 
Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio: for you know thai 
love 
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 20 

Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
Thu. Who? Silvia? 

Pro. Ay, Silvia ; for your sake. | 

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gen- 
tlemen, 
Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 

Enter, at a distance, Host, and Julia in 
boy's clothes. 

Host. Now, my young guest, methinks you're 
allycholly: 1 pray you, why is it? 

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be 
merry. 

Host. Come, we'll have you merry : I'll bring 
you where you shall hear music and see the gen- 
tleman that you asked for. 

Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? 

Host. Ay, that you shall. 

Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. 

Host. Hark, hark ! 

Jul. Is he among these ? 

Host. Ay : but, peace ! let's hear 'em. 

Song. 
Who is Silvia? what is she, 

That all our swains commend her? 4^ 

Holy, fair and wise is she ; 

The heaven such grace did lend her, 
That she might admired be. 
Is she kind as she is fair? 

For beauty lives with kindness. 
Love doth to her eyes repair, 

To help him of his blindness, 
And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
Then to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling ; 50 

She excels each mortal thing 

Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
To her let us garlands bring. 

Host. How now! are you sadder than you 
were before? How do you, man? the music 
likes you not. 

J.iL You mistake; the musician likes me not. 



Host Why, my pretty youth? 

Jul. He plays false, father. 

Host How? out of tune on the strings? 60 

Jul Not so; but yet so false that he grieves 
ray very heart-strings. 

Host. You have a quick ear. 

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me 
have a slow heart. 

Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 

Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 

Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 

Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. 

Host You would have them always play but 
one thing? 71 

Jul. I woidd always have one play but one 
thing. 
But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on 
Often resort unto this gentlewoman? 

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told 
me : he loved her out of all nick. 

Jul. Where is Launce? 

Host Gone to seek his dog ; which to-mor- 
row, by his master's command, he must carry for 
a present to his lady. 80 

Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you : I will so plead 
That you shall say my cunning drift excels. 

Thu. Where meet we ? 

Pro. At Saint Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. 

[Exeunt Thu. and Musicians. 

Enter Silvia above. 

Pro. Maclam, good even to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. 
Who is that that spake? 

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's 
truth, 
You would quickly learn to know him by his 
voice. 

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 90 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 

Sil. What's your will? 

Pro. That I may compass yours. 

Sil. You have your wish ; my will is even this : 
That presently you hie you home to bed. 
Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man! 
Think'st thou L am so shallow, so conceitless, 
To be seduced by thy flattery, 
That hast deceived so many with thy vows? 
Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, 100 
I am so far from granting thy request 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, 
And by and by intend to chide myself 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
But she is dead. 

Jul. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it ; 
For I am sure she is not buried. 

Sil. Say that she be ; yet Valentine thy friend 
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness, no 

I am betroth'd : and art thou not ashamed 
To wrong him with thy importunacy? 

P7-o. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. 

Sil. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave 
Assure thyself my love is buried. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave and call hers thence, 



Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 

Jul. [Aside] He heard not that. 

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 121 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep: 
For since the substance of your perfecl self 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
And to your shadow will I make true love. 

Jul. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, 
sure, deceive it, 
And make it but a shadow, as I am. 

Sil. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; 
But since your falsehood shall become you well 
To worship shadows and adore false shapes, 131 
Send to me in the morning and I '11 send it : 
And so, good rest. 

Pro. _ As wretches have o'ernight 

That wait for execution in the morn. 

[Exeunt Pro. and Sil. severally. 

Jul. Host, will you go ? 

Host By my halidom, I was fast asleep. 

Jul. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus ? 

Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I 
think 'tis almost day. 

Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
That e'er I watch'd and the most heaviest. 141 

[Exeunt 

Scene III. The same. 
Enter Eglamour. 
Eg I. This is the hour that Madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call and know her mind : 
There 's some great matter she 'Id employ me in. 
Madam, madam! 

Enter Silvia above. 

Sil. Who calls? 

Egl. Your servant and your friend ; 

One that attends your ladyship's command. 

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good 
morrow. 

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself : 
According to your ladyship's impose, 
I am thus early come to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 10 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman — 
Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not — 
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd : 
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine, 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. 
Thyself hast loved ; and I have heard thee say 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart 
As when thy lady and thy true lov2 died, 20 

Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode ; 
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
I do desire thy worthy company, 
Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, 
And on the justice of my flying hence, 
To keep me from a most unholy match, 30 

Which heaven and fortune still rewards with 
plagues. 



Scene hi.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



37 



I do desire thee, even from a heart 
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
To bear me company and go with me : 
If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
That I may venture to depart alone. 

Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; 
Which since I know they virtuously are placed, 
I give consent to go along with you, 
Recking as little what betideth me 40 

As much I wish all good befortune you. 
When will you go? 

Sil. This evening coming. 

Egl. Where shall I meet you? 
, Sil. At Friar Patrick's cell, 

Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good 
'morrow, gentle lady. 

Sil. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene IV. The same. 
Enter Launce, -with his Dog. 
Launce. When a man's servant shall play the 
cur with him, look you, it goes hard : one that I 
brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from 
drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers 
and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even 
las one would say precisely, 'thus I would teach a 
dog.' I was sent to deliver him as a present to 
Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no 
sooner into the dining-chamber but he steps me 
to her trencher and steals her capon's leg: O, 
I 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself 
in all companies! I would have, as one should 
say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, 
to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had 
not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon 
me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged 
for't; sure as I live, he had suffered for't: you 
shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the com- 
pany of three or four gentlemanlike dogs, under 
' the duke's table : he had not been there — bless 
I the mark ! — a pissing while, but all the chamber 
smelt him. 'Out with the dog !' says one : 'What 
cur is that?' says another: 'Whip him out' says 
I the third: 'Hang him up' says the duke. I, 
I having been acquainted with the smell before, 
knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that 
(whips the dogs: 'Friend,' quoth I, 'you mean to 
I whip the dog?' 'Ay, marry, do I,' quoth he. 
( 'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I ; "twas I 
1 did the thing you wot of.' He makes me no 
j more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. 
How many masters would do this for his servant? 
Nay, I '11 be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for 
puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been 
I executed ; I have stood on the pillory for geese 
he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't. 
Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember 
the trick you served me when I took my leave of 
1 Madam Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me 
and do as I do? when didst thou see me heave up 
Tiiv leg and make water against a gentlewoman's 
farthingale? didst thou ever see me do such a 
trick? 

Enter Proteus and Julia. 
Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well 
And will employ thee in some service presently. 



Jul. In what you please : I'll do what I can. 

Pro. I hope thou wilt. [To Launce\ How 
now, you whoreson peasant! 
Where have you been these two days loitering? 

Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia 
the dog you bade me. 50 

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 

Launce. Marry, she says your clog was a cur, 
and tells you currish thanks is good enough for 
such a present. 

Pro. But she received my dog? 

Launce. No, indeed, did she not: here have 
I brought him back again. 

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? 

Launce. Ay, sir ; the other squirrel was stolen 
from me by the hangman boys in the market- 
place : and then I offered her mine own, who is a 
dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift 
the greater. 

Pro. Go get thee hence, and find my dog 
again, 
Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
Away, I say! stay'st thou to vex me here? 

[Exit Launce. 
A slave, that still an end turns me to shame ! 
Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
Partly that I have need of such a youth 
That can with some discretion do my business, 70 
For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, 
But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, 
Which, if my augury deceive me not, 
Witness good bringing up, fortune and truth : 
Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
Go presently and take this ring with thee, 
Deliver it to Madam Silvia: 
She loved me well deliver'd it to me. 

Jul. It seems you loved not her, to leave her 
token. 
She is dead, belike? 

Pro. Not so ; I think she lives. 80 

Jul. Alas ! 

Pro. Why dost thou cry ' alas ' ? 

Jul. I cannot choose 

But pity her. 

Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? 

Jul. Because methinks that she loved you 
as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia : 
She dreams on him that has forgot her love ; 
You dote on her that cares not for your love. 
'Tis pity love should be so contrary; 
And thinking on it makes me cry ' alas !' 

Pro. Well, give her that ring and therewithal 
This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady 
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
Where thou shaltfmd me, sad and solitary. [Exit. 

Jul. How many women would do such a mes- 
sage? 
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. 
Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
That with his very heart despiscth mc? 
Because he loves her, he despiscth me ; 100 

Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave him when he parted from mc, 
To bind him to remember my good will : 
And now am I, unhappy messenger, 
To plead for that which I would not obtain, 



33 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act v. 



To carry that which I would have refused, 

To praise his faith which I would have dispraised. 

I am my master's true-confirmed love ; 

But cannot be true servant to my master, 

Unless I prove false traitor to myself. no 

Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly 

As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 

Enter Silvia, attended. 

Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. 

Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she? 

Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience. 
To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 

Sil. From whom? 

Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. 

Sil. O, he sends you for a picture. 120 

Jul. Ay, madam. 

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
Go give your master this : tell him from me, 
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. — 
Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvised 
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : 
This is the letter to your ladyship. 

Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 

Jul. It may not be; good madam, pardon me. 

Sil. There, hold ! 
I will not look upon your master's lines : 
I know they are stuff'd with protestations 
And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break 
As easily as I do tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 

Sil. The more shame for him that he sends 
it me ; 
For I have heard him say a thousand times 
His Julia gave it him at his departure. _ 140 

Though his false finger have profaned the ring, 
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 

Jul. She thanks you. 

Sil. What say'st thou ? 

Jtil. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. 
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 

Sil. Dost thou know her? 

Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself: 
To think upon her woes I do protest 
That I have wept a hundred several times. 150 

Sil. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath for- 
sook her. 

Jul. I think she doth ; and that's her cause of 
sorrow. 

Sil. Is she not passing fair? 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is : 
When she did think my master loved her well, 
She, in my judgement, was as fair as you; 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass 
And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks 
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 160 

That now she is become as black as I. 

Sil. How tall was she? 

Jul. About my stature ; for at Pentecost, 
When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown, 
Which served me as fit, by all men's judgements, 
As if the garment had been made for me : 



Therefore I know she is about my height. 

And at that time I made her weep agood, 170 

For I did play a lamentable part : 

Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning 

For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; 

Which I so lively acted with my tears 

That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 

Wept bitterly ; and would I might be dead 

If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 

Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. 
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left ! 
I weep myself to think upon thy words. 180 

Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this 
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lovest 

her. 
Farewell. [Exit Silvia, with attendants. 

Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er 
you know her. 
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful 1 
I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle with itself! 
Here is her picture : let me see ; I think, 
If I had such a tire, this face of mine 190 

Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
If that be all the difference in his love, 
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. 
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine : 
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. 
What should it be that he respects in her 
But I can make respective in myself, 200 

If this fond Love were not a blinded god? 
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, 
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, 
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved and adored ! 
And, were there sense in his idolatry, 
My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, 
That used me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 
To make my master out of love with thee ! [Exit. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Milan. An abbey. 

Enter Eglamour. 
Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky ; 
And now it is about the very hour 
That Silvia, at Friar Patrick's cell, should 

meet me. 
She will not fail, for lovers break not hours, 
Unless it be to come before their time; 
So much they spur their expedition. 
See where she comes. 



Enter Silvia. 

Lady, a happy evening ! 
Sil. Amen, amen ! Go on, good Eglamour, 
Out at the postern by the abbey-wall : 
I fear I am attended by some spies. 10 

Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three 
leagues off; 
If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. 



Scene ii.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



39 



Scene II. The same. T/ieDvKE's palace. 

Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 
Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my 

suit? 
Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was ; 
And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
Thu. What, that my leg is too long? 
Pro. No ; that it is too little. 
Thu. I '11 wear a boot, to make it somewhat 

rounder. 
Jul. [Aside] But love will not he spurr'd to 

what it loathes. 
Thu. What says she to my face ? 
Pro. She says it is a fair one. 
Thu. Nay then, the wanton lies ; my face is 

black. 10 

Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old say- 
ing is, 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 
Jul. [Aside] "Pis true ; such pearls as put out 

ladies' eyes; 
For I had rather wink than look on them. 
Thu. How likes she my discourse? 
Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and 

peace ? 
Jul. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you 

hold your peace. 
Thu. What says she to my valour? 
Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 20 
J id. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows 

it cowardice. 
Thu. What says she to my birth? 
Pro. That you are well derived. 
Jul. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a 

fool. 
Thu. Considers she my possessions? 
Pro. O, ay ; and pities them. 
Thu. Wherefore? 
Jul. [Aside] That such an ass should owe 

them. 
Pro. That, they are out by lease. 
Jul. Here comes the duke. 30 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. How now, Sir Proteus ! how now, 
Thurio ! 
Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late? 

Thu. Not I. 

Pro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 

Pro. Neither. 

Duke. Why then, 
She's fled unto that peasant Valentine; 
And Eglamour is in her company. 
'Tis true; for Friar Laurence met them both, 
As he in penance wander'd through the forest; 
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she, 
But, I eing mask'd, he was not sure of it; 40 

Besides, she did intend confession 
At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she 

was not ; 
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
But mount you presently and meet with me 
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot 
That leads toward .Mantua, whither they are fled : 
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 



Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
That flies her fortune when it follows her. 50 

I '11 after, more to be revenged on Eglamour 
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 

Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love 
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit. 

Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that 
love 
Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love. [Exit. 

Scene III. The frontiers of Mantua. 
The forest. 

Enter Outlaws with Silvia. 
First Out. Come, come, 
Be patient ; we must bring you to our captain. 
Sil. A thousand more mischances than this 
one 
Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 
Sec. Out. Come, bring her away. ' 
First Out. Where is the gentleman that was 

with her? 
Third Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath 
outrun us, 
But Moyses and Valerius follow him. 
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; 
There is our captain: we'll follow him that's 
fled ; 10 

The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 

First Out. Come, I must bring you to our 
captain's cave : 
Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the forest. 
Enter Valentine. 
Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns: 
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
Tune my distresses and record my woes. 
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, 
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall 
And leave no memory of what it was ! 10 

Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
What halloing and what stir is this to-day? 
These are my mates, that make their wills 

their law, 
Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 
They love me well ; yet I have much to do 
To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
Withdraw thee, Valentine': who's this convjs 
here? 

Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 

Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, 

Though you respect not aught your servant doth, I 

To hazard life and rescue you from him 21 

That would have forced your honour and your 

love ; 
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; 
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg 
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot crive. 



4° 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act v. 



Val. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see 
and hear ! 
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. 

Sil. <) miserable, unhappy that I am ! 

Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; 
But by my coming 1 have made you happy. 30 

Sil. By tliy approach thou makest me most 
unhappy. 

Jul. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth 
to your presence. 

Sil. Had 1 been seized by a hungry lion, 
I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
( ), I leaven be judge how 1 love Valentine, 
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ! 
And full as much, for more there cannot be, 
I do detest false perjured Proteus. 
Therefore he gone ; solicit me no more. 40 

Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to 
death, 
Would I not undergo for one calm look ! 
( ), 'tis the curse in love, and still approved, 
When women cannot love where they're beloved ! 

Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he 's be- 
loved. 
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy 

faith 
Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths 
I ><• .--ended into perjury, to love me. 
Ilii. 11 hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two; 
And that's far worse than none ; better have none 
Than plural faith which is too much by one: 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 

Pro. In love 

Who respects friend? 

Sil. All men but Proteus. 

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 
I '11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, 
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, — force ye. 

Sil. heaven ! 

Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. 

Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, 
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 

Pro. Valentine! 61 

Val. Thou common friend, that's without 
faith or love, 
For such is a friend now ; treacherous man ! 
Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine 

eye 
Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say 
I have one Friend alive ; thou wouldst disprove me. 
Who should he trusted, when one's own right hand 
I 5 perjured t-> the bosom? Proteus, 
I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
I ',ut count the world a stranger for thy sake. 70 
The private wound is deepest: O time most ac- 
curst, 
'MongSt all foes that a friend should be the worst ! 

Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me. 
Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow 
Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
I tender 't here ; 1 do as truly suffer 
As e'er I did commit. 

/ 'al. Then I am paid : 

And once again I do receive thee honest. 
Who by repentance is not satisfied 
Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. 



Py penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeased : 81 
And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 

Jul. O me unhappy ! [Swoons. 

Pro. Look to the boy. 

Val. Why, boy 1 why, wag ! how now ! what 's 
the matter? Lookup; speak. 

Jul. O good sir, my master charged me to 
deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of my 
> J < I, was never done. 90 

Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 

'ul. Here 'tis; this is it. 

Pro. How ! let me see : 
Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. 

Jul. (), cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook: 
This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 

Pro. Put how earnest thou by this ring? At 
my depart 
I gave this unto Julia. 

Jul. And Julia herself did give it me; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

Pro. How! Julia! 100 

Jul. Pehold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, 
And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. 
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root ! 

Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! 
Pe thou ashamed that I have took upon me 
Such an immodest raiment, if shame live 
In a disguise of love : 

It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 
Women to change their shapes than men their 
minds. 
Pro. Than men their minds ! 'tis true. O 
heaven ! were man 1 10 

Put constant, he were perfect. That one error 
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all 

the sins: 
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. 
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? 
Val. Come, come, a hand from either: 
Let me be blest to make this happy close; 
"J'were pity two such friends should be long foes. 
Pro. Pear witness, Heaven, 1 have my wish 

for ever. 
Jul. And I mine. 120 

Enter Outlaws, with Duke ««^Thurio. 

Outlaws. A prize, a prize, a prize ! 

Val. Forbear, forbear, I say ! it is my lord 
the duke. 
Your grace is welcome to a man disgraced, 
Banished Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine ! 

Tint. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. 

Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy 
death ; 
Come not within the measure of my wrath ; 
Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
t Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands : 
Take but possession of her with a touch : 130 

1 dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 

Tim. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I : 
I hold him but a fool that will endanger 
His body for a girl that loves him not : 
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 

Duke. The more degenerate and base art 
thou, 
To make such means for her as thou hast done 



Scene iv.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



And leave her on such slight conditions. 

Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 

I do applaud thy spirit, Valentin':, 140 

And think thee worthy of an empress' love ! 

Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 

( 'am cl all grudge, repeal thee home again, 

Plead a new state in thy unrival'd merit, 

To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine, 

Thou art a gentleman and well derived ; 

'lake thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved her. 

Val. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made 
me happy. 
I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you 

Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er i: I e. 

/ 'dl. These banish'd men that I have kept 
withal 
Are men endued with worthy qualities : 
Forgive them what they have committed here 
And let them be recall'd from their exile: 
They are reformed, civil, full of good 



And lit for great employment, worthy lord. 

Duke. Thou hast prevaild; I pardon them 
and thee : 
Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. 
Come, fet us go: we will include all jars 160 

With triumphs, mirth and rare solemnity. 

Val. And, as we walk along, 1 dare be bold 
With our discourse to make your grace to smile. 
What think yon of this page, my fo 

Duke. 1 think the hoy hath grace in him; he 
blushes. 

]'al. 1 warrant you, my lord, more grace than 
boy. 

Duke. What mean you by that saying? 

I'a/. Please you, 1 'II tell you as we pass along, 
That you will wonder what hath fortuned. 
Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance but to hear 170 

The story of your loves discovered : 

That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; 

One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 

[Exeunt. 



THE 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Sir John Falstaff. 
Fenton, a gentleman. 
Shallow, a country justice. 
Slender, cousin to Shallow. 

Pace'} tw0 gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. 
William Page, a boy, son to Page. 
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh parson. 
Doctor Caius, a French physician. 
Host of the Garter Inn. 
Bardolph, I 

Pistol, > sharpers attending on Falstaff. 
Nym, J 



Robin, page to Falstaff. 
Simple, servant to Slender. 
Rugby, servant to Doctor Caius. 

Mistress Ford. 

Mistress Page. 

Anne Page, her daughter. 

Mistress Quickly, servant to Doctor Caius. 

Servants to Page, Ford, &c. 

Scene : Windsor, and the neighborhood. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Windsor. Before Page's house. 

Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir 
Hugh Evans. 

Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will 
make a Star-chamber matter of it : if he were 
twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse 
Robert Shallow, esquire. 

Slen. In the county of Gloucester, justice of 
peace and 'Coram.' 

Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and 'Custalorum.' 

Slen. Ay, and ' Rato-lorum ' too ; and a gen- 
tleman born, master parson ; who writes himself 
'Armigero,' in any bill, warrant, quittance, or 
obligation, 'Armigero.' _ n 

Shal. Ay, that I do ; and have done any time 
these three hundred years. 

Slen. All his successors gone before him hath 
done 't ; and all his ancestors that come after him 
may: they may give the dozen white luces in 
their coat. 

Shal. It is an old coat. 

Evans. The dozen white louses do become 
an old coat well; it agrees well, passant; it is a 
familiar beast to man, and signifies love. 21 

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish 
is an old coat. 

Slen. I may quarter, coz. 

Shal. You may, by marrying. 

Evans. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. 

Shal. Not a whit. 

Evans. Yes, py 'r lady ; if he has a quarter of 
your coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, 
in my simple conjectures: but that is all one. If 
Sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements 
unto you, I am of the church, and will be glad to 
do my benevolence to make atonements and corn- 
premises between you. 

Shal. The council shall hear it ; it is a riot. 

Evans. It is not meet the council hear a riot; 
there is no fear of Got in a riot: the council, 



look you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and 
not to hear a riot; take your vizaments in that. 

Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, 
the sword should end it. 41 

Evans. It is petter that friends is the sword, 
and end it : and there is also another device in 
myprain, which peradventure prings goot discre- 
tions with it : there is Anne Page, which is 
daughter to Master Thomas Page, which is pretty 
virginity. 

Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown 
hair, and speaks small like a woman. 

Evans. It is that fery person for all the orld, 
as just as you will desire ; and seven hundred 
pounds of moneys, and gold and silver, is her 
grandsire upon his death's-bed — Got deliver to a 
joyful resurrections! — give, when she is able to 
overtake seventeen years old : it were a goot mo- 
tion if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and 
desire a marriage between Master Abraham and 
Mistress Anne Page. 

Slen. Did her grandsire leave her seven hun- 
dred pound ? 60 

Evans. Ay, and her father is make her a pet- 
ter penny. 

Slen. I know the young gentlewoman ; she 
has good gifts. 

Evans. Seven hundred pounds and possibili- 
ties is goot gifts. 

Shal. Well, let us see honest Master Page. 
Is Falstaff there ? 

Evans. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar 
as I do despise one that is false, or as I despise one 
that is not true. The knight, Sir John, is there ; 
and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. 
I will peat the door for Master Page. [Knocks] 
What, hoa ! Got pless your house here ! 

Page. [ Within] Who 's there ? 

Enter Page. 

Evans. Here is Got's plessing, and your 
friend, and Justice Shallow; and here young 



Scene i.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Master Slender, that peradventures shall tell you 
another tale, if matters grow to your likings. 

Page. I am glad to see your worships well. 
I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow. 81 

Skal. Master Page, I am glad to see you : 
much good do it your good heart! I wished 
your venison better ; it was ill killed. How doth 
good Mistress Page? — and I thank you always 
with my heart, la ! with my heart. 

Page. Sir, I thank you. 

Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good Master 
Slender. 90 

Sien. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? 
I heard say he was outrun on Cotsall. 

Page. It could not be judged, sir. 

Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 

Shal. That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis 
your fault ; 'tis a good dog. 

Page. A cur, sir. 

Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: 
can there be more said? he is good and fair. Is 
Sir John Falstaff here? 100 

Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could 
do a good office between you. 

Evans. It is spoke as a Christians ought to 
speak. 

Shal. He hath wronged me, Master Page. 

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 

Shal. If it be confessed, it is not redressed : 
is not that so, Master Page? He hath wronged 
me ; indeed he hath ; at a word, he hath, believe 
me : Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wronged. 

Page. Here comes Sir John. 111 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, 
and Pistol. 

Fal. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain 
of me to the king? 

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed 
my deer, and broke open my lodge. 

Fal. But not kissed your keeper's daughter? 

Shal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered. 

Fal. I will answer it straight ; I have done all 
this. 
That is now answered. 

Shal. The council shall know this. 120 

Fal. 'Twere better for you if it were known 
in counsel: you'll be laughed at. 

Evans. Pauca verba, Sir John ; goot worts. 

Fal. Good worts ! good cabbage. Slender, I 
broke your head : what matter have you against 
me? 

Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
against you ; and against your cony-catching ras- 
cals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. 

Bard. You Banbury cheese ! 130 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ! 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Nym. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca : slice ! that 's 
my humour. 

Slen. Where's Simple, my man? Can you 
tell, cousin ? 

Evans. Peace, I pray you. Now let us un- 
derstand. There is three umpires in this matter, 
as I understand; that is, Master Page, fidelicet 
Master Page ; and there is myself, fidelicet my- 



self; and the three party is, lastly and finally, 
mine host of the Garter. 

Page. We three, to hear it and end it between 
them. 

Evans. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it 
in my note-book ; and we will afterwards ork 
upon the cause with as great discreetly as we can. 

Fal. Pistol ! 

Pist. He hears with ears. 150 

Evans. The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase 
is this, 'He hears with ear'? why, it is affecta- 
tions. 

Fal. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's 
purse ? 

Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, or I would 
I might never come in mine own great chamber 
again else, of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and 
two Edward shovel-boards, that cost me two 
shilling and two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, 
by these gloves. 161 

Fal. Is this true, Pistol? 

Evans. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 

Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John 
and master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo. 
Word of denial in thy labras here ! 
Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest ! 

Slen. By these gloves, then, 'twas he. 

Nym. Be avised, sir, and pass good hu- 
mours: I will say 'marry trap' with you, if you 
run the nuthook s humour on me ; that is the 
very note of it. 

Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red face 
had it ; for though I cannot remember, what I 
did when you made me drunk, yet I am not alto- 
gether an ass. 

Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John ? 

Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gen- 
tleman had drunk himself out of his five sen- 
tences. 180 

Evans. It is his five senses: fie, what the 
ignorance is ! 

Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, 
cashiered ; and so conclusions passed the careires. 

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 
'tis no matter : I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live 
again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for 
this trick: if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with 
those that have the fear of God, and not with 
drunken knaves. 190 

Evans. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous 
mind. 

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gen- 
tlemen ; you hear it. 

Enter Anne Page, with wine; Mistress 
Ford and Mistress Page, following. 
Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; 
we'll drink within. [Exit Anne Page. 

Slen. O heaven ! this is Mistress Anne Page. 
Page. How now, Mistress Ford ! 
Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very 
well met : by your leave, good mistress. 200 

[Kisses her. 
Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. 
Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner: 
come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down 
all unkindness. 

[Exeunt all except Shal., Slen., and Evans. 



44 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act 



Slen. I had rather than forty shillings I had 
my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. 

Enter Simple. 
How now, Simple ! where have you been ? I 
must wait on myself, must I ? You have not the 
Book of Riddles about you, have you ? 

Sim. Book of Riddles ! why, did you not lend 
it to Alice Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a 
fortnight afore Michaelmas? 

Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. 
A word with you, coz ; marry, this, coz : there 
is, as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made 
afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do you understand me ? 

Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if 
it be so, I shall do that that is reason. 

Shal. Nay, but understand me. 

Slen. So I do, sir. 220 

Evans. Give ear to his motions, Master Slen- 
der : I will description the matter to you, if you 
be capacity of it. 

Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow 
says: I pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of 
peace in his country, simple though I stand here. 

Evans. But that is not the question : the ques- 
tion is concerning your marriage. 

Shal. Ay, there 's the point, sir. 

Evans. Marry, is it; the very point of it ; to 
Mistress Anne Page. 231 

Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon 
any reasonable demands. 

Evans. But can you affection the 'oman? Let 
us command to know that of your mouth or of 
your lips ; for divers philosophers hold that the 
lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore, precisely, 
can you carry your good will to the maid ? 

Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love 
her? 240 

Slen. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become 
one that would do reason. 

Evans. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies ! you 
must speak possitable, if you can carry her your 
desires towards her. 

Shal. That you must. Will you, upon good 
dowry, marry her? 

Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon 
your request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet 
coz : what I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you 
love the maid ? 

Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request : 
but if there be no great love in the beginning, yet 
heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, 
when we are married and have more occasion to 
know one another ; I hope, upon familiarity will 
grow more contempt : but if you say, ' Marry 
her,' I will marry her ; that I am freely dissolved, 
and dissolutely. 260 

Evans. It is a fery discretion answer ; save the 
fall is in the ort ' dissolutely : ' the ort is, accord- 
ing to our meaning, 'resolutely:' his meaning is 
good. 

Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 

Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la ! 

Shal. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. 

Re-enter Anne Page. 
Would I were young for your sake, Mistress 
Anne ! 



Anfie. The dinner is on the table ; my father 
desires your worships' company. 271 

Shal. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne. 

Evans. Od's plessed will! I will not be ab- 
sence at the grace. \_Exetmt Shallow and Evans. 

Anne. Will't please your worship to come 
in, sir? 

Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I 
am very well. 

A nne. The dinner attends you, sir. 

Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, for- 
sooth. Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go 
wait upon my cousin Shallow. [Exit Simple.} 
A justice of peace sometimes may be beholding 
to his friend for a man. I keep but three men 
and a boy yet, till my mother be dead : but 
what though? yet I live like a poor gentleman 
born. 

Anne. I may not go in without your worship : 
they will not sit till you come. 

Slen. V faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you 
as much as though I did. 291 

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you. 
I bruised my shin th' other day with playing at 
sword and dagger with a master of fence ; three 
veneys for a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my 
troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. 
Why do your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the 
town? 

Anne. I think there are, sir; I heard them 
talked of. 301 

Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as 
soon quarrel at it as any man in England. You 
are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not? 

Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Slen. That's meat and drink to me, now. 
I have seen Sackerson loose twenty times, and 
have taken him by the chain ; but, I warrant 
you, the women have so cried and shrieked at 
it, that it passed : but women, indeed, cannot 
abide 'em; they are very ill-favoured rough 
things. 

Re-enter Page. 

Page. Come, gentle Master Slender, come ; 
we stay for you. 

Slen. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 

Page. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, 
sir ! come, come. 

Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 

Page. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on. 321 

Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; truly, la ! I 
will not do you that wrong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 

Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trou- 
blesome. You do yourself wrong, indeed, la! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
Evans. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor 
Caius' house which is the way : and there dwells 
one Mistress Quickly, which is in the manner 
of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or 
his laundry, his washer, and his wringer. 



Scene ii.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



45 



Sim. Well, sir. 

Evans. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this 
letter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether's ac- 
quaintance with Mistress Anne Page : and the 
letter is, to desire and require her to solicit your 
master's desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray 
you, be gone : I will make an end of my dinner ; 
there's pippins and cheese to come. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, 
Pistol, and Robin. 

Fa I. Mine host of the Garter ! 
Host. What says my bully-rook ? speak scho- 
larly and wisely. 

Eat. Truly, mine host, I must turn away 
some of my followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let 
them wag ; trot, trot. 

Eat. I sit at ten pounds a week. 
Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, 
and Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he 
shall draw, he shall tap : said I well, bully 
Heaor? 
Eat. Do so, good mine host. 
Host. I have spoke ; let him follow. [ To Bard.'] 
Let me see thee froth and lime : I am at a word ; 
follow. [Exit. 

Eat. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a 
good trade: an old cloak makes a new jerkin; 
a withered serving-man a fresh tapster. Go; 
adieu. 20 

Bard. It is a life that I have desired: I will 
thrive. 

Pist. O base Hungarian wight ! wilt thou the 
spigot wield? [Exit Bardolph. 

Nym. He was gotten in drink : is not the 
humour conceited? 

Eat. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder- 
box: his thefts were too open; his filching was 
like an unskilful singer; he kept not time. 

Nym. The good humour is to steal at a 
minute's rest. 31 

Pist. ' Convey,' the wise it call. ' Steal ! ' 
foh ! a fico for the phrase ! 
Eat. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 
Pist. Why, then, let kibes ensue. 
Eat. There is no remedy ; I must cony-catch ; 
I must shift. 
Pist. Young ravens must have food. 
Eat. Which of you know Ford of this town? 
Pist. I ken the wight: he is of substance 
good. 41 

Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I 
am about. 
Pist. Two yards, and more. 
Eat. No quips now, Pistol ! Indeed, I am in 
the waist two yards about ; but I am now about 
no waste ; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean 
to make love to Ford's wife : I spy entertainment 
in her ; she discourses, she carves, she gives the 
leer of invitation : I can construe the action of 
her familiar style ; and the hardest voice of her 
behaviour, to be Englished rightly, is, ' I am Sir 
John Falstaff's.' 

Pist. He hath studied her will, and trans- 
lated her will, out of honesty into English. 



Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humour 
pass ? 

Eat. Now, the report goes she has all the 

rule of her husband's purse : he hath a legion of 

angels. 60 

Pist. As many devils entertain ; and ' To her, 

boy,' say I. 

Nym. The humour rises; it is good: humour 
me the angels. 

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and 
here another to Page's wife, who even now gave 
me good eyes too, examined my parts with most 
judicious ceillades; sometimes the beam of her 
view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 70 
Nym. I thank thee for that humour. 
Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors 
with such a greedy intention, that the appetite of 
her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning- 
glass! Here's another letter to her: she bears 
the purse too ; she is a region in Guiana, all gold 
and bounty. I will be cheater to them both, and 
they shall be exchequers to me ; they shall be my 
East and West Indies, and I will trade to them 
both. Go bear thou this letter to Mistress Page ; 
and thou this to Mistress Ford: we will thrive, 
lads, we will thrive. 

Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all ! 
Nym. I will run no base humour : here, take 
the humour-letter: I will keep the haviour of re- 
putation. 
Fal. [To Robin'] Hold, sirrah, bear you these 
letters tightly ; 
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. 
Rogues, hence, avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ; 
Trudge, plod away o' the hoof ; seek shelter, pack ! 
Falstaff will learn the humour of the age, 
French thrift, you rogues ; myself and skirted page. 
[Exeiait Falstaff and Robin. 
Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd 
and fullam holds, 
And high and low beguiles the rich and poor : 
Tester I '11 have in pouch when thou shalt lack, 
Base Phrygian Turk ! 

Nym. I have operations which be humours 
of revenge. 
Pist. Wilt thou revenge? 100 

Nym. By welkin and her star ! 
Pist. With wit or steel ? 
Nym. With both the humours, I : 
I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. 
Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold 
How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
And his soft couch defile. 
Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will in- 
cense Page to deal with poison; I will possess 
t him with yellowness, for the revolt of mine is 
dangerous : that is my true humour. 

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malecontents : I 
second thee; troop on. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Doctor Caius's house. 
Enter Mistress Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. 
Quick. What, John Rugby ! I pray thee, go 
to the casement, and see if you can see my mas- 
ter, Master Doctor Caius, coming. If he do, i' 



faith, and find any body in the house, here will 
be an old abusing of God's patience and the 
king's English. 

Rug. I '11 go watch. 

Quick. Go ; and we '11 have a posset for't soon 
at night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal 
fire. [Exit Rugby.} An honest, willing, kind 
fellow, as ever servant shall come in house with- 
al, and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no breed- 
bate : his worst fault is, that he is given to prayer ; 
he is something peevish that way : but nobody 
but has his fault ; but let that pass. Peter Sim- 
ple, you say your name is? 

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And Master Slender's your master? 

Shn. Ay, forsooth. 

Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, 
like a glover's paring-knife ? 21 

Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee 
face, with a little yellow beard, a Cain-coloured 
beard. 

Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall a man of 
his hands as any is between this and his head ; 
he hath fought with a warrener. 

Quick. How say you? O, I should remem- 
ber him : does he not hold up his head, as it 
were, and strut in his gait? 31 

Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
fortune ! Tell Master Parson Evans I will do 
what I can for your master : Anne is a good girl, 
and I wish — 

Re-enter Rugby. 

Rug. Out, alas! here comes my master. 

Quick. We shall all be shent. Run in here, 
good young man ; go into this closet : he will not 
stay long. [Shuts SimJ>le in the closet, .] What, 
John Rugby ! John ! what, John, I say ! Go, 
John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be 
not well, that he comes not home. 43 

[Singing] And down, down, adown-a, &c. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Caius. Vat is you sing? I do not like des 
toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet 
un boitier vert, a box, a green-a box : do intend 
vat I speak ? a green-a box. 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; I '11 fetch it you. [Aside] 
I am glad he went not in himself: if he had 
found the young man, he would have been horn- 
mad. 52 

Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe ! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. 
Je m'en vais a la cour — la grande affaire. 

Quick. Is it this, sir? 

Caius. Oui ; mette le au mon pocket : depe- 
che, quickly. Vere is dat knave Rugby? 

Quick. What, John Rugby ! John ! 

Rug. Here, sir ! 

Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are 

1 Jack Rugby. Come, take-a your rapier, and 

come after my heel to the court. 62 

Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's 
me ! Qu'ai-j'oublie ! dere is some simples in my 
1 closet, dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave 
1 behind. 



Quick. Ay me, he'll find the young man there, 
and be mad ! 

Caius. O diable, diable ! vat is in my closet ? 
Villain ! larron ! [Pulling Simple out.] Rugby, 
my rapier ! j 2 

Quick. Good master, be content. 

Caius. Wherefore shall I be content-a ? 

Quick. The young man is an honest man. 

Caius. What shall de honest man do in my 
closet? dere is no honest man dat shall come in 
my closet. 

Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. 
Hear the truth of it: he came of an errand to me 
from Parson Hugh. 81 

Caius. Veil. 

Sim. Ay, forsooth ; to desire her to — 

Quick. Peace, I pray you. 

Caius. Peace-a your tongue. Speak -a your 
tale. 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
maid, to speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page 
for my master in the way of marriage. 

Quick. This is all, indeed, la! but I '11 ne'er 
put my finger in the fire, and need not. 91 

Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, bailie 
me some paper. Tarry you a little-a while. 

[ Writes. 

Quick. [Aside to Simple] I am glad he is so 
quiet : if he had been throughly moved, you 
should have heard him so loud and so melan- 
choly. But notwithstanding, man, I'll do you 
your master what good I can : and the very yea 
and the no is, the French doclor, my master, — I 
may call him my master, look you, for I keep 
his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, 
dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all 
myself, — 

Sim. [Aside to Quickly] 'Tis a great charge 
to come under one body's hand. 

Quick. [Aside to Simple] Are you avised o' 
that? you shall find it a great charge: and to be 
up early and down late; but notwithstanding, — 
to tell you in your ear ; I would have no words 
of it, — my master himself is in love with Mistress 
Anne Page: but notwithstanding that, I know 
Anne's mind, — that's neither here nor there. 

Cuius. You jack'nape, give-a this letter to 
Sir Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge : I will cut 
his troat in de park; and I will teach a scurvy 
jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You may 
be gone ; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, 
I will cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not 
have a stone to throw at his dog. [Exit Simple. 

Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 120 

Caius. It is no matter-a ver dat: do not you 
tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? 
By gar, I vill kill de Jack priest ; and I have 
appointed mine host of de Jarteer to measure 
our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne 
Page. 

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall 
be well. We must give folks leave to prate : 
what, the good-jer ! 

Caius. Rugby, come to the court with me. 
By gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn 
your head out of my door. Follow my heels, 
Rugby. [Exeunt Caius and Rugby. 

Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of your 
own. No, I know Anne's mind for that : never 



Scene hi.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



a woman in Windsor knows more of Anne's 
mind than I do ; nor can do more than I do with 
her, I thank heaven. 

Fent. [Within] Who's within there? ho! 

Quick. Who's there, I trow! Come near the 
house, I pray you. 141 

Enter Fenton. 

Fent. How now, good woman ! how dost 
thou? 

Quick. The better that it pleases your good 
worship to ask. 

Fent. What news? how does pretty Mistress 
Anne? 

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and 
honest, and gentle ; and one that is your friend, 
I can tell you that by the way ; I praise heaven 
for it. 151 

Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? 
shall I not lose my suit? 

Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above : 
but notwithstanding, Master Fenton. I '11 be 
sworn on a book, she loves you. Have not 
your worship a wart above your eye? 

Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? 

Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale : good 
faith, it is such another Nan; but, I detest, an 
honest maid as ever broke bread : we had an 
hour's talk of that wart. I shall never laugh but 
in that maid's company ! But indeed she is 
given too much to allicholy and musing : but for 
you — well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, 
there's money for thee ; let me have thy voice 
in my behalf: if thou seest her before me, com- 
mend me. 

Quick. Will I? i' faith, that we will; and I 
will tell your worship more of the wart the 
next time we have confidence ; and of other 
wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste 
now. 

Quick. Farewell to your worship. [Exit Fen- 
ton.] Truly, an honest gentleman: but Anne 
loves him not ; for I know Anne's mind as well 
as another does. Out upon't! what have I 
forgot? [Exit. 180 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Before Page's house. 
Enter Mistress Page, with a letter. 
Mrs Page. What, have I scaped love-letters 
in the holiday-time of my beauty, and am I now 
a subject for them? Let me see. [Reads. 

' Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though 
Love use Reason for his physician, he admits 
him not for his counsellor. You are not young, 
no more am I; go to then, there's sympathy: 
you are merry, so am I; ha, ha! then there's 
more sympathy : you love sack, and so do I ; 
would you desire better sympathy? Let it suf- 
fice thee, Mistress Page, — at the least, if the love 
of soldier can suffice, — that I love thee. I will 
not say, pity me ; 'tis not a soldier-like phrase ; 
but I say. love me. By me, 

Thine own true knight, 
By day or night, 



Or any kind of light, 

With all his might 

For thee to fight, John Falstaff.' 

What a Herod of Jewry is this ! O wicked, 
wicked world ! One that is well-nigh worn to 
pieces with age to show himself a young gallant ! 
What an unweighed behaviour hath this Flemish 
drunkard picked — with the devil's name ! — out of 
my conversation, that he dares in this manner 
assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my 
company! What should I say to him? I was 
then frugal of my mirth : Heaven forgive me ! 
Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for 
the putting down of men. How shall I be re- 
venged on him? for revenged I will be, as sure 
as his guts are made of puddings. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

Mrs Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was 
going to your house. 

Mrs Page. And, trust me, I was coming to 
you. You look very ill. 

Mrs Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I 
have to show to the contrary. 

Mrs Page. Faith, but you do, in my mind. 

Mrs Ford. Well, I do then; yet I say I 
could show you to the contrary. O Mistress 
Page, give me some counsel ! 

Mrs Page. What's the matter, woman? 

Airs Ford. O woman, if it were not for one 
trifling respe6l, I could come to such honour ! 

Mrs Page. Hang the trifle, woman! take 
the honour. What is it? dispense with trifles; 
what is it? 

Mrs Ford. If I would but go to hell for an 
eternal moment or so, I could be knighted. 50 

Mrs Page. What? thou liest ! Sir Alice Ford ! 
These knights will hack; and so thou shouldst 
not alter the article of thy gentry. 

Mrs Ford. We burn daylight: here, read, 
read; perceive how I might be knighted. I shall 
think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an 
eye to make difference of men's liking: and yet 
he would not swear ; praised women's modesty ; 
and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof 
to all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his 
disposition would have gone to the truth of his 
words ; but they do no more adhere and keep 
place together than the Hundredth Psalm to the 
tune of ' Green Sleeves.' What tempest, I trow, 
threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his 
belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be re- 
venged on him? I think the best way were to 
entertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of 
lust have melted him in his own grease. Did 
you ever hear the like? 70 

Mrs Page. Letter for letter, but that the 
name of Page and Ford differs ! To thy great 
comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here's 
the twin-brother of thy letter : but let thine in- 
herit first ; for, I protest, mine never shall. I 
warrant he hath a thousand of these letters, writ 
with blank space for different names, — sure, more, 
— and these are of the second edition : he will 
print them, out of doubt ; for he cares not what 
he puts into the press, when he would put us two. 
I had rather be a giantess, and lie under Mount 
Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty lascivious 
turtles ere one chaste man. 



43 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act ii. 



Mrs Ford. Why, this is the very same ; the 
very hand, the very words. What doth he think 
of lis ? 

Mrs Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me 
almost ready to wrangle with mine own hon- 
esty. I'll entertain myself like one that I am not 
acquainted withal ; for, sure, unless he know 
some strain in me, that I know not myself, he 
would never have boarded me in this fury. 

Mrs Ford. 'Boarding,' call you it? I'll be 
sure to keep him above deck. 

Mrs Page. So will I : if he come under my 
hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be re- 
venged on him: let's appoint him a meeting; 
give him a show of comfort in his suit and lead 
him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn- 
ed his horses to mine host of the Garter. ioo 

Mrs Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any 
villany against him, that may not sully the chari- 
ness of our honesty. O, that my husband saw 
this letter ! it would give eternal food to his jea- 
lousy. 

Mrs Page. Why, look where he comes ; and 
my good man too : he's as far from jealousy as I 
am from giving him cause ; and that I hope is an 
un measurable distance. 

Mrs Ford. You are the happier woman, no 

Mrs Page. Let's consult together against this 
greasy knight. Come hither. [They retire. 

Enter Ford with Pistol, and ~P age with Nym. 

Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 

Pist. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs : 
Sir John affects thy wife. 

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. 

Pist. He wooes both high and low, both rich 
and poor, 
Both young and old, one with another, Ford; 
He loves the gallimaufry : Ford, perpend. 

Ford. Love my wife ! 120 

Pist. With liver burning Jiot. Prevent, or go 
thou, 
Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels : 
O, odious is the name ! 

Ford. What name, sir? 

Pist. The horn, I say. Farewell. 
Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by 

night : 
Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birds do 

sing. 
Away, Sir Corporal Nym ! 
Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense. [Exit. 

Ford. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find 
out this. 131 

Nym. [To Page] And this is true ; I like not 
the humour of lying. He hath wronged me in 
some humours : I should have borne the humour- 
ed letter to her ; but I have a sword and it shall 
bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife ; 
there's the short and the long. My name is Cor- 
poral Nym ; I speak and I avouch ; 'tis true : my 
n.ime is Nym and Falstaff loves your wife. Adieu. 
I love not the humour of bread and cheese, and 
there 's the humour of it. Adieu. [Exit. 141 

Page. ' The humour of it,' quoth a' ! here's a 
fellow frights English out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 

Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 
rogue. 



Ford. If I do find it : well. 

Page. I will not believe such a Cataian, though 
the priest o' the town commended him for a true 
man. 150 

Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow : well. 

Page. How now, Meg ! 

[Mrs Page and Mrs Ford come forward. 

Mrs Page. Whither go you, George ? Hark 
you. 

Mrs Ford. How now, sweet Frank ! why art 
thou melancholy ? 

Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. 
Get you home, go. 

Mrs Ford. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in 
thy head. Now, will you go, Mistress Page? 

Mrs Page. Have with you. You'll come to 
dinner, George. [Aside to Mrs Ford] Look who 
comes yonder : she shall be our messenger to this 
paltry knight. 

Mrs Ford. [Aside to Mrs Page] Trust me, I 
thought on her: she'll fit it. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Mrs Page. You are come to see my daughter 
Anne? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does 
good Mistress Anne? 170 

Mrs Page. Go in with us and see : we have an 
hour's talk with you. 

[Exeunt Mrs Page, Mrs Ford, and 
Mrs Qtdckly. 

Page. How now, Master Ford ! 

Ford. You heard what this knave told me, 
did you not? 

Page. Yes: and you heard what the other 
told me? 

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 

Page. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the 
knight would offer it : but these that accuse him 
in his intent towards our wives are a yoke of 
his discarded men; very rogues, now they be out 
of service. 

Ford. Were they his men? 

Page. Marry, were they. 

Ford. I like it never the better for that. Does 
he lie at the Garter? 

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should in- 
tend this voyage towards my wife, I would turn 
her loose to him ; and what he gets more of her 
than sharp words, let it lie on my head. 191 

Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I would 
be loath to turn them together. A man may be 
too confident : I would have nothing lie on my 
head : I cannot be thus satisfied. 

Page. Look where my ranting host of the 
Garter comes : there is either liquor in his pate or 
money in his purse when he looks so merrily. 

Enter Host. 
How now, mine host ! 

Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou'rt a gentle- 
man. Cavaleiro-justice, I say ! 201 

Enter Shallow. 
Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good 
even and twenty, good Master Page ! Master 
Page, will you go with us? we have sport in 
hand. 



Scene i.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



n 



4" 



Host. Tell him, cavalciro-j notice; tell him, 
bully-rook. 

Shnl. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between 
Sir Hugh the Welsh priest and Caius the French 
dcclor. 210 

. Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word 
s ith you. [Drawing him aside. 

Host. What sayest thou, my bully-rook ? 
S/ial. [ To Page] Will you go with us to be- 
hold it? My merry host hath had the measuring 
of their weapons ; and, I think, hath appointed 
them contrary places : for, believe me, I hear the 
I parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what 
our sport shall be. [ They converse apart. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, 
my guest-cavaleire ? 221 

Ford. None, I protest : but I '11 give you a 
pottle of burnt sack to give me recourse to him 
and tell him my name is Brook; only for a jest. 

Host. My hand, bully ; thou shalt have egress 
and regress : — said I well ?— and thv name shall 
be Brook. It is a merry knight. Will you go, 
fAn-heires? 
Skal. Have with you, mine host. 
Page. I have heard the Frenchman hath good 
skill in his rapier. 231 

Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. 
In these times you stand on distance, your pass- 
es, stoccadoes, and I know not what : 'tis the 
heart, Master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have 
seen the time, with my long sword I would have 
made you four tall fellows skip like rats. 

Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag? 

Page. Have with you. I had rather hear them 

scold than fight. 240 

[Exeunt Host, Shal., and Page. 

Ford. Though J*age be a secure fool, and 

j stands so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot 

I put off my opinion so easily : she was in his com- 

I pany at Page's house ; and what they made there, 

! I know not. Well, I will look further into't : and 

I I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her 

i honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 

j 'tis labour well bestowed. [Exit. 

Scene II. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 
Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
Fist. Why, then the world's mine oyster, 
Which I with sword will open. 

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, 
you should lay my countenance to pawn : I have 
grated upon my good friends for three reprieves 
for you and your coach-fellow Nym ; or else you 
had looked through the grate, like a geminy of 
baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to 
gentlemen my friends, you were good soldiers 
and tall fellows; and when Mistress Bridget lost 
the handle of her fan, I took't upon mine honour 
thou hadst it not. 
Fist. Didst not thou share? hadst thou not 

fifteen pence ? 
Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : thinkest 
I thou I'll endanger my soul gratis? At a word, 
; hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for you. 
Go. A short knife and a throng ! To your 
! manor of Pickt-hatch ! Go. You'll not bear a 
I letter for me, you rogue ! you stand upon your 



honour ! Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it 
is as much as I can do to keep the terms of my 
honour precise: I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving 
the fear of God on the left hand and hiding mine 
honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to 
hedge and to lurch ; and yet you, rogue, will 
ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, 
your red-lattice phrases, and your bold-beating 
oaths, under the shelter of your honour ! You 
will not do it, you ! 30 

Pist. I do relent : what would thou more of 
man ? 

Enter Robin. 

Rob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with 
you. 

Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. Give your worship good morrow. 

J'al. Good morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, an't please your worship. 

Fal. Good maid, then. 

Quick. I '11 be sworn, 
As my mother was, the first hour I was born. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me? 

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word 
or two? 

Fal. Two thousand, fair woman : and I '11 
vouchsafe thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one Mistress Ford, sir: — I 
pray, come a little nearer this ways : — I myself 
dwell with Master Doctor Caius, — 

Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, — 

Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray 
your worship, come a little nearer this ways. 50 

Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears ; mine own 
people, mine own people. 

Quick. Are they so? God bless them and 
make them his servants ! 

Fal. 'Well, Mistress Ford; what of her? 

Quick. Why, sir, she 's a good creature. Lord, 
Lord ! your worship's a wanton ! Well, heaven 
forgive you and all of us, I pray ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford ; come, Mistress Ford, — 

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long 
of it; you have brought her into such a canaries 
as 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, 
when the court lay at Windsor, could never have 
brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been 
knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their 
coaches, I warrant you, coach after coach, letter 
after letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, 
all musk, and so rushling, I warrant you, in silk 
and gold; and in such alligant terms; and in 
such wine and sugar of the best and the fairest, 
that would have won any woman's heart ; and, I 
warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of 
her: I had myself twenty angels given me this 
morning; but I defy all angels, in any such sort, 
as they say, but in the way of honesty: and, I 
warrant you, they could never get her so much as 
sip on a cup with the proudest of them all : and 
yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
pensioners ; but, I warrant you, all is one with 
her. 80 

Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, my 
good she-Mercury. 

Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter, 
for the which she thanks you a thousand times ; 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act ii. 



and she gives you to notify that her husband 
will be absence from his house between ten and 
eleven. 

Fal. Ten and eleven? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come 
and see the picture, she says, that you wot of: 
Master Ford, her husband, will be from home. 
Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him : 
lie's a very jealousy man: she leads a very 
frampold life with him, good heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend 
me to her ; T will not fail her. 

Quick. Why, you say well. But I have an- 
other messenger to your worship. Mistress Page 
hath her hearty commendations to you too : and 
let me tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a 
civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will 
not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any 
is in Windsor, whoe'er be the other: and she 
bade me tell your worship that her husband is 
seldom from home; but she hopes there will 
come a time. I never knew a woman so dote 
upon a man : surely I think you have charms, 
la ; yes, in truth. 

Fal. Not I, I assure thee : setting the at- 
traction of my good parts aside I have no other 
charms. in 

Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 

Fal. But, ] pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's 
wife and Page's wife acquainted each other how 
they love me? 

Quick. That were a jest indeed ! they have 
not so little grace, I hope : that were a trick in- 
deed ! But Mistress Page would desire you to send 
her your little page, of all loves : her husband 
! has a marvellous infeclion to the little page ; and 
' truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a 
wife in Windsor leads a better life than she does : 
do what she will, say what she will, take all, pay 
all, go to bed when she list, rise when she list, all 
is as she will: and truly she deserves it; for if 
there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. 
i You must send her your page ; no remedy. 

Fal. Why, I will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so, then : and, look you, 
; he may come and go between you both ; and in 
any case have a nay-word, that you may know 
' one another's mind, and the boy never need to 
understand any thing ; for 'tis not good that chil- 
dren should know any wickedness : old folks, 
you know, have discretion, as they say, and know 
the world. 

Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them 
; both: there's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. 
I Boy, go along with this woman. [Exeunt Mis- 
\ tressQuickly and Robin.} This news distracts me ! 

Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : 
Clap on more sails ; pursue ; up with your fights : 
Give fire : she is my prize, or ocean whelm them 
all ! {Exit. 

Fal. Sayest thou so, old Jack ? go thy ways ; 
I '11 make more of thy old body than I have done. 
Will they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after 
the expense of so much money, be now a gainer? 
Good body, I thank thee. Let them say 'tis 
grossly done ; so it be fairly done, no matter. 

Enter Bardoli'h. 
Bard. Sir John, there's one Master Brook 



below would fain speak with you, and be ac- 
quainted with you ; and hath sent your worship 
a morning's draught of sack. 

Fal. Brook is his name ? 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call him in. {Exit Bardol/</t.~\ Such 
Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow su^' v 
liquor. Ah, ha ! Mistress Ford and Mistress^; 
Page have I encompassed you ? go to ; via ! 

Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir ! 160 

Fal. And you, sir ! Would you speak with me ? 

Ford. I make bold to press with so little pre- 
paration upon you. 

Fal. You're welcome. What's your will? 
Give us leave, drawer. {Exit Bardolfih. 

Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
much ; my name is Brook. 

Fal. Good Master Brook, I desire more ac- 
quaintance of you. 

Ford. Good Sir John, I sue for yours : not to 
charge you ; for I must let you understand I 
think myself in better plight for a lender than 
you are : the which hath something emboldened 
me to this unseasoned intrusion ; for they say, if 
money go before, all ways do lie open. 

Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
troubles me : if you will help to bear it, Sir John, 
take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 

Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be 
your porter. 181 

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me 
the hearing. 

Fal. Speak, good Master Brook : I shall be 
glad to be vour servant. • 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will 
be brief with you, — and you have been a man 
long known to me, though I had never so good 
means, as desire, to make myself acquainted with 
you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I 
must very much lay open mine own imperfeclion : 
but, good Sir John, as you have one eye upon nvy 
follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another 
into the register of your own ; that I may pass 
with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know- 
how easy it is to be such an offender. 

Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed. 

Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town; 
her husband's name is Ford. 

Fal. Well, sir. 200 

Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest 
to you, bestowed much on her; followed her 
with a doting observance ; engrossed opportuni- 
ties to meet her ; fee'd every slight occasion that 
could but niggardly give me sight of her; not 
only bought many presents to give her, but have 
given largely to many to know what she would 
have given ; briefly, I have pursued her as love 
hath pursued me ; which hath been on the wing 
of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, 
either in my mind or in my means, meed, I am 
sure, T have received none ; unless experience be 
a jewel that I have purchased at an infinite rate, 
and that hath taught me to say this : 
' Love like a shadow flies when substance love 

]:>ursues ; 
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.' 



Scene ii.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Fat. Have you received no promise of satis- 
faction at her hands? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Have you importuned her to such a 
purpose? 221 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Of what quality was your love, then? 

Ford. Like a fair house built on another man's 
ground ; so that I have lost my edifice by mis- 
taking the place where I erected it. 

Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this 
to me? 

Ford. When I have told you that, I have told 
you all. Some say, that though she appear honest 
to me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth 
so far that there is shrewd construction made of her. 
Now, Sir John, here is the heart of ray purpose : 
you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admir- 
able discourse, of great admittance, authentic in 
your place and person, generally allowed for 
your many war-like, court-like, and learned pre- 
parations. 

Fal. O, sir! 
• Ford. Believe it, for you know it. There is 
money ; spend it, spend it ; spend more ; spend 
all I have ; only give me so much of your time in 
exchange of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the 
honesty of this Ford's wife : use your art of woo- 
ing ; win her to consent to you : if any man may, 
you may as soon as any. 

Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of 
your affection, that I should win what you would 
enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to yourself very 
preposterously. 250 

Ford. O, understand my drift. She dwells so 
securely on the excellency of her honour, that the 
folly of my soul dares not present itself: she is 
too bright to be looked against. Now, could I 
come to her with any detection in my hand, 
my desires had instance and argument to com- 
mend themselves : I could drive her then from 
the ward of her purity, her reputation, her mar- 
riage-vow, and a thousand other her defences, 
which now are too too strongly embattled against 
me. What say you to't, Sir John ? 261 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold 
with your money ; next, give me your hand ; and 
last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, 
enjoy Ford's wife. 

Ford. O good sir ! 

Fal. I say you shall. 

Ford. Want no money, Sir John; you shall 
want none. 

Fal. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook ; 
you shall want none. I shall be with her, I may 
tell you, by her own appointment; even as you 
came in to me, her assistant or go-between 
parted from me : I say I shall be with her 
between ten and eleven ; for at that time the 
jealous rascally knave her husband will be forth. 
Come you to me at night; you shall know how I 
speed. 

Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do 
you know Ford, sir? 280 

Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I 
know him not : yet 1 wrong him to call him 
poor; they say the jealous wittolly knave hath 
masses of money; for the which his wife seems 
to me well-favoured. I will use her as the key 



of thi cuckoldly rogue's coffer; and there's my 
harvest-home. 

Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you 
might avoid him if you saw him. 

Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! 
I will stare him out of his wits; I will awe him 
with my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er 
the cuckold's horns. Master Brook, thou shalt 
know I will predominate over the peasant, and 
thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon 
at night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate 
his style; thou. Master Brook, shalt know him 
for knave and cuckold. Come to me soon at 
night. {Exit. 

Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is 
this ! My heart is ready to crack with impa- 
tience. Who says this is improvident jealousy? 
my wife hath sent to him; the hour is fixed; the 
match is made. Would any man have thought 
this? See the hell of having a false woman ! 
My bed shall be abused, my coffers ransacked, 
my reputation gnawn at ; and I shall not only 
receive this villanous wrong, but stand under 
the adoption of abominable terms, and by him 
that does me this wrong. Terms ! names ! 
Amaimon sounds well ; Lucifer, well ; Barbason, 
well ; yet they are devils' additions, the names of 
fiends: but Cuckold! Wittol !— Cuckold ! the 
devil himself hath not such a name. Page is 
an ass, a secure ass : he will trust his wife ; he 
will not be jealous. I will rather trust a Fleming 
with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman 
with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitse 
bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, 
than my wife with herself: then she plots, then 
she ruminates, then she devises ; and what they 
think in their hearts they may effect, they will 
break their hearts but they will effect. God be 
praised for my jealousy! Eleven o'clock the 
hour. I will prevent this, detect my wife, be 
revenged on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I 
will about it ; better three hours too soon than a 
minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! 
cuckold ! [Exit. 

Scene III. A field near Windsor. 
Enter Caius and Rugby. 

Cains, Jack Rugby ! 

Rug. Sir? 

Caius. Vat is de clock. Jack? 

Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh 
promised to meet. 

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he 
is no come; he has pray his Pible well, dat he is 
no come : by gar. Jack Rugby, he is dead 
already, if he be come. 

Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship 
would kill him, if he came. ir 

Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I 
vill kill him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell 
you how I vill kill him. 

Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 

Caius. Villany. take your rapier. 

Rug. Forbear; here's company. 

E >iter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. 
Host. Bless thee, bully doctor ! 
Shal. Save you, Master Doctor Caius ! 



4—2 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act hi. 



Page. Now, good master doctor ! 20 

Slen. Give you good morrow, sir. 

Cains. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, 
come for? 

Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to 
see thee traverse; to see thee here, to see thee 
there ; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy 
reverse, thy distance, thy montant. Is he dead, 
my Ethiopian? is he dead, my Francisco? ha, 
bully! What says my ^Esculapius? my Galen? 
my heart of elder? ha! is he dead, bully stale? is 
he dead? 31 

Caz'us. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of 
de vorld; he is not show his face. 

Host Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. 
Hector of Greece, my boy ! 

Cains. I pray you, bear vitness that me have 
stay six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he 
is no come. 

Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor: 
he is a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; 
if you should fight, you go against the hair of 
your professions. Is it not true, Master Page? 

Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself 
been a great fighter, though now a man of 
peace. 

Shal. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now 
be old and of the peace, if I see a sword out, 
my finger itches to make one. Though we are 
justices and doctors and churchmen, Master 
Page, we have some salt of our youth in us ; we 
are the sons of women, Master Page. 51 

Page. 'Tis true, Master Shallow. 

Shal. It will be found so, Master Page. 
Master Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you 
home. I am sworn of the peace : you have 
showed yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh 
hath shown himself a wise and patient church- 
man. You must go with me, master doctor. 

Host. Pardon, guest-justice. A word, Moun- 
seur Mockwater. 60 

Caius. Mock-vater ! vat is dat? 

Host. Mock -water, in our English tongue, is 
valour, bully. 

Caius. By gar, den, I have as mush mock- 
vater as de Englishman. Scurvy jack-dog priest ! 
by gar, me vill cut his ears. 

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, 
bully. 

Caius. Clapper-de-c!aw ! vat is dat? 

Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 70 

Caius. By gar, me do look he shall clapper- 
de-claw me ; for, by gar, me vill have it. 

Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let 
him wag. 

Cai?ts. Me tank you for dat. 

Host. And, moreover, bully, — but first, mas- 
ter guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro 
Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore. 
[Aside to them. 

Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he? 

Host. He is there : see what humour he is in ; 
and I will bring the doctor about by the fields. 
"Will it do well? 

Shal. We will do it. 

Page, Shal., and Slen. Adieu, good master 
doctor. [Exeunt Page, Shal, and Slen. 

Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he 
speak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 



Host. Let him die : sheathe thy impatience, 
throw dold water on thy choler : go about the 
fields with me through Frogmore : I will bring 
thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a farm- 
house a-feasting ; and thou shalt woo her. Cried 
I aim? said I well? 

Caius. By gar, me dank you for dat : by gar, 
I love you; and I shall procure-a you de good 
guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentle- 
men, my patients. 

Host. For the which I will be thy adversary 
toward Anne Page. Said I well? 

Caius. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said. 100 

Host. Let. us wag, then. 

Cahts. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. 

[Exeimt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. A field near Frogmore. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Evans. I pray you now, good Master Slen- 

der's serving-man, and friend Simple by your 

name, which way have you looked for Master 

Caius, that calls himself doctor of physic ? 

Sim. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park- 
ward, everyway; old Windsor way, and every 
way but the town way. 

Evans. I most fehemently desire you you 
will also look that way. 

Sim. I will, sir. [Exit. 10 

Evans. 'Pless my soul, how full of chollors 
I am, and trempling of mind ! I shall be glad if 
he have deceived me. How melancholies I am ! 
I will knog his urinals about his knave's costard 
when I have good opportunities for the ork. 
'Pless my soul ! [Sings. 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sings madrigals ; 
There will we make our peds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant posies. 20 

To shallow — 
Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. 

[Sings. 
Melodious birds sing madrigals — 
When as I sat in Pabylon — 
And a thousand vagram posies. 
To shallow &c. 

Re-enter Simple. 

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh. 

Evans. He's welcome. [Sings. 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls — 
Heaven prosper the right ! What weapons is he? 

Sim. No weapons, sir. There comes my 
master, Master Shallow, and another gentleman, 
from Frogmore, over the stile, this way. 

Evans. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else 
keep it in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Shal. How now, master Parson ! Good mor- 
row, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the 
dice, and a good student from his book, and it is 
wonderful. 

Slen. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page! 40 

Page. 'Save you, good Sir Hugh ! 



Scene i.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



53 



Evans. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of 
you ! 

Shal. What, the sword and the word ! do you 
study them both, master parson ? 

Page. And youthful still ! in your doublet and 
hose this raw rheumatic day ! 

Evans. There is reasons and causes for it. 

Page. We are come to you to do a good office, 
master parson. 5° 

Evans. Fery well: what is it? 

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, 
who, belike having received wrong by some per- 
son, is at most odds with his own gravity and 
patience that ever you saw. 

Shal. I have lived fourscore years and up- 
ward ; I never heard a man of his place, gravity 
and learning, so wide of his own respect. 

Evans. What is he ? 

Page. I think you know him ; Master Doctor 
Cains, the renowned French physician. 61 

Evans. Got's will, and his passion of my 
heart ! I had as lief you would tell me of a mess 
of porridge. 

Page. Why? . 

Evans. He has no more knowledge in Hibo- 
crates and Galen,— and he is a knave besides ; a 
cowardly knave as you would desires to be ac- 
quainted withal. 

Page. I warrant you, he's the man should 
fight with him. 7 1 

Slen. [Aside'] O sweet Anne Page ! 

Shal. It appears so by his weapons. Keep 
them asunder : here comes Doctor Caius. 

Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 

Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
weapon. 

Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 

Host. Disarm them, and let them question : 
let them keep their limbs whole and hack our 
English. 80 

Cains. I pray you, let-a me speak a word 
with your ear. Vherefore vill you not meet-a me ? 

Evans. [Aside to Caius] Pray you, use your 
patience : in good time. 

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack 
dog, John ape. 

Evans. [Aside to Cains] Pray you, let us 
not be laughing-stocks to other men's humours ; 
I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or 
other make you amends. [Aloud] I will knog 
your urinals about your knave's cogscomb for 
missing your meetings and appointments. 92 

Caius. Diable ! Jack Rugby, — mine host de 
Jarteer, — have I not stay for him to kill him? 
have I not, at de place I did appoint? 

Evans. As I am a Christians soul now, look 
you, this is the place appointed: I'll be judge- 
ment by mine host of the Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French 
and Welsh, soul-curer and body-curer ! 100 

Caius. Ay, dat is very good ; excellent. 

Host. Peace, I say ! hear mine host of the 
Garter. Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a 
Machiavel? Shall I lose my doctor? no; he 
gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I 
lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh ? no : he 
gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. Give 
ine thy hand, terrestrial ; so. Give me thy hand, 



celestial ; so. Boys of art, I have deceived you 
both ; I have directed you to wrong places : your 
hearts arc mighty, your skins are whole, and let 
burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords 
to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace ; follow, fol- 
low, follow. 

Shal. Trust me, a mad host. Fallow, gen- 
tlemen, follow. 

Slen. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page ! 

[Exeunt Shal., Slen., Page, and Host. I 

Caius. Ha, do I perceive dat ? have you make-a i 
de sot of us, ha, ha? 

Evans. This is well ; he has made us his vlout- 
ing-stog. I desire you that we may be friends ; 
and let us knog our prains together to be revenge 
on this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, 
the host of the Garter. 

Caius. By gar, with all my heart. He pro- 
mise to bring me where is Anne Page ; by gar, he 
deceive me too. 

Evans. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray 
you, follow. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A street. 
Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 

Mrs Page. Nay, keep your way, little gal- 
lant; you were wont to be a follower, but now 
you are a leader. Whether had you rather lead 
mine eyes, or eye your master's heels? 

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like 
a man than follow him like a dwarf. 

Mrs Page. O, you are a flattering boy : now I 
see you'll be a courtier. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go 
you? 10 

Mrs Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is 
she at home ? 

Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang toge- 
ther, for want of company. I think, if your hus- 
bands were dead, you two would marry- 

Mrs Page. Be sure of that,— two other hus- 
bands. 

Ford. Where had you this pretty weathercock ? 

Mrs Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his 
name is my husband had him of. What do you 
call your knight's name, sirrah? 21 

Rob. Sir John Falstaff. 

Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 

Mrs Page. He, he: I can never hit on's 
name. There is such a league between my good 
man and he ! Is your wife at home indeed? 

Ford. Indeed she is. 

Mrs Page. By your leave, sir: I am sick till 
I see her. [Exeunt Mrs Page and Robin. 

Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any 
eyes? hath he any thinking? Sure, they sleep ; 
he hath no use of diem. Why, this boy will carry 
a letter twenty mile, as easy as a cannon will 
shoot point-blank twelve score. He pieces out 
his wife's inclination ; he gives her folly motion 
I and advantage : and now she's going to my wife, 
j and FalstafTs boy with her. A man may hear 
this shower sing in the wind. And FalstafTs boy 
with her ! Good plots, they are laid ; and our 
revolted wives share damnation together. Well ; 
I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck the 



54 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act in. 



borrowed veil of modesty from the so seeming 
Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a secure 
and wilful Aclseon ; and to these violent proceed- 
ings all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock 
heard.] The clock gives me my cue, and my 
assurance bids me search : there 1 shall find Fal- 
staff: I shall be rather praised for this than 
mocked ; for it is as positive as the earth is firm 
that Falstaff is there : I will go. 50 

Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir 
Hugh Evans, Caius, and Rugbv. 

Shal, Page, &=c. Well met, Master Ford. 

Ford. Trust me, a good knot: I have good 
cheer at home ; and I pray you all go with me. 

Shal. I must excuse myself, Master Ford. 

Slcn. And so must I, sir : we have appointed 
to dine with Mistress Anne, and I would not 
break with her for more money than I '11 speak of. 

Shal. We have lingered about a match be- 
tween Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and 
this day we shall have our answer. 60 

Sle/t. I hope I have your good will, father Page. 

Page. You have, Master Slender; I stand 
wholly for you : but my wife, master doctor, is 
for you altogether. 

Cains. Ay, be-gar ; and de maid is love-a me : 
my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 

Host. What say you to young Master Fenton ? 
he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he 
writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April 
and May: he will carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in 
his buttons; he will carry't. 71 

Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. 
The gentleman is of no having : he kept com- 
pany with the wild prince and Poins ; he is of too 
high a region ; he knows too much. No, he shall 
not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of 
my substance : if he take her, let him take her 
simply ; the wealth I have waits on my consent, 
and my consent goes not that way. 

Ford. I beseech you heartily, some of you go 
home with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you 
shall have sport ; I will show you a monster. 
Master doctor, you shall go ; so shall you, Master 
Page ; and you, Sir Hugh. 

Shal. Well, fare you well : we shall have the 
freer wooing at Master Page's. 

[Exeunt Shal. a?id Sleu. 

Cants. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 
[Exit Rugby. 

Host. P'arewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. 

_ [Exit. 

Ford. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe- 
wine first with him; I'll make him dance. Will 
you go, gentles ? 

A II. Have with you to see this monster. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A. room in Ford's house. 
E titer Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 

Mrs Ford. What, John ! What, Robert ! 

Mrs Page. Quickly, quickly ! Is the buck- 
basket — 

Mrs Ford. I warrant. What, Robin, I say ! 



Enter Servants with a basket. 

Mrs Page. Come, come, come. 

Mrs Ford. Here, set it down. 

Mrs Page. Give your men the charge ; we 
must be brief. 

Mrs Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John 
and Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew- 
house : and when I suddenly call you, come forth, 
and without any pause or staggering take this 
basket on your shoulders : that done, trudge with 
it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters in 
Datchet-mead, and there empty it in the muddy 
ditch close by the Thames side. 

Mrs Page. You will do it ? 

Mrs Ford. 1 ha' told them over and over; 
they lack no direction. Be gone, and come when 
you are called. [Exeunt Servants. 20 

Mrs Page. Here comes little Robin. 

Enter Robin. 

Mrs Ford. How now, my eyas-musket ! what 
news with you ? 

Rob. My master, Sir John, is come in at your 
back-door, Mistress Ford, and requests your com- 
pany. 

Mrs Page. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you 
been true to us ? 

Rob. Ay, I '11 be sworn. My master knows 
not of your being here and hath threatened to 
put me into everlasting liberty if I tell you of it ; 
for he swears he'll turn me away. 

Mrs Page. Thou'rt a good boy : this secrecy 
of thine shall be a tailor to thee and shall 
make thee a new doublet and hose. I'll go 
hide me. 

Mrs Ford. Do so. Go tell thy master I am 
alone. [Exit Robin.] Mistress Page, remember 
you your cue. 

Mrs Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, 
hiss me. [Exit. 41 

Mrs Ford. Go to, then: we'll use this un- 
wholesome humidity, this gross watery pumpion ; 
we'll teach him to know turtles from jays. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? 
Why, now let me die, for I have lived long 
enough: this is the period of my ambition: O 
this blessed hour ! 

Mrs Ford. O sweet Sir John ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot 
prate, Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my 
wish : I would thy husband were dead : I '11 
speak it before the best lord ; I would make thee 
my lady. 

Mrs Ford. I your lady, Sir John ! alas, I 
should be a pitiful lady ! 

Fal. Let the court of France show me such 
another. I see how thine eye would emulate 
the diamond : thou hast the right arched beauty 
of the brow that becomes the ship-tire, the tire- 
valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance. 61 

Mrs Ford. A plain kerchief, Sir John : my 
brows become nothing else ; nor that well 
neither. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say 
so: thou wouldst make an absolute courtier; and 
the firm fixture of thy foot would give an ex- 



Scene hi.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



55 



cellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled 
farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune 
thy foe were not, Nature thy friend. Come, 
thou canst not hide it. 71 

Mrs Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing 
in me. 

Fal. What made me love thee? let that per- 
suade thee there's something extraordinary in 
thee. Come, I cannot cog and say thou art this 
and that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn- 
buds, that come like women in men's apparel, 
and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time ; I 
cannot: but I love thee; none but thee; and 
thou deservest it. 81 

Mrs Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear 
you love Mistress Page. 

Fal. Thou mightst as well say I love to 
walk by the Counter-gate, which is as hateful to 
me as the reek of a lime-kiln. 

Mrs Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love 
you; and you shall one day find it. 

Fal Keep in that mind ; 1 '11 deserve it. 

Mrs Ford. Nr^y, I must tell you, so you do ; 
or else I could not be in that mind. 91 

Rob. \Within\ Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! 
here's Mistress Page at the door, sweating and 
blowing and looking wildly, and would needs 
speak with you presently. 

Fal. She shall not see me: I will ensconce 
me behind the arras. 

Mrs Ford. Pray you, do so: she's a very 
tattling woman. \_Falstaff hides himself. 

Re-enter Mistress Page and Robin. 
What's the matter? how now ! 100 

Mrs Page. O Mistress Ford, what have you 
done? You're shamed, you're overthrown, you're 
undone for ever ! 

Mrs Ford. What's the matter, good Mistress 
Page? 

Mrs Page. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford ! hav- 
ing an honest man to your husband, to give him 
such cause of suspicion ! 

Mrs Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 

Mrs Page. What cause of suspicion ! Out 
upon you ! how am I mistook in you ! in 

Mrs Ford. Why, alas, what's the matter? 

Mrs Page. Your husband's coming hither, 
woman, with all the officers in Windsor, to 
search for a gentleman that he says is here now 
in the house by your consent, to take an ill ad- 
vantage of his absence : you are undone. 

Mrs Ford. 'Tis not so, I hope. 

Mrs Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you 
have such a man here ! but 'tis most certain your 
husband's coming, with half Windsor at his 
heels, to search for such a one. I come before 
to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why, 
I am glad of it ; but if you have a friend here, 
convey, convey him out. Be not amazed ; call 
ail your senses to you ; defend your reputation, 
or bid farewell to your good life for ever. 

Mrs Ford. What shall I do? There is a 
gentleman my dear friend: and 1 fear not mine 
own shame so much as his peril : I had rather 
than a thousand pound he were out of the 
house. 

Mrs Page. For shame ! never stand 'you had 
rather' and 'you had rather:' vour husband's 



here at hand; bethink you of some conveyance: 
in the house you cannot hide him. O, how have 
you deceived me ! Look, here is a basket : if he 
be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in 
here ; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it 
were going to bucking: or — it is whiting-time — 
send him by your two men to Datchet-mead. 141 

Mrs Ford. He's too big to go in there. What 
shall I do? 

Fal. [Cowing forward] Let me see't, let me 
see't, O, let me see't! I'll in, I'll in. Follow 
your friend's counsel. I '11 in. 

Mrs Page. What, Sir John Falstaff! Are 
these your letters, knight? 

Fal. I love thee. Help me away. Let me 

creep in here. I'll never — 150 

\_Gets into the basket; they cover hint 

with foul linen. 

Mrs Page. Help to cover your master, boy. 
Call your men, Mistress Ford. You dissembling 
knight! 

Mrs Ford. What, John ! Robert ! John ! 

[Exit Robin. 

Re-enter Servants. 
Go take up these clothes here quickly. Where's 
the cowl-staff? look, how you drumble ! Carry 
them to the laundress in Datchet-mead ; quickly, 
come. 

Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
Evans. 

Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect 
without cause, why then make sport at me ; then 
let me be your jest; I deserve it. How now! 
whither bear you this? 

Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 

Mrs Ford. Why, what have you to do whi- 
ther they bear it? You were best meddle with 
buck-washing. 

Ford. Buck ! I would I could wash myself 
of the buck ! Buck, buck, buck ! Ay, buck ; I 
warrant.you, buck ; and of the season too, it shall 
appear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] 
Gentlemen, 1 have dreamed to-night; I'll tell 
you my dream. Here, here, here be my keys : 
ascend my chambers; search, seek, find out: I'll 
warrant we'll unkennel the fox. Let me stop 
this way first. [Locking the door.] So, now 
uncape. 

Page. Good Master Ford, be contented : you 
wrong yourself too much. 

Ford. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen ; 
you shall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. 
[Exit. 180 

Evans. This is fery fantastical humours and 
jealousies. 

Caius. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France ; 
it is not jealous in France. 

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the ' 
issue of his search. 

[Exeunt Page, Cai?<s, and Evans. 

Mrs Page. Is there not a double excellency 
in this? 

Mrs Ford. I know not which pleases me bet- 
ter, that my husband is deceived, or Sir John. 

Mrs Page. What a taking was he in when 
your husband asked who was in the basket ! 

Mrs Ford. I am half afraid he will have need 



bl 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act hi. 



of washing ; so throwing him into the water will 
do him a benefit. 

Mrs Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I 
would all of the same strain were in the same 
distress. 

Mrs Ford. I think my husband hath some 
special suspicion of Falstaff's being here; for 
I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. 

Mrs Page. I will lay a plot to try that ; and 
we will yet have more tricks with Falstaff : his 
dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine. 

Mrs Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, 
Mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throw- 
ing into the water ; and give him another hope, 
to betray him to another punishment ? 

Mrs Page. We will do it : let him be sent for 
to-morrow, eight o'clock, to have amends. 210 

Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
Evans. 

Ford. I cannot find him : may be the knave 
bragged of that he could not compass. 

Mrs Page. [Aside to Mrs Ford] Heard you 
that? 

Mrs Ford. You use me well, Master Ford, 
do you? 

Ford. Ay, I do so. 

Mrs Ford. Heaven make you better than 
your thoughts ! 

Ford. Amen ! 220 

Mrs Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, 
Master Ford. 

Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 

Evans. If there be any pody in the house, 
and in the chambers, and in the coffers, and in 
the presses, heaven forgive my sins at the day of 
judgement ! 

Caius. By gar, nor I too : there is no bodies. 

Page. Fie, fie, Master Ford ! are you not 
ashamed ? What spirit, what devil suggests this 
imagination? I would not ha' your distemper in 
this kind for the wealth of Windsor Castle. 

Ford. 'Tis my fault, Master Page : I suffer 
for it. 

Evans. You suffer for a pad conscience : your 
wife is as honest a 'omans as I will desires among 
five thousand, and five hundred too. 

Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 

Ford. Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, 
come, walk in the Park : I pray you, pardon me ; 
I will hereafter make known to you why I have 
done this. Come, wife ; come, Mistress Page. 
I pray you, pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 

Page. Let's go in, gentlemen ; but, trust me, 
we '11 mock him. I do invite you to morrow 
morning to my house to breakfast: after, we'll 
a-birding together ; I have a fine hawk for the 
bush. Shalfitbeso? 

Ford. Any thing. 

Evans. If there is one, I shall make two in 
the company. 251 

Caius. If dere be one or two, I shall make-a 
the turd. 

Ford. Pray you, go, Master Page. 

Evans. I pray you now, remembrance to-mor- 
row on the lousy knave, mine host. 

Cams. Dat is good; by gar, with all my 
heart ! 



Evans. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and 
his mockeries ! [Exeunt. 260 

Scene IV. A room in Page's house. 
Enter Fenton ««</Anne Page. 

Fent. I see I cannot get thy father's love ; 
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 

A)ine. Alas, how then? 

Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. 

He doth object I am too great of birth ; 
And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 
Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 
My riots past, my wild societies ; 
And tells me 'tis a thing impossible 
I should love thee but as a property. 10 

Anne. May be he tells you true. 

Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to 
come ! 
Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth 
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne : 
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags ; 
And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Anne. Gentle Master Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
If opportunity and humblest suit 20 

Cannot attain it, why, then, — hark you hither ! 
[Tkey converse apart. 

^Kfer Shallow, Slender, and Mistress 
Quickly. 

Shal. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly : my 
kinsman shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: 'slid, 
'tis but venturing. 

Shal. Be not dismayed. 

Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not 
for that, but that I am afeard. 

Quick. H ark ye ; Master Slender would speak 
a word with you. 30 

Anne. I come to him. [Aside] This is my 
father's choice. 
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults 
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a-year ! 

Quick. And how does good Master Fenton? 
Pray you, a word with you. 

Shal. She 's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, thou 
hadst a father ! 

Slen. I had a father, Mistress Anne ; my uncle 
can tell you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, 
tell Mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
two geese out of a pen, good uncle. 41 

Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any 
woman in Gloucestershire. 

Shal. He will maintain you like a gentle- 
woman. 

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, 
under the degree of a squire. 

Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty 
pounds jointure. 50 

Anne. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for 
himself. 

Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you 
for that good comfort. She calls you, coz : I '11 
leave you. 



Scene iv.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



57 



Anne. Now, Master Slender, — 

Slen. Now, good Mistress Anne, — 

Anne. What is your will? 

Slen. My will ! 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty 
jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank 
heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give 
heaven praise. 62 

Anne. I mean, Master Slender, what would 
you with me ? 

Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little 
or nothing with you. Your father and my uncle 
hath made motions: if it he my luck, so ; if not, 
happy man be his dole ! They can tell you how 
things go better than I can : you may ask your 
father ; here he comes. 70 

Enter Page and Mistress Page. 
Page. Now, Master Slender : love him, daugh- 
ter Anne. 
Why, how now ! what does Master Fenton here? 
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 
I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of. 
Fent. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient. 
Mrs Page. Good Master Fenton, come not to 

my child. 
Page. She is no match for you. 
Fent. Sir, will you hear me ? 
Page. No, good Master Fenton. 

Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender, in. 
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton. 
[Exeunt Page, Skal., and Slen. 
Quick. Speak to Mistress Page. 
Fent. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your 
daughter 
In such a righteous fashion as T do, 
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes and manners, 
I must advance the colours of my love 
And not retire : let me have your good will. 
Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond 

fool. 
Mrs Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better 

husband. 
Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 
Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the 
earth 90 

And bowl'd to death with turnips ! 

Mrs Page. Come, trouble not yourself. Good 
Master Fenton, 
I will not be your friend nor enemy : 
My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
And as I find her, so am I affected. 
Till then farewell, sir : she must needs go in ; 
Her father will be angry. 

Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress : farewell, Nan. 

[Exeunt Mrs Page and Anne. 

Quick. This is my doing, now : ' Nay,' said I, 

' will you cast away your child on a fool, and a 

physician? Look on Master Fenton :' this is my 

doing. 

Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once 

to-night 

Give my sweet Nan this ring; there's for thy 

pains. 

Quick. Now hea-\en send thee good fortune ! 

[Exit Fenton.] A kind heart he hath : a woman 

would run through fire and water for such a kind 

heart. But yet I would my master had Mistress 

Anne ; or I would Master Slender had her ; or. 

in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her: I will 



do what I can for them all three ; for so I have 
promised, and I'll be as good as my word ; but 
speciously for Master Fenton. Well, I must of 
another errand to Sir John Falstaff from my two 
mistresses : what a beast am I to slack it ! [Exit. 

Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, I say, — 

Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast 
in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried 
in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal, and 
to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if I be served 
such another trick, I '11 have my brains ta'en out 
and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new- 
year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the 
river with as little remorse as they would have 
drowned a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen i' the 
litter : and you may know by my size that I have a 
kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as 
deep as hell, I should down. I had been drown- 
ed, but that the shore was shelvy and shallow, — 
a death that I abhor; for the water swells a man : 
and what a thing should I have been when I had 
been swelled ! I should have been a mountain of 
mummy. 

Re-enter Bardolph with sack. 

Bard. Flore's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak 
with you. 21 

Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
Thames water ; for my belly's as cold as if I had 
swallowed snowballs for pills to cool the reins. 
Call her in. 

Bard. Come in, woman ! 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : give 
your worship good morrow. 

Fal. Take away these chalices. Go brew me 
a pottle of sack finely. 30 

Bard. With eg-s, sir ? 

Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm 
in my brewage. [Exit Bardolph.] How now ! 

Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship 
from Mistress Ford. 

Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough ; 
I was thrown into the ford; I have my belly full 
of ford. 

Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was 
not her fault: she does so take on with her 
men ; they mistook their erei 41 

Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish 
woman's promise. 

Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it 
would yearn your heart to ^ec it. Her husband 
goes this morning a-birding; she desires you 
once more to come to her between eight and nine : 
I mus-t carry her word quickly: she'll make you 
amends, I warrant you. 

Fal. Well, I will visit her: tell her so; and 
bid her think what a man is : let her consider his 
frailty, and then judge of my merit. 52 

Quick. I will tell her. 

Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, sayestthou? 

Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 

Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 



58 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act iv. 



Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. 

Fal. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook ; 
he sent me word to stay within : I like his money 
well. O, here he comes. 60 

Ente?- Ford. 

Ford. Bless you, sir ! 

Fal. Now, master Brook, you come to know 
what hath passed between me and Ford's wife? 

Ford. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business. 

Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you : I 
was at her house the hour she appointed me. 

Ford. And sped you, sir? 

Fal. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook. 

Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her de- 
termination? 70 

Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking Cor- 
nuto her husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a 
continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the in- 
stant of our encounter, after we had embraced, 
kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke the pro- 
logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of 
his companions, thither provoked and instigated 
by his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his 
house for his wife's love. 

Ford. What, while you were there? 80 

Fal. While I was there. 

Ford. And did he search for you, and could 
not find you? 

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would 
have it, comes in one Mistress Page ; gives intel- 
ligence of Ford's approach ; and, in her invention 
and Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me 
into a buck-basket. 

Ford. A buck-basket ! 

Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket! rammed 
me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul 
stockings, greasy napkins; that, Master Brook, 
there was the rankest compound of villanous 
smell that ever offended nostril. 

Ford. And how long lay you there? 

Fal. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, 
what I have suffered to bring this woman to evil 
for your good. Being thus crammed in the 
basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were 
called forth by their mistress to carry me in the 
name of foul clothes to Datchet-lane : they took 
me on their shoulders ; met the jealous knave their 
master in the door, who asked them once or twice 
what they had in their basket : I quaked for fear, 
lest the lunatic knave would have searched it; 
but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held 
his hand. Well : on went he for a search, and 
away went I for foul clothes. But mark the 
sequel. Master Brook : I suffered the pangs of 
three several deaths ; first, an intolerable fright, 
to be detected with a jealous rotten bell-wether; 
next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, in the 
circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to 
head; and then, to be stopped in, like a strong 
distillation, with stinking clothes that fretted in 
their own grease : think of that, — a man of my kid- 
ney, — think of that, — that am as subject to heat 
as butter; a man of continual dissolution and 
thaw: it was a miracle to scape suffocation. And 
in the height of this bath, when I was more than 
half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be 
thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing hot, 



in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of that, — 
hissing hot, — think of that, Master Brook. 

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that 
for my sake you have suffered all this. My suit 
then is desperate ; you'll undertake her no more? 

Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into 
Etna, as I have been into Thames, ere I will 
leave her thus. Her husband is this morning 
gone a-birding : I have received from her another 
embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is the 
hour, Master Brook. 

Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 

Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my ap- 
pointment. Come to me at your convenient 
leisure, and you shall know how I speed ; and the 
conclusion shall be crowned with your enjoying 
her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master Brook; 
Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a 
dream? do I sleep? Master Ford, awake ! awake, 
Master Ford! there's a hole made in your best 
coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 
'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I 
will proclaim myself what I am : I will now take 
the lecher; he is at my house ; he cannot 'scape 
me ; 'tis impossible he should ; he cannot creep 
into a halfpenny purse, nor into a pepper-box : 
but, lest the devil that guides him should aid 
him, I will search impossible places. Though 
what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I 
would not shall not make me tame : if I have ! 
horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with I 
me : I '11 be horn-mad. [Exit. ' 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. A street. 

Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Quickly, 
and William. 

Mrs Page. Is he at Master Ford's already, 
think'st thou? 

Quick. Sure he is by this, or will be pre- 
sently : but, truly, he is very courageous mad 
about his throwing into the water. Mistress P'ord 
desires you to come suddenly. 

Mrs Page. I '11 be with her by and by ; I '11 
but bring my young man here to school. Look, 
where his master comes ; 'tis a playing-day, I see. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
How now, Sir Hugh ! no school to-day? 10 

Evans. No; Master Slender is let the boys 
leave to play. 

Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 

Mrs Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says my 
son profits nothing in the world at his book. I 
pray you, ask him some questions in his accidence. 

Evans. Come hither, William ; hold up your 
head; come. 

Mrs Page. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your 
head ; answer your master, be not afraid. 20 

Evans. William, how many numbers is in 
nouns? 

Will. Two. 

Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one 
number more, because they say, "Od's nouns.' 

Evans. Peace your tattlings ! What is ' fair,' 
William? 



Scene i.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Will. Pulcher. 

Quick. Polecats ! there are fairer things than 
polecats, sure. 30 

Evans. You are a very simplicity 'oman : I 
pray you, peace. What is 'lapis,' William? 

Will. A stone. 

Evans. And what is 'a stone,' William? 

Will. A pebble. 

Evans. No, it is ' lapis :' I pray you, remem- 
ber in vour prain. 

Will. Lapis. 

Evans. That is a good William. What is he, 
William, that does lend articles? 40 

Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, 
and be thus declined, Singulariter, nominativo, 
hie, haec, hoc. 

Evans. Nominativo, nig, has. hog ; pray you, 
mark : genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your ac- 
cusative case? 

Will. Accusativo, hinc. 

Evans. I pray you, have your remembrance, 
child ; accusativo, hung, hang, hog. 

Quick. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I war- 
rant you. t 5 1 

Evans. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What 
is the focative case, William? 

Will. O,— vocativo. ' >. 

Evans. Remember, William ; focative is caret. 

Quick. And that's a good root. 

Evans. 'Oman, forbear. 

Mrs Page. Peace ! 

Evans. What is your genitive case plural, 
William? 60 

Will. Genitive case ! 

Evans. Ay. 

Will. Genitive, — horum, harum, horum. 

Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on 
her! never name her, child, if she be a whore. 

Evans. For shame, 'oman. 

Quick. You do ill to teach the child such 
words: he teaches him to hick and to hack, which 
they'll do fast enough of themselves, and to call 
' horum : ' fie upon you ! 70 

Evans. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no 
understandings for thy cases and the numbers of 
the genders? Thou art as foolish Christian crea- 
tures as I would desires. 

Mrs Page. Prithee, hold thy peace. 

Evans. Show me now, William, some declen- 
sions of your pronouns. 

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 

Evans. It is qui, qua;, quod: if you forget 
your 'quies,' your 'quaes,' and your 'quods,' you 
must be preeches. Go your ways, and play; go. 

Mrs Page. He is a better scholar than I 
thought he was. 

"Evans. He is a good sprag memory. Fare- 
well, Mistress Page. 

Mrs Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. 

[Exit Sir Hugh.'] 
Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. 

[Exeunt. 

.Scene II. A room in Ford's house. 

Enter Falstaff and Mistress Ford. 

Fa I. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten 

up my sufferance. I see you are obsequious 

in your love, and I profess requital to a hair's 



breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in the simple 
office of love, but in all the accoutrement, com- 
plement and ceremony of it. But are you sure 
of your husband now? 

Mrs Ford. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John. 

Mrs Page. [Within] What, ho, gossip Ford ! 
what, ho ! 10 

Mrs Ford. Step into the chamber, Sir John. 
[Exit Falstaff. 

Enter Mistress Page. 

Mrs Page. How now, sweetheart! who's at 
home besides yourself? 

Mrs Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 

Mrs Page. Indeed! 

Mrs Ford. No, certainly. [Aside to her] 
Speak louder. 

Mrs Page. Truly, I am so glad you have 
nobody here. 

Mrs lord. Why? 20 

Mrs Page. Why, woman, your husband is in 
his old lunes again : he so takes on yonder with 
my husband ; so rails against all married man- 
kind ; so curses all Eve's daughters, of what 
complexion soever: and so buffets himself on the 
forehead, crying, 'Peer out, peer out!' that any 
madness I ever yet beheld seemed but tameness, 
civility and patience, to this his distemper he is 
in now : I am glad the fat knight is not here. 

Mrs Ford. Why, does he talk of him? 30 

Mrs Page. Of none but him ; and swears he 
was carried out, the last time he searched for 
him, in a basket ; protests to my husband he is 
now here, and hath drawn him and the rest of 
their company from their sport, to make another 
experiment of his suspicion : but I am glad the 
knight is not here ; now he shall see his own 
foolery. 

Mrs Ford. How near is he, Mistress Page? 

Mrs Page. Hard by; at street end; he will 
be here anon. 41 

Mrs Ford. I am undone ! The knight is here. 

Mrs Page. Why then you are utterly shamed, 
and he's but a dead man. What a woman are 
you ! — Away with him, away with him ! better 
shame than murder. 

Mrs Fo?d. Which way should he go? how 
should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the 
basket again? 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket. 
May I not go out ere he come? 51 

Mrs Page Alas, three of Master Ford's bro- 
thers watch the door with pistols, that none shall 
issue out; otherwise you might slip away ere he 
came. But what make you here? 

Fal. What shall 1 do? I'll creep up into the 
chimney. 

Mrs Ford. There they always use to discharge 
their birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole. 

Fal. Where is it? 60 

Mrs Ford. He will seek there, on my word. 
Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, Well, vault, 
but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of 
such places, and goes to them by his note : there 
is no hiding you in the house. 

Fal. I 'U go out then. 

Mrs Page. If you go out in your own sem- 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act iv. 



blance, you die, Sir John. Unless you go out 
disguised — 

Mrs Ford. How might we disguise him? 70 

Mrs Page. Alas the day, I know not ! There 
is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other- 
wise he might put on a hat, a muffler and a 
kerchief, and so escape. 

Fal. Good hearts, devise something : any ex- 
tremity rather than a mischief. 

Mrs Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
Brentford, has a gown above. 

Mrs Page. On my word, it will serve him; 
she's as big as he is: and there's her thrummed 
hat and her muffler too. Run up, Sir John. 

Mrs Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir John: Mistress 
Page and I will look some linen for your head. 

Mrs Page. Quick, quick! we'll come dress 

you straight: put on the gown the while. 81 

[Exit Falstaff. 

Mrs Ford. I would my husband would meet 
him in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman 
of Brentford; he swears she's a witch; forbade 
her my house and hath threatened to beat her. 

Mrs Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! 

Mrs Ford. But is my husband coming? 

Mrs Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and 
talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had 
intelligence. 

Mrs Ford. We'll try that; for I'll appoint 
my men to carry the basket again, to meet him 
at the door with it, as they did last time. 

Mrs Page. Nay- but he'll be here presently: 
let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 

Mrs Ford. I'll first direcl my men what they 
shall do with the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen 
for him straight. [Exit. 

Mrs Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we 
cannot misuse him enough. 

We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, 

Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 

We do not acl: that often jest and laugh ; 

'Tis old, but true, Still swine eat all the draff. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Mistress Ford with two Servants. 

Mrs Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on 
your shoulders: your master is hard at door; if 
he bid you set it down, obey him: quickly, dis- 
patch. [Exit. 

First Serf. Come, come, take it up. 

Sec. Serv. Pray heaven it be not full of knight 
again. 

First Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so 
much lead. 

Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and 
Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, 
have you any way then to unfool me again? Set 
down the basket, villain ! Somebody call my 
wife. Youth in a basket ! O you panderly ras- 
cals ! there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy 
against me: now shall the devil be shamed. 
What, wife, I say ! Come, come forth ! Behold 
what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching ! 

Page. Why, this passes, Master Ford ; you 
are not to go loose any longer; you must be 
pinioned. 



Evans. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as 
a mad dog! 131 

Shal. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, 
indeed. 

Ford. So say I too, sir. 

Re-enter Mistress Ford. 
Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the 
honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous 
creature, that hath the jealous fool to her hus- 
band ! I suspect without cause, mistress, do I ? 

Mrs Ford. Heaven be my witness you do, if 
you suspect me in any dishonesty. 140 

Ford. Well said, brazen-face ! hold it out. 
Come forth, sirrah ! 

[Pulling clothes out of the basket. 

Page. This passes ! 

Mrs Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the 
clothes alone. 

Ford. I shall find you anon. 

Evans. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up 
your wife's clothes? Come away. 

F'ord. Empty the basket, I say ! 

Mrs Ford. Why, man, why? 150 

Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there 
was one conveyed out of my house yesterday in 
this basket : why may not he be there again ? In 
my house I am sure he is : my intelligence is 
true; my jealousy is reasonable. Pluck me out 
all the linen. 

Mrs Ford. If you find a man there, he shall 
die a flea's death. 

Page. Here's no man. 

Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master 
Ford ; this wrongs you. 161 

Evans. Master Ford, you must pray, and 
not follow the imaginations of your own heart : 
this is jealousies. 

Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 

Page. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain. 

Ford. Help to search my house this one 
time. If I find not what I seek, show no colour 
for my extremity ; let me for ever be your table- 
sport ; let them say of me, 'As jealous as Ford, 
that searched a hollow walnut for his wife's 
leman.' Satisfy me once more ; once more search 
with me. 

Mrs Ford. What, ho, Mistress Page ! come 
you and the old woman down ; my husband will 
come into the chamber. 

Ford. Old woman ! what old woman's that? 

Mrs Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of 
Brentford. 

Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening 
quean! Have I not forbid her my house? She 
comes of errands, does she? We are simple 
men ; we do not know what's brought to pass 
under the profession of fortune-telling. She 
works by charms, by spells, by the figure, and 
such daubery as this is, beyond our element : we 
know nothing. Come down, you witch, you hag, 
you : come down, I say ! 

Mrs Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ! Good 
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 190 

Re-enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, a7id 

Mistress Page. 
Mrs Page. Come, Mother Prat ; come, give 
me your hand. 



Scene ii. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



61 



Ford. I'll prat her. \ Beating him] Out of 
my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you 
polecat, you ronyon ! out, out! I'll conjure you, 
I '11 fortune-tell you. [Exit Falstaff. 

Mrs Page. Are you not ashamed? I think 
you have killed the poor woman. 

Mrs Ford. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly 
credit for you. 200 

Ford. Hang her, witch ! 

Evans. By yea and no, I think the 'oman is 
a witch indeed : I like not when a 'oman has 
a great peard ; I spy a great peard under his 
muffler. 

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I be- 
seech you, follow ; see but the issue of my 
jealousy : if I cry out thus upon no trail, never 
trust me when I open again. 

Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: 
come, gentlemen. 211 

[Exeunt Ford, Page, Shal., Caius. and Evans. 

Mrs Page. Trust me, he beat him most piti- 
fully. 

Mrs Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did 
not; he beat him most unpitifully, methought. 

Mrs Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed 
and hung o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious 
service. 

Mrs Ford. What think you? may we, with 
the warrant of womanhood and the witness of a 
good conscience, pursue him with any further 
revenge ? 222 

Mrs Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
scared out of him : if the devil have him not 
in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will 
never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us 
again. 

Mrs Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how 
we have served him? 

Mrs Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to 
scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. 
If they can find in their hearts the poor unvir- 
tuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we 
two will still be the ministers. 

Mrs Ford. I'll warrant they'll have him 
publicly shamed: and methinks there would be 
no period to the jest, should he not be publicly 
shamed. 

Mrs Pa^e. Come, to the forge with it then : 
shape it : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 



Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir. the Germans desire to have three 
of your horses: the duke himself will be to- 
morrow at court, and they are going to meet 
him. 

Host. What duke should that be comes so 
secretly? I hear not of him in the court. Let 
me speak with the gentlemen : they speak 
English ? 

Bard. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you. 

Host. They shall have my horses ; but I '11 make 
them pay ; I '11 sauce them : they have had my 
house a week at command; I have turned away 
my other guests: they must come off ; I'll sauce 
them. Come. [Exeunt. 



Scene IV. A room in Ford's house. 

Enter Pagk, Ford, Mistress Page, Mistress 
Ford, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Er'ans. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a 
'oman as ever I did look upon. 

Page. And did he send you both these letters 
at an instant? 

Mrs /'age. Within a quarter of an hour. 

Ford. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what 
th'iu wilt: 
I rather will suspect the sun with cold 
Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honour 

stand, 
Tn him that was of late an heretic, 
As firm as faith. 

Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more : 10 

Be not as extreme in submission 
As in offence. 

But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
Yet once again, to make us public sport. 
Appoint a meeting with this did fat fell >w. 
Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. 

Ford. There is no better way than that they 
spoke of. 

Page. How? to send him word they'll meet 
him in the park at midnight? Fie, fie! he "II 
never come. 

Evans. You say he has been thrown in the 
rivers and has been grievously pcatcn as an old 
'oman : methinks there should be terrors in him 
that he should not come ; methinks his flesh is 
punished, he shall have no desires. 

Page. So think I too. 

Mrs Ford. Devise but how you'll use him 
when he comes, 
And let us two devise to bring him thither. 

Mrs Page. There is an old tale goes that 
Heme the hunter, 
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, 
Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight, 30 
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; 
And there he blasts the tree and takes the cattle 
And makes milch-kine yield blood and shakes a 

chain 
In a most hideous and dreadful manner: 
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you 

know 
The superstitious idle-headed eld 
Received and did deliver to our age 
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 

Page. Why, yet there want not many that do 
fear 
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak : 40 | 
But what of this? * 

Mrs Ford. .Marry, this is our device ; 

That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us. 

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll 
come: 
And in this shape when you have brought him 

thither, 
What shall be done with him? what is your plot? 

Mrs /'age. That likewise have we thought 
upon, and thus : 
Nan Page my daughter and my little son 
And three or four more of their growth we'll dress 
Like urchins, ouphes and fairies, green and white, 
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 50 



62 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act iv. 



And rattles in their hands : upon a sudden, 
As Falstaff, she and I, are newly met, 
Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once 
With some diffused song : upon their sight, 
We two in great amazedness will fly: 
Then let them all encircle him about 
And, fairy-hke, to-pinch the unclean knight, 
And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel, 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread 
In shape profane. 

Mrs Ford. And till he tell the truth, 60 
Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound 
And burn him with their tapers. 

Mrs Page. The truth being known, 

We '11 all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit, 
And mock him home to Windsor. 

Ford. The children must 

Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. 

Evans. I will teach the children their be- 
haviours; and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, 
to burn the knight with my taber. 

Ford. That will be excellent. I '11 go and buy 
them vizards. 70 

Mrs Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all 
the fairies, 
Finely attired in a robe of white. 

Page. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And 
in that time 
Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away 
And marry her at Eton. Go send to Faktaff 
straight. 

Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook : 
He'll tell me all his purpose : sure, he'll come. 

Mrs Page. Fear not you that. Go get us 
properties 
And tricking for our fairies. 

Evans. Let us about it: it is admirable plea- 
sures and fery honest knaveries. 81 
[Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. 

Mrs Page. Go, Mistress Ford, 
Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind. 

[Exit Mrs Ford. 
I '11 to the doctor : he hath my good will, 
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot; 
And he my husband best of all affects. 
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
Potent at court : he, none but he, shall have her, 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave 
her. [Exit. 90 

Scene V. A room hi the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Simple. 

Host. What wouldst thou have, boor? what, 
thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, 
quick, snap. 

Si?n. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir 
John Falstaff from Master Slender. 

Host. There's his chamber, his house, his 
castle, his standing-bed and truckle-bed ; 'tis 
painted about with the story of the Prodigal, 
fresh and new. Go knock and call ; he'll speak 
like an Anthropophaginian unto thee : knock, 
I say. 11 

Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, 
gone up into his chamber : I '11 be so bold as stay, 
sir, till she come down ; I come to speak with her, 
indeed. 



Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
robbed: I'll call. Bully knight ! bully Sir John ! 
speak from thy lungs military : art thou there? it 
is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 

Fat. [Above] How now, mine host ! 20 

Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the 
coming down of thy fat woman. Let her descend, 
bully, let her descend ; my chambers are honour- 
able : fie! privacy? fie! 

Enter P'alstaff. 

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
even now with me; but she's gone. 

Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman 
of Brentford? 

Fal. Ay, marry, was it, mussel-shell : what 
would you with her ? 30 

Sim. My master, sir, Master Slender, sent to 
her, seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, 
sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of 
a chain, had the chain or no. 

Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 

Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ? 

Fal. Marry, she says that the very same man 
that beguiled Master Slender of his chain cozened 
him of it. 

Sim. I would I could have spoken with the 
woman herself; I had other things to have spoken 
with her too from him. 42 

Fal. What are they? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come ; quick. 

Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 

Host. Conceal them, or thou diest. 

Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about 
Mistress Anne Page ; to know if it were my mas- 
ter's fortune to have her or no. 

Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 50 

Sim. What, sir? 

Fal. To have her, or no. Go ; say the woman 
told me so. 

Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir ? 

Fal. Ay, sir ; like who more bold. 

Sim. I thank your worship : I shall make my 
master glad with these tidings. [Exit. 

Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir 
John. Was there a wise woman with thee ? 

Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host ; one that 
hath taught me more wit than ever I learned 
before in my life ; and 1 paid nothing for it 
neither, but was paid for my learning. 

Enter Bardolph. * 

Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage, mere cozenage ! 

Host. Where be my horses? speak well of 
them, varletto. 

Bard. Run away with the cozeners; for so 
soon as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off 
from behind one of them, in a slough of mire ; and 
set spurs and away, like three German devils, 
three Doctor Faustuses. 71 

Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, 
villain : do not say they be fled ; Germans are 
honest men. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
Evans. Where is mine host ? 
Host. What is the matter, sir ? 
Evans. Have a care of your entertainments : 
there is a friend of mine come to town, tells me 



Scene v.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, 



(-.-: 



there is three cozen-germans that has cozened all 
the hosts of Readins, of Maidenhead, of Cole- 
brook, of horses and money. I tell you for good 
will, look you : you are ui.-e and full of gibes and 
vlouting-stocks, and 'tis not convenient you should 
be cozened. Fare you well. [Exit. 

Enter Doctor Cars. 

Cains. Vere is mine host de Jartcer? 

Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity and 
doubtful dilemma. 

Cuius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell-a 
me dat you make grand preparation for a duke de 
Jamany : by my trot, dere is no duke da« the 
court is know to come. 1 tell you for good \ili : 
adieu. [Exit. g\ 

Host. Hue and cry, villain, go ! Assist me, 
knight. I am undone ! Fly, run, hue and cry, 
villain ! I am undone ! [Exeunt Host and Bard. 

Fal. I would all the world might be cozened ; 
fori have been cozened and beaten too. If it should 
come to the ear of the court, how 1 have been 
transformed and how my transformation hath 
been washed and cudgelled, they would melt me 
out of my fat drop by drop and liquor fishermen's 
boots with me: I warrant they would whip me 
with their fine wits tili I were as crest-fallen as a 
dried pear. I never prospered since 1 forswore 
myself at primero. Well, if my wind were but 
long enough to say my prayers, I would repent. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 
Now, whence come you ? 

Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 

Fal. The devil take one party and his dam 
the other ! and so they shall be both bestowed. I 
have suffered more for their sakes, more than the 
villanous inconstancy of mans disposition is able 
to bear. 

Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I 
warrant ; speciously one of them ; Mistress Ford, 
good heart, is beaten black and blue, that j'ou 
cannot see a white spot about her. 

Fal. What tellest thou me of black and blue ? 
: I was beaten myself into all the colours of the 
rainbow ; and I was like to be apprehended for 
the witch of Brentford: but that my admirable 
dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of 
an old woman, delivered me, the knave constable 
had set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for 
a witch. 

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your 
chamber: you shall hear how things go; and, I 
warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will 
say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to 
bring you together! Sure, one of you does not 
serve heaven well, that you are so crossed. 130 

Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Another room in the Garter 
Inn. 

Enter Fenton and Host. 

Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my 
mind is heavy : I will give over all. 

Fent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my 
purpose, 
And, as 1 am a gentleman, I'll give thee 



A hundred pound in gold more than your 

Host. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I 
will at the least keep your counsel. 

Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; 
Who mutually hath answei'd my affection, 10 

So far forth as herself might be her chooser, 
Even to my wish : I have a letter from her 
< If such contents as you will wonder tit ; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
That neither singly can be manifested, 
Without the show of both ; fat Falstaff 
Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 
I '11 show you here at large. Hark, good mine host. 
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 
Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen ; 20 
The purpose why, is here : in which disguise, 
While other jests are something rank on foot, 
Her father hath commanded her to slip 
Away with Slender and with him at Eton 
Immediately to marry : bhe hath consented : 
Now. sir, 

Her mother, ever strong against that match 
And firm for Doctor Cains, hath appointed 
That he shall likewise shuffle her away, 
While other sports are tasking of their minds, 30 
And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot 
She seemingly obedient likewise hath 
Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it rests: 
Her father means she shall be all in white, 
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
To take her by the hand and bid her go. 
She shall go with him : her mother hath intended, 
The better to denote her to the doctor, 
For they must all be mask'd and vizarded, 40 
That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed, 
With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head; 
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, 
The maid hath given consent to go with him. 

Host. Which means she to deceive, father or 
mother ? 

Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me : 
And here it rests, that you'll procure the vicar 
To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one, 
And, in the lawful name of marrying, 50 

To give our hearts united ceremony. 

Host. Well, husband your device; I'll to the 
vicar : 
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 

Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; 
Besides, I '11 make a present recompense. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. A room in ike Carter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Mi si kkss Quickly. 

Fal. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll hold. 
This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in 
odd numbers. Away! go. They say there i- 
divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, 
or death. Away ! 

Quid. I'll provide you a chain; and I'll do 
what 1 can to get you a pair of horns. 

Fal. Away, 1 say; time weans: hold up your 
head, and mince. [Exit Mrs Quickly. 



64 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act v. 



Enter Ford. 
How now, Master Brook ! Master Brook, the 
matter will be known to-night, or never. Be you 
in the Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and 
you shall see wonders. 

Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as 
you told me you had appointed? 

Fal. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, 
like a poor old man : but I came from her, Master 
Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave 
Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of 
jealousy in him, Master Brook, that ever govern- 
ed frenzy. I will tell you : he beat me grievous- 
ly, in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of 
man, Master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a 
weaver's beam; because I know also life is a 
shuttle. I am in haste ; go along with me : I '11 
tell you all, Master Brook. Since I plucked 
geese, played truant and whipped top, I knew 
not what 'twas to be beaten till lately. Follow 
me : I '11 tell you strange things of this knave 
Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged, and 
I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. 
Strange things in hand, Master Brook ! Follow. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Windsor Park. 
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Page. Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle- 
ditch till we see the light of our fairies. Remem- 
ber, son Slender, my daughter. 

Slen. Ay, forsooth: I have spoke with her 
and we have a nay-word how to know one ano- 
ther : I come to her in white, and cry . ' mum ; ' 
she cries 'budget;' and by that we know one 
another. 

Shal. That's good too : but what needs either 
your 'mum' or her 'budget?' the white will de- 
cipher her well enough. It hath struck ten 
o'clock. 

Page. The night is dark; light and spirits 
will become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! 
No man means evil but the devil, and we shall 
know him by his horns. Let's away; follow me. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A street leading to the Park. 

Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Ford, and 
Doctor Caius. 

Mrs Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in 
green ; when you see your time, take her by the 
hand, away with her to the deanery, and dispatch 
it quickly. Go before into the Park; we two 
must go together. 

Caius. I know vat I have to do. Adieu. 

Mrs Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Cai?ts.] 
My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse 
of Falstaff as he will chafe at the doctor's mar- 
rying my daughter : but 'tis no matter ; better a 
little chiding than a great deal of heart-break, n 

Mrs Fo?-d. Where is Nan now and her troop 
of fairies, and the Welsh devil Hugh? 

Mrs Page. They are all couched in a pit hard 
by Heme's oak, with obscured lights; which, at 
the very instant of Falstaff 's and our meeting, 
they will at once display to the night. 



Mrs Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 
Mrs Page. If he be not amazed, he will be 
mocked ; if he be amazed, he will every way be 
mocked. . 21 | 

Mrs Ford. We'll betray him finely. 
Mrs Page. Against such lewdsters and their 
lechery 
Those that betray them do no treachery. 

Airs Ford. The hour draws on. To the oak, j 
to the oak ! [Exeunt. \ 

j 
Scene IV. Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans disguised, -with others 
as Fairies. 
Evans. Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and remem- j 
ber your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me 
into the pit; and when I give the watch-'ords, do 
as I pid you : come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. \ 

Scene V. Another part of the Park. 
Enter Falstaff disguised as Heme. 

Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; 
the minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods 
assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull 
for thy Europa ; love set on thy horns. O power- 
ful love ! that, in some respecls, makes a beast a \ 
man, in some other, a man a beast. You were 
also, Jupiter, a swan for the love of Leda. O j 
omnipotent Love ! how near the god drew to the 
complexion of a goose ! A fault done first in the 
form of a beast. O Jove, a beastly fault ! And j 
then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; 
think on't, Jove ; a foul fault ! When gods have 
hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I 
am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I think, 
i' the forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or 
who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes 
here? my doe? 

Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 

Mrs Ford. Sir John ! art thou there, my deer? 
my male deer? 

Fal. My doe with the black scut ! Let the 
sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of \ 
Green Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits and snow ! 
eringoes ; let there come a tempest of provoca- j 
tion, I will shelter me here. 

Mrs Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, j 
sweetheart. 1 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe buck, each a ! 
haunch : I will keep my sides to myself, my 1 
shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my 
horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a wood- 
man, ha? Speak I like Heme the hunter? Why, 
now is Cupid a child of conscience ; he makes 
restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome ! 

[Noise within. 

Mrs Page. Alas, what noise ? 

Mrs Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 

Fal. What should this be? 

Mrs Page. \ Awa ^> awa ^ ! ^^ ™ & 

Fal. I think the devil will not have me damn- 
ed, lest the oil that's in me should set hell on 
fire ; he would never else cross me thus. 40 



Scene v.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



65 



E/iterSiu Hugh EvAtm,disguisedas&efore; Pis- 
tol, as Hobgoblin; Mistress Quickly, Anne 
Page, and others, as Fairies, with tapers. 

Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, 
tou orphan heirs of fixed destiny, 
Attend your office and your quality. 
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. 
Fist. Elves, list your names ; silence, 3-011 
airy toys. 
Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap : 
Where fires thou find'st unraked and hearths un- 

swept, 
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. 50 
Fal. They are fairies ; he that speaks to them 
shall die : 
I'll wink and couch : no man their works must eye. 
[Lies doivn upon his face. 
Evans. Where's Bede? Go you, and where 
you find a maid 
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
Raise up the organs of her fantasy ; 
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy: 
Bui those as sleep and think not on their sins 
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides 
and shins. 
Quick. About, about; 
Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out : 60 
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room : 
That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit, 
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
The several chairs of order look you scour 
With juice of balm and every precious flower: 
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, 
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest ! 
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, 
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 70 

The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
And ' Honi soit qui mal y pense' write 
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; 
Like sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery, 
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
Fairies use flowers for their characlery. 
Away; disperse: but till 'tis one o'clock, 
Our dance of custom round about the oak 
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. So 

Evans. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; your- 
selves in order set; 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth. 

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh 
fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 
Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even 

in thy birth. 
Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger- 
end: 
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend 
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 90 

It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
Pist. A trial, come. 

Evans. Come, will this wood take fire? 

[ They bur>i him with their tapers. 
Fal. Oh, Oh, Oh ! 
Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 



About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 

Song. 

Fie on sinful fantasy ! 

Fie on lust and luxury ! 

Lust is but a bloody fire, 

Kindled with unchaste desire, 100 

Fed in heart, whose flames aspire 

As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 

Pinch him, fairies, mutually; 

Pinch him for his villany ; 
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out. 

During this song they /inch Falstaff. Doc- 
ib Caius comes one way . and steals away 
a boy in green; Slender another way, 
and takes off a boy in white ; and l'i 
comes, and steals away Mrs Anxk I 
A noise of hunting is heard within. All 
the Fairies run away. Falstaff pulls 
off his buck's head, and rises. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page and 
Mistress Ford. 

Page. Nay, do not fly; I think we have 
watch'd you now : 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn? 

Mrs Page. I pray you, come, ho'ld up the 
jest no higher. 
Now, good Sir John, howlike you Windsor wives? 
tSee you these, husband? do not these fair yokes 
Become the forest better than the town? 

Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Mas- 
ter Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave ; 
here are his horns, Master Brook: and^ Master 
Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but 
his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds 
of money, which must be paid to Master Brook ; 
his horses are arrested for it, Master Brook. 

Mrs Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck ; 
we could never meet. I will never take you for 
my love again; but I will always count you my 
deer. 

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made 
an ass. 

Ford. Ay, and an ox too : both the pn 
extant. 

Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three 
or four times in the thought they were not fairies : 
and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden 
surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the 
foppery into a received belief, in despite of the 
teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were 
fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack- 
a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill employment ! 

Evans. Sir John Falstaff, serve (Jot, and 
leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 

Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 

Evans. And leave your jealousies too, I pray 
you. 140 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, 
till thou art able to woo her in good English. 

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun and 
dried it, that it wants matter to prevent 
o'errcaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welsh 
goat too? shall I have a coxcomb of frize? "lis 
time I were choked with apiece of toasted cheese. 



Cx5 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act v. 



Evans. Seese is not good to give putter; your 
belly is all putter. 

Fal. 'Seese' and 'putter'! have I lived to 
stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of 
English? This is enough to be the decay of lust 
and late-walking through the realm. 

Mrs Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, 
though we would have thrust virtue out of our 
hearts by the head and shoulders and have given 
ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the 
devil could have made you our delight ? 

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? 

Mrs Page. A puffed man? 160 

Page. Old, cold, withered and of intolerable 
entrails? 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? 

Page. And as poor as Job? 

Ford. And as wicked as his wife? 

Evans. And given to fornications, and to 
taverns and sack and wine and metheglins, and 
to drinkings and swearings and starings, pribbles 
and prabbles? 

Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the 
start of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to 
answer the Welsh flannel; ignorance itself is a 
plummet o'er me : use me as you will. 

Ford. Marry,. sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, 
to one Master Brook, that you have cozened of 
money, to whom you should have been a pander : 
over and above that you have suffered, I think 
to repay that money will be a biting affliction. 

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat 
a posset to-night at my house; where I will 
desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs 
at thee : tell her Master Slender hath married her 
daughter. 

Mrs Page. [Aside] Doctors doubt that : if 
Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, 
Doctor Caius' wife. 

Enter Slender. 

Slen. Whoa,, ho ! ho, father Page I 

Page. Son, how now ! how now, son ! have 
you dispatched? 

Slen. Dispatched! I'll make the best in 
Gloucestershire know on't ; would I were hanged, 
la, else ! 

Page. Of what, son? 

Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mis- 
tress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. 
If it had not been i' the church, I would have 
swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If 
I did not think it had been Anne Page, would 
I might never stir ! — and 'tis a postmaster's boy. 

Page. Upon my life, then, you took the 
wrong. 201 

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think 
so, when I took a boy for a girl. If I had been 
married to him, for all he was in woman's appa- 
rel, I would not have had him. 

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not 
I tell you how you should know my daughter by 
her garments? 



Slen. I went to her in white, and cried 'mum,' 
and she cried ' budget,' as Anne and I had ap- 
pointed ; and yet it was not Anne, but a post- 
master's boy. 

Mrs Page. Good George, be not angry: I 
knew of your purpose ; turned my daughter into ! 
green ; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor 
at the deanery, and there married. 

Enter Caius. 

Caitts. Vere is Mistress P?.ge? By gar, I am 
cozened : I ha' married un gargon, a boy ; un 
paysan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by 
gar, I am cozened. 220 

Mrs Page. Why, did you take her in green? 

Cams. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar, 
I'll raise all Windsor. [Exit. 

Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the 
right Anne? 

Page. My heart misgives me: here comes 
Master Fenton. 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 
How now, Master Fenton ! 
A nne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, 

pardon ! 
Page. Now, mistress, how chance you went 
not with Master Slender? 231 

Mrs Page. Why went you not with master 

doctor, maid? 
Fent. You do amaze her : hear the truth of it. 
You would have married her most shamefully, 
Where there was no proportion held in love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. 
The offence is holy that she hath committed; 
And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
Of disobedience, or unduteous title, 240 

Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
A thousand irreligious cursed hours, 
Which forced marriage would have brought upon 
her. 
Ford. Stand not amazed ; here is no remedy : 
In love the heavens themselves do guide the 

state ; 
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a 
special stand to strike at me, that your arrow 
hath glanced. 

Page. Well, what remedy?- Fenton, heaven 
give thee joy ! 250 

What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced. 
Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer 

are chased. 
Mrs Page. Well, I will muse no further. 
Master Fenton,. 
Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 
Good husband, let us every one go home, 
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; 
Sir John and all. 

Ford. Let it be so. Sir John, 

To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; 
For he to-night shall lie with Mistress Ford. 

[Exeunt. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 



Vincentio, the Duke. 
Angelo, Deputy. 
EsCALUS, an ancient Lord. 
Claudio,. a young gentleman. 
Lucio, a fantastic. 
Two other gentlemen. 
Provost. 

?»--.} two friar, 

A Justice. 
Varrius. 

Elbow, a simple constable. 
Froth, a foolish gentleman. 



Pompev, servant to Mistress Overdone. 
ABHORSON, an executioner. 
Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. 

Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved of Claudio. 
Francisca, a nun. 
Mistress Overdone, a bawd. 

Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants. 

Scene : Vienna. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. An apartment in the Duke's palace. 
Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords and Attendants. 

Duke. Escalus. 

Escal. My lord. 

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me to affe<5t speech and discourse ; 
Since I am put to know that your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you : then no more remains, 

t But that to* your sufficiency 

as your worth is able, 

And let them work. The nature of our people, 
Our city's institutions, and the terms n 

For common justice, you're as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember. There is our commission, 
From which we would not have you warp. Call 

hither, 
I say, bid come before us Angelo. 

[Exit an Attendant. 
What figure of us think you he will bear ? 
For you must know, we have with special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply, 
Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, 
And given his deputation all the organs 21 

Of our own power : what think you of it? 

Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honour, 
It is Lord Angelo. 

Duke. Look where he comes. 

Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo^ 

There is a kind of character in thy life, 
That to the observer doth thy history 
Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings 30 
Are not thine own so proper as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. 
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 



Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues 

Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely 

touch' d 
But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends 
The smallest scruple of her excellence 
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
Herself the glory of a creditor, 40 

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 
To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
Hold therefore, Angelo : — 
In our remove be thou at full ourself ; 
Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
Live in thy tongue and heart : old Escalus, 
Though first in question, is thy secondary. 
Take thy commission. 

Ang. Now, good my lord, 

Let there be some more test made of my metal. 
Before so noble and so great a figure 50 

Be stamp'd upon it. 

Duke. No more evasion : 

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. 
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition 
That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, 
As time and our concerning* shall importune, 
How it goes with us, and do look to know 
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well : 
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 6o 

Of your commissions. 

Aiig. Yet give leave, my lord, 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Duke. My haste may not admit it : 
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do 
With any scruple ; your scope is as mine own, 
So to enforce or qualify the laws 
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand : 
I '11 privily away. I love the people, 
But do not like to stage me to their eyes: 
Though it do well, I do not relish well 
Their loud applause and Aves vehement ; 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion 
That does affect it. Once more, fire you well. 



70 



68 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act i. 



Ang. The heavens give safety to your pur- 
poses ! 
Escal. Lead forth and bring you back in hap- 
piness ! 
Duke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit. 
Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me 
leave 
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
To look into the bottom of nry place : 
A power I have, but of what strength and nature 
I am not yet instructed. 81 

Ang. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw to- 
gether, 
And we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 
Escal. I'll wait upon your honour. [Exeimt. 

Scene II. A street. 
Enter L,ucio»and two Gentlemen. 

Lucio. If the duke with the other dukes come 
not to composition with the King of Hungary, 
why then all the dukes fall upon the king. 

First Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but 
not the King of Hungary's ! 

Sec. Gent. Amen. 

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimo- 
nious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Com- 
mandments, but scraped one out of the table. 

Sec. Gent. 'Thou shalt not steal'? 10 

Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 

First Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to 
command the captain and all the rest from their 
functions : they put forth to steal. There's not a 
soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before 
meat, do relish the petition well that prays for 
peace. 

Sec. Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 

Lucio. I believe thee ; for I think thou never 
wast where grace was said. 20 

Sec. Gent. No ? a dozen times at least. 

First Gent. What, in metre? 

Lucio. In any proportion or in any language. 

First Gent. I think, or in any religion. 

Lucio. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite 
of all controversy : as, for example, thou thyself 
art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. 

First Gent. Well, there went but a pair of 
shears between us. 

Lucio. I grant; as there may between the 
lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. 31 

First Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art 
good velvet ; thou 'rt a three-piled piece, I war- 
rant thee : I had as lief be a list of an English 
kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a French 
velvet. Do I speak feelingly now ? 

Lucio. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with 
most painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out of 
thine own confession, learn to begin thy health ; 
but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. 40 

First Gent. I think I have done myself wrong, 
have I not? 

Sec. Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou 
art tainted or free. 

Lticio, Behold, behold, where Madam Mitiga- 
tion comes ! I have purchased as many diseases 
under her roof as come to — 

Sec. Gent. To what, I pray ? 



Lucio. Judge. 

Sec. Gent. To three thousand dolours a year. 

First Gent. Ay, and more. 51 

Lucio. A French crown more. 

First Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases 
in me ; but thou art full of error; I am sound. 

Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; 
but so sound as things that are hollow: thy bones 
are hollow ; impiety has made a feast of thee. 

Enter Mistress Overdone. 

First Gent. How now ! which of your hips has 
the most profound sciatica? 

Mrs Ov. Well, well ; there's one yonder ar- 
rested and carried to prison was worth five thou- 
sand of you all. 

Sec. Gent. Who's that, I pray thee ? 

Mrs Ov. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior 
Claudio. 

L'irst Gent. Claudio to prison ? 'tis not so. 

Airs Ov. Nay, but 1 know 'tis so : I saw him 
arrested, saw him carried away; and, which is 
more, within these three days his head to be 
chopped off. 70 

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not 
have it so. Art thou sure of this ? 

Mrs Ov. I am too sure of it : and it is for get- 
ting Madam Julietta with child. 

Lucio. Believe me, this may be: he promised 
to meet me two hours since, and he was ever pre- 
cise in promise-keeping. 

Sec. Gent. Besides, you know, it draws some- 
thing near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 

First Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with 
the proclamation. 81 

Lttcio. Away ! let's go learn the truth of it. 
[Exeunt Lueio and Gentlemen. 

Mrs Ov. Thus, what with the war, what with 
the sweat, what with the gallows and what with 
poverty, I am custom-shrunk. 

Enter Pompey. 
How now ! what's the news with you ? 

Font. Yonder man is carried to prison. 

Mrs Ov. Well ; what has he done ? 

Pom. A woman. 

Mrs Ov. But what's his offence ? 90 

Pom. Groping fortrouts in a peculiar river. 

Mrs Ov. What, is there a maid with child by 
him ? 

Pom. No, but there 's a woman with maid by 
him. You have not heard of the proclamation, 
have you ? 

Mrs Ov. What proclamation, man ? 

Pom. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna 
must be plucked down. 

Mrs Ov. And what shall become of those in 
the city ? 101 

Pom. They shall stand for seed : they had gone 
down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. 
Mrs Ov. But shall all our houses of resort in 
the suburbs be pulled down ? 

Pom. To the ground, mistress. 

Mrs Ov. Why, here's a change indeed in the 
commonwealth ! What shall become of me ? 

Pom. Come ; fear not you : good counsellors 
lack no clients : though you change your place, 
you need not change your trade ; I '11 be your 
tapster still. Courage ! there will be pity taken 



Scene ir.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



6g 



on you : you that have worn your eyes almost out 
in the service, you will be considered. 

Mrs Ov. What's to do here, Thomas tapster? 
let's withdraw. 

Pom. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the 
provost to prison; and there's Madam Juliet. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and 
Officers. 
Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus 
to the world? 120 

Bear me to prison, where I am committed. 

Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, 
But from Lord Angelo by special charge. 

Claud. Thus can the demigod Authority 
Make us pay down for our offence by weight 
The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will; 
On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 

Re-enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ! whence 
comes this restraint ? 

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, 
liberty : 
As surfeit is the father of much fast, 130 

So every scope by the immoderate use 
Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, 
Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, 
A thirsty evil ; and when we drink we die. 

Lneio. If I could speak so wisely under an 
arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors : 
and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the 
foppery of freedom as the morality of imprison- 
ment. What's thy offence, Claudio ? 

Claud. What but to speak of would offend 
again. 140 

Lucio. What, is 't murder? 

Claud. No. 

Lucio. Lechery? 

Claud. Call it so. 

Prov. Away, sir ! you must go. 

Claud. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word 
with you. 

Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. 
Is lechery so look'd after? 

Claud. Thus stands it with me : upon a true 
contract 
I got possession of Julietta's bed: 150 

You know the lady; she is fast my wife, 
Save that we do the denunciation lack 
Of outward order : this we came not to, 
Only for propagation of a dower 
Remaining in the coffer of her friends, 
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love 
Till time had made them for us. But it chances 
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment 
With character too gross is writ on Juliet. 

Lucio. With child, perhaps? 

Claud. Unhappily, even so. 160 

And the new deputy now for the duke — 
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, 
( )r whether that the body public be 
A horse whereon the governor doth ride, 
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; 
Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
I stagger in : — but this new governor 



Awakes me all the enrolled penalties 170 

Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the 

wall 
So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round 
And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, 
Now puts the drowsy and neglected adt 
Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name. 



Lucio. I warrant it is: and thv head stands 



so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she 
be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke 
and appeal to him. 

Claud. I have done so, but he's nol 

found. 180 

I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service : 
This day my sister should the cloister enter 
And there receive her approbation: 
Acquaint her with the danger of my state: 
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him : 
I have great hope in that ; for in her youth 
There is a prone and speechless dia 
Such as move men ; beside, she hath prosperous art 
When she will play with reason and discourse, 
And well she can persuade. 191 

Lucio. I pray she may; as well for the en- 
couragement of the like, which else would stand 
under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of 
thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus 
foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I '11 to her. 

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. Within two hours. 

Claud. Come, officer, away ! 

{Exeunt. 

Scene III. A monastery. 
Enter Duke and Fkiar Thomas. 

Duke. No, holy father; throw away that 
thought ; 
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee 
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 

Fri. T. May your grace speak of it : 

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
How I have ever loved the life removed 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies 
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 
I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, 11 

A man of stricture and firm abstinence, 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travel I'd to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
And so it is received. Now. piou 
You will demand of me why I do this? 

Fri. T. Gladly, my lord. 

Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting 
laws, 
The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds. 
Which for this nineteen years we have let slip; 21 
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, 
I bound r.n the threatening twigs of birch. 

Only to stick it in their children's 
For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd ; so our decrees. 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead; 
And liberty plucks justice by the □ 



7 o 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act i. 



The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 30 
Goes all decorum. 

Fri. T. It rested in your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased : 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd 
Than in Lord Angelo. 

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do : for we bid this be done, 
When evil deeds have their permissive pass 
And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, 

my father, 
I have on Angelo imposed the office ; 40 

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 
tAnd yet my nature never in the fight 
To do in slander. And to behold his sway, 
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I prithee, 
Supply me with the habit and instruct me 
How I may formally in person bear me 
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action 
At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
Only, this one '. Lord Angelo is precise; 50 

Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we see, 
If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 

\_Exeun<t. 

Scene IV. A nunnery. 
Enter Isabella and Francisca. 

Isab. And have you nuns no farther privileges ? 

Fran. Are not these large enough? 

Isab. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ; 
But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. 

Lucio. [IVit/iiu] Ho I Peace be in this place ! 

Isab. Who's that which calls? 

Fraji. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, 
Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; 
You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn. 
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with 
men 10 

But in the presence of the prioress : 
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, 
Or, if you show your face; you must not speak. 
He calls again ; I pray you, answer him. [Exit. 

Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that 
calls? 

Enter Lucia. 

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek- 
roses 
Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me 
As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
A novice of this place and the fair sister 
To her unhappy brother Claudio? 20 

Isab. Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask, 
The rather for I now must make you know 
I am that Isabella and his sister. 

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly 
greets you : 
Not to be weary with you, he 's in prison. 

Isab. Woe me ! for what ? 

Lucio. For that which, if myself might be his 
judge, 
He should receive his punishment in thanks : 



30 



He hath got his friend with child. 

Isab. Sir, make me not your story. 

Lucio. It is true 

I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin 
With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, 
Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins so : 
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted, 
By your renouncement an immortal spirit, 
And to be talk'd with in sincerity, 
As with a saint. 

Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking 
me. 

Lticio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 
'tis thus: 
Your brother and his lover have embraced : 40 
As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time 
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb 
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 

Isab. Some one with child by him? My cousin 
Juliet? 

Lucio. Is she your cousin ? 

Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their 
names 
By vain though apt affection. 

Lucio. She it is. 

Isab. O, let him marry her. 

Lzicio. This is the point. 

The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 50 
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
In hand and hope of action : but we do learn 
By those that know the very nerves of state, 
His givings-out were of an infinite distance 
From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
And with full line of his authority, 
Governs Lord Angelo ; a man whose blood 
Is very snow-broth ; one v/ho never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense, 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 60 
With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
He — to give fear to use and liberty, 
Which have for long run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions — hath pick'd out an act, 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it; 
And follows close the rigour of the statute, 
To make him an example. All hope is gone, 
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business 
'Twixt you and your poor brother. 71 

Isab. Doth he so seek his life? 

Lucio. Has censured him 

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution. 

Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me 
To do him good? 

Lucio. Assay the power you have. 

Isab. My power ? Alas, I doubt — 

Lucio. Our doubts are traitors 

And make us lose the good we oft might win 
By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, 
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, 80 
Men give like gods; but when they weep and 

kneel, 
All their petitions are as freely theirs 
As they themselves would owe them. 

Isab. I '11 see what I can do. 

Lucio. But speedily. 

Isab. I will about it straight ; 



Scene iv.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



7* 



No longer staying but to give the mother 
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : 
Commend me to my brother : soon at night 
I'll send him certain word of my success. 
Lucio. I take my leave of you. 
Isab. Good sir, adieu. 90 

{Exeunt. 
ACT II. 
Scene I. A hall in Angelo's house. 

Enter Axgelo, EscAi.rs, and a Justice, Provost, 
Officers, and other Attendants, In-hind. 

Ang. We must not make a scarecrow of the 
law, 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch and not their terror. 

Escal. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentle- 
man, 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father ! 
Let but your honour know, 
Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, 
That, in the working of your own affections, 10 
Had time cohered with place or place with 

wishing, 
Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
Could have attain'd the effect of your own pur- 
pose, 
Whether you had not sometime in your life 
Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
And pull'd the law upon you. 

Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two 20 
Guiltier than him they try. What's open made 

to justice, 
t That justice seizes: what know the laws 
That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very preg- 
nant, 
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't . 
Because we see it; but what we do not see 
We tread upon, and never think of it. 
You may not so extenuate his offence 
For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, 
When I, that censure him, do so offend, 
Let mine own judgement pattern out my death, 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 

Aug. Where is the provost? 

Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 

Ang. See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning: 
Hring him his confessor, let him be prepared; 
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 

[Exit Provost. 

Escal. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him ! and 
forgive us all ! 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: 
fSome run from brakes of ice, and answer none: 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 40 

Enter Elbow, and Officers with Froth and 
Pom ie v. 
Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be good 
people in a commonweal that do nothing but use 



their abuses in common houses, I know no law : 
bring them away. 

Ang. How now, sir! What's your name? 
and what's the matter? 

Eld. If it please your honour, I am the poor 
duke's constable, and my name is Elbow : I do 
lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before 
your good honour two notorious benefactors. 50 

Ang. Benefactors? Well; what benefactors 
are they? are they not malefactors? 

Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well 
what they are : but precise villains they are, that 
I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the 
world that good Christians ought to have. 

Escal. This comes off well; here's a wise 
officer. 

Ang. Go to : what quality are they of? Elbow 
is your name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow? 

Pom. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. 61 

- Ing. What are you, sir? 

Elb. He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one 
that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, 
as they say, plucked down in the suburbs ; and 
now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is 
a very ill house too. 

Escal. How know you that ? 

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before hea- 
ven and your honour, — 70 

Escal. How? thy wife? 

Elb. Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an 
honest woman, — 

Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore? 

Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as 
well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's 
house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty 
house. 

Escal. How dost thou know that, constable? 

Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had 
been a woman cardinally given, might have been 
accused in fornication, adultery, and all unclean- 
liness there. 

Escal. By the woman's means? 

Elb. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: 
but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. 

Pom. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 

Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou 
honourable man ; prove it. 

Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces? 90 

Pom. Sir, she came in great with child ; and 
longing, saving your honour's reverend.', f 
ed prunes; sir, we had but two in the house, 
which at that very distant time stood, as it were, 
in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three-pence ; your 
honours have seen such dishes; they are not 
China dishes, but very good dishes, — 

Escal. Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir. 

Pom. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are 
therein in the right: but to the point. As I say, 
this Mistress Elbow, being, as 1 say, with child, 
and being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for 
prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, 
Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten 
the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them 
very honestly ; for, as you know. Master Froth, 
1 could not give you three-pence agaiu. 

Froth. No, indeed. 

Pom. Very well ; you being then, if you be 
remembered, cracking the stones of the foresaid 
prunes, — hi 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE 



[Act ii. 



Froth. Ay, so I did indeed. 

Pom. Why, very well ; I telling you then, if 
you be remembered-, that such a one and such a 
one were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless 
they kept very good diet, as I told you, — 

Froth. All this is true. 

Pom. Why, very well, then, — 

Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : tt> the 
purpose. What was done to Elbow's wife, that he 
hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was 
done to her. 

Pom. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 

Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 

Pom. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your 
honour's leave. And, I beseech you, look into 
Master Froth here, sir; a man of fourscore pound 
a year; whose father died at Hallowmas: was't 
not at Hallowmas, Master Froth? 

Froth. All-hallond eve: 130 

Pom. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths. 
He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair r sir ; 
'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you 
have a delight to sit, have you not? 

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room 
and good for winter. 

Pom. Why, very well, then; I hope here be 
truths. 

Ang. This will last out a night in Russia,. 
When nights are longest there : I '11 take my 
leave, 140 

And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them 
all. 

Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to your 
lordship. [Exit Angela. 

Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's 
wife, once more? 

Pom. Once, sir? there was nothing done to 
her once, 

Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this 
man did to my wife. 

Pom. I beseech your honour, ask me. 150 

Escal. Well, sir; what did this gentleman to 
her ? 

Pom. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentle- 
man's face. Good Master Froth, look upon his 
honour ; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth your 
honour mark his face ? 

Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 

Pom. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. 

Escal. Well, I do so. 

Pom. Doth your honour see any harm in his 
face? 160 

Escal. Why, no. 

Pom. I '11 be supposed upon a book, his face 
is the worst thing about him. Good, then ; if his 
face be the worst thing about him, how could 
Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? 
I would know that of your honour. 

Escal. He's in the right. Constable, what 
say you to it? 

Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a re- 
spected house ; next, this is a respected fellow ; 
and his mistress is a respected woman. 

Pom. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more re- 
spected person than any of us all. 

Elb. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked 
varlet ! the time is yet to come that she was ever 
respected with man, woman, or child. 



Pom. Sir, she was respected with him before 
he married with her. 

Escal. Which is the wiser here? Justice or 
Iniquity? Is this true? 1S1 

Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet ! O thou 
wicked Hannibal ! I respected with her before 
I was married to her ! If ever I was respected 
with her, or she with me, let not your worship 
think me the poor duke's officer. Prove this, 
thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action 
of battery on thee. 

Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you 
might have your action of slander too. 190 

Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for 
it. What is't your worship's pleasure 1 shall do 
with this wicked caitiff? 

Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some 
offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou 
couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou 
knowest what they are. 

Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it. 
Thouseest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's come 
upon thee : thou art to continue now, thou varlet; 
thou art to continue. 201 

Escal. Where were you born, friend? 

P'roth. Here in Vienna, sir. 

Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year? 
Yes, an't please you, sir. 
So. What trade are you of, sir ? 
A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 

Your mistress' name? 
Mistress Overdone. 
Hath she had any more than one hus- 



Froth. 

Escal. 

Pom. 

Escal. 

Pom. 

Escal. 
band? 

Pom. 'Nine, sir ; Overdone by the last. 

Escal. Nine ! Come- hither to me, Master 
Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you ac- 
quainted with tapsters : they will draw you, 
Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you 
gone, and let me hear no more of you. 

Froth. I thank your worship. For mine own 
part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, 
but I am drawn in. 220 

Escal. Well, no more of it, Master Froth : 
farewell. [Exit Froth.~\ Come you hither to 
me, Master tapster. What's your name, Master 
tapster? 

Pom. Pompey. 

Escal. What else?' 

Pom. Bum, sir. 

Escal. Troth, and your bum is the greatest 
thing about you ; so that in the beastliest sense 
you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are 
partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it 
in being a tapster, are you not? come, tell me 
true : it shall be the better for you. 

Pom. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would 
live. 

Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by 
being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, 
Pompey ? is it a lawful trade? 

Pom. If the law would allow it, sir. 

Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey,* 
nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna, 241 

Pom, Does your worship mean to geld and 
splay all the youth of the city? 

Escal. No, Pompey. 

Pom. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they 
will to't then, If your worship will take order 



Scene i. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to 
fear the bawds* 

Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I 
can tell you: it is but heading and hanging. 250 

Pom. If you head and hang all that offend 
that way but for ten year together, you'll be 
glad to give out a commission for more heads : if 
this law hold in Vienna ten year r I'll rent the 
fairest house in it after three-pence a bay : if you 
live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told 
you so. 

Escal. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in. re- 
quital of your prophecy, hark you: I advise you, 
let me not find you before me again upon any 
complaint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where 
you do : if 1 do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your 
tent, and prove a shrewd Caesar to you; in plain 
j dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so, for 
I this time, Pompey, fare you well. 

Pom. I thank your worship for your good 
counsel : [Aside] but I shall follow it as the ilesh 
and fortune shall better determine. 
Whip me? No> no; let carman whip his jade: 
The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade. 

[Exit. 270 

Escal. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; 
come hither, Master constable. How long have 
you been in this place of constable ? 

Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. 

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the 
office, you had continued in it some time. You 
say, seven years together? 

Elb. And a half, sir. 

Escal. Alas, it hath been great pains to you. 
They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't : are 
there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? 

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : 
as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me 
for them ; I do it for some piece of money, and 
go through with all. 

Escal. Look you bring me in the names of 
some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. 

Elb. To your worship's house, sir? 

Escal. To my house. Fare you well. 

[Exit Elbow. 
What's o'clock, think you? 280 

Just. Eleven, sir. 

Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 

Just. I humbly thank you. 

Escal. It grieves- me for the death of Claudia; 
But there's no remedy. 

Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 

Escal. It is but needful : 

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks- so : 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe: 
But yet, — poor Claudio! There is no remedy. 
Come, sir. [Exeunt. ijo 

Scene II. Another room in the saiae. 
Enter Provost and a Servant. 

Serv. He's hearing of a cause; he will come 
straight: 
I'll tell him of you. 
Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.^ 

I '11 know 
His pleasure ; may be he will relent. Alas, 
He hath but as offended in a dream ! 



All sects, all ages smack of this vice ; and he 
To die for 't ! 

£«^rANGELO. 

A fig. Now, what's the matter, provost ? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to- 
morrow? 

Ang. Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not 
order ? 
Why dost thou ask again ? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 

Under your good correction, 1 have seen, 10 

When, after execution, judgement hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Ang. Goto; let that be mine : 

Do you your office, or give up your place, 
And you shall well be spared. 

Prov. I crave your honour's pai 

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet.' 
She's very near her hour. 

Ang. 1 >ispose of her 

To- some more fitter place, and that with speed. 

Re-enter Servant. 
Ser?'. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd 
Desires access to you. 

Aug. Hath he a sister? 

Prov- Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous 
maid, 20 

And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
If not already. 
Ang. ' Well, let her be admitted. 

[Exit Servant. 
See you the fornicatress be removed : 
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means; 
There shall be order for't. 

Enter Isabella and Lucio. 

Prov. God save your honour ! 

Ang. Stay a little while. [To I sab. \ You're 
welcome : what's your will? 

Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, 
Please but your honour hear me. 

A >ig. Well ; what's your suit ? 

Isab. There is a vice that most I do a 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
For which I would not plead, bat that I must ; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war 'twixt will and will not. 

Aug. Well : the matter? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
I do beseech you, let it be h:s fault, 
And not my brother. 

Prov. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving 
graces ! 

Aug. Condemn the fault, and not the aclor 
of it? 
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done : 
Mine were the very cipher of a function, 
To fine the faults whose fine .stands in record, 40 
And let go by the aclor. 

Isab. O just but severe law ! 

I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour! 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab. ] ( live't not o'er so : to 
him again, entreat him ; 
Kneel down before him. hang upon his gown : 
N'ou are too cold : if you should need a pin, 
Vnii could not with more tame a tongue desire it : 



74 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act ii. 



To him, I say ! 

Isab. Must he needs die ? 

Aug. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon 
him, 
And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. 

Ang. I will not do't. 

Isab. But can you, if you would? 51 

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do't, and do the world 
no wrong, 
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him? 

Aug. He's sentenced; 'tis too late. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] You are too cold. 

Isab. Too late? why, no ; I, that do speak a 
word, 
May call it back again. Well, believe this, 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 60 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
Become them with one half so good a grace 
As mercy does. 

If he had been as you and you as he, 
You would have slipt like him ; but he, like you, 
Would not have been so stern. 

Ang. Pray you, be gone. 

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, 
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus? 
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
And what a prisoner. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Ay, touch him; there's 
the vein. 70 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the Iaw } 
And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas, alas ! 

Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once ; 
And He that might the vantage best have took 
Found out the remedy. How would you be, 
If He, which is the top of judgement, should 
But judge you as you are ? O, think on that -, 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made. 

Ang. Be you content, fair maid ; 

It is the law, not I condemn your brother : 80 
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 
It should be thus with him : he must die to- 
morrow. 

Isab. To-morrow! O, that's sudden ! Spare 
him, spare him ! 
He's not prepared for death. Even for our 

kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, be- 
think you ; 
Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
There's many have committed it. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Ay, well said. 

Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it 
hath slept : 90 

Those many had not dared to do that evil, 
If the first that did the edicl infringe 
Had answer'd for his deed : now 'tis awake, 
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, 
Either new, or by remissness new-conceived, 
And so in progress to be hatch' d and born, 
Are now to have no successive degrees, 



But, ere they live, to end. 

Isab. Yet show some pity. 

Ang. I show it most of all when I show 
justice; 100 

For then I pity those I do not know, 
Which a dismiss' d offence would after gall ; 
And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, 
Lives not to a6t another. Be satisfied ; 
Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this 
sentence, 
And he, that suffers. O, it -is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] That's well said. 

Isab. Could great men thunder 1 10 

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use his heaven for thunder ; 
Nothing but thunder ! Merciful Heaven, 
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt 
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak 
Than the soft myrtle : but man, proud man, 
Drest in a little brief authority, 
Most ignorant of what he's most assured, 
His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 120 

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 
As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, 
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] O, to him, to him, 
wench ! he will relent ; 
He's coming; I perceive 't. 

Prov. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him ! 

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 
Great men may jest with saints ; 'tis wit in them, 
But in the less foul profanation. 

Lucio. Thou'rt i' the right, girl ; more o' that. 

Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric 
word, 130 

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Art avised o' that? 
more on't. 

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? 

Isab. Because authority, though it err like 
others, 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, 
That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth 

know 
That's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
A natural guiltiness such as is his, 
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 140 
Against my brother's life. 

Aug. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis 

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare 
you well. 

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 

Aug. I will bethink me : come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark how I '11 bribe you : good my lord, 
turn back. 

A ng. How ! bribe me ? 

Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall 
share with you. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] You had marr'd all 
else. 

Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 
Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor 150 
As fancy values them ; but with true prayers 
That shall be up at heaven and enter there 



=CENE II.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



75 



Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls, 
From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 
Ang. Well ; come to me to-morrow. 

Liuio. [Aside to /sad.] Go to ; 'tis well ; away ! 
/sad. Heaven keep your honour safe ! 
Aug. [Aside] Amen: 

For I am that way going to temptation, 
Where prayers cross. 

/sab. At what hour to-morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship ? 
Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 160 

/sab. 'Save your honour ! 

[Exeunt /sabella, Lucio, and Provost . 
Aug. From thee, even from thy virtue ! 

-What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine? 
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most ? 
Ha! 

'Not she : nor doth she tempt : but it is I 
That, lying by the violet in the sun. 
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, 
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be 
That modesty may more betray our sense 
Than woman's lightness ? Having waste ground 
enough, 170 

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary 
And pitch our evils there ? O, fie, fie, fie ! 
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo ? 
Dost thou desire her foully for those things 
jThat make her good ? O, let her brother live : 
Thieves for their robbery have authority 
When judges steal themselves. What, do I love 

her, 
That I desire to hear her speak again, 
And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on ? 
|Q cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, 180 

AVith saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
Is that temptation that doth goad us on 
To sin in loving virtue : never could the strumpet, 
With all her double vigour, art and nature. 
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
1 Subdues me quite. Ever till now, 
When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd 
how. [Exit. 

Scene III. A room i?i a prison. 

Enter, severally, Duke disguised as a friar, 
and Provost. 

Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you are. 

Prov. I am the provost. What's your will, 
good friar? 

Duke. Bound by my charity and my blest order, 
I come to visit the afflicted spirits 
Here in the prison. Do me the common right 
To let me see them and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
To them accordingly. 

Prov. I would do more than that, if more 
were needful. 

Enter Juliet. 
Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine, id 
\\\k', falling in the flaws of her own youth, 
Hath blister'd her report : she is with child ; 
And he that got it, sentenced ; a young man 
More fit to do another such offence 
Than die for this. 



Duke. When must he die ? 

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. 

I have provided for you : stay awhile, [To Juliet. 
And you shall be conducted. 

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you 
carry ? 

Jul. I do ; and bear the shame most pa- 
tiently. 20 

Duke. I '11 teach you how you shall arraign 
your conscience, 
And try your penitence, if it be sound, 
Or hollowly put on. 

7ul. I'll gladly learn. 

/htke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? 

Jul. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd 
him. 

Duke. So then it seems your most offenceful 
act 
Was mutually committed ? 

Jul. f Mutually. 

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind 
than his. 

Jul. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 

Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but lest you 
do repent, 30 

As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, 
Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not 

heaven, 
Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, 
But as we stand in fear, — 

Jul. I do repent me, as it is an evil, 
And take the shame witii joy. 

Duke. There rest. 

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
And I am going with instruction to him. 
Grace go with you, Benedicite ! [Exit. 

Jul. Must die to-morrow ! O injurious love, 40 
That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
Is still a dying horror ! 

Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Angelo's house. 
Enter Angelo. 

Ang. When I would pray and think, I think 
and pray 
To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty 

words ; 
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, 
Anchors on Isabel.; Heaven in my mouth, 
As if I did but only chew his name ; 
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil 
Of my conception. The state, whereon! studied, 
Is like a good thing, being often read, 
Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, 
Wherein — let no man hear me — I take pride, 10 
Could I with boot change for an idle plume, 
Which the air beats for vain. place, form, 
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls 
To thy false seeming ! Blood, thou art blood: 
Let's write good angel on the devil's hora; 
Tis not the devil's crest. 

Enter a Servant. 

How now ! who's there? 
Serv. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to 

Vol. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act ii. 



Ang. Teach her the way. \_Exit Serv.~\ O 
heavens ! 
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, 20 
Making both it unable for itself, 
And dispossessing all my other parts 
Of necessary fitness? 

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ; 
Come all to help him, and so. stop the air 
By which he should revive : and even so 
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, 
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
Must needs appear offence. 

Enter Isabella. 

How now, fair maid ? 30 

Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 

Aug. That you might know it, would much 
better please me 
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot 
live. 

Isab. Even so. Heaven keep your honour ! 

Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and, it may be, 
As long as you or I : yet he must die. 

Isab. Under your sentence ? 

A ng. Yea. 

Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his re- 
prieve, 
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted 40 

That his soul sicken not. 

Ang. Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were 
as good 
To pardon him that hath from nature stolen 
A man already made, as to> remit 
Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image 
In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy 
Falseiy to take away a life true made 
As to put metal in restrained means 
To make a false one. 

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in 
earth. 50. 

Ang. Say you so? then I shall pose you 
quickly. 
Which had you rather, that the most just law 
Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him, 
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness 
As she that he hath stain' d? 

Isab. Sir, believe this, 

I had rather give my body than my soul. 

A tig. I talk not of your soul : our compell'd sins 
Stand more for number than for accompt. 

Isab. How say you? 

A ng. Nay, I '11 not warrant that ; for I can 
speak 
Against the thing I say. Answer to this : 60 

I, now the voice of the recorded law, 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
Might there not be a charity in sin 
To save this brother's life? 

Isab. Please you to do't, 

I'll take it as a peril to my soul, 
It is no sin at all, but charity. 

Ang. Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul, 
Were equal poise of sin and charity. 

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
Heaven let me bear it ! you granting of my suit, 
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 71 
To have it added to the faults of mine, 
And nothing of vour answer. 



Ang. Nay, but hear me. 

Your _ sense pursues not mine : either you are 

ignorant, 
Or seem so craftily ; and that's not good. 

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 
But graciously to know I am no better. 

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most 
bright 
When it doth tax itself; as these black masks 
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 80 
Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me ; 
To be received plain, I '11 speak more gross : 
Your brother is to die. 

Isab. So. 

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears, 
Accountant to the law upon that pain. 

Isab. True. 

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, — 
As I subscribe not that, nor any other, 
But in the loss of question, — that you, his sister, 
Finding yourself desired of such a person, 91 

Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of the all-building law ; and that there were 
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
You must lay down the treasures of your body 
To this supposed, or else to let him suffer ; 
What would you do? 

Isab. As much for my poor brother as myself : 
That is, were I under the terms of death, 100 
The impression of keen whips I 'Id wear as 

rubies, 
And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
That longing have been sick for, ere I 'Id yield 
My body up to shame. 

Ang. Then must your brother die. 

Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
Better it were a brother died at once, 
Than that a sister, by redeeming him, 
Should die for ever. 

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the 
sentence 
That you have slander' d so? 110 

Isab. Ignomy in ransom and free pardon 
Are of two houses : lawful mercy 
Is nothing kin to foul redemption. 

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a 
tyrant ; 
And rather proved the sliding of your brother 
A merriment than a vice. 

Isab. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, 
To have what we would have, we speak not 

what we mean : 
I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
For his advantage that I dearly love. 121 

A ng. We are all frail. 

Isab. Else let my brother die, 

If not a feodary, but only he 
Owe and succeed thy weakness. 

Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view 
themselves ; 
Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
Women ! Help Heaven ! men their creation mar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail 
For we are soft as our complexions are, 
And credulous to false prints. 

Ang. I think it well : 130 

And from this testimony of vour own sex. — 



Scene iv.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger 
Than faults may shake our frames,— let me be 

bold; 
I do arrest your words. Be that you are. 
That is. a woman; if you be more, you re none; 
pyou be one, as you are well express'd 
By all external warrants, show it now, 
By putting on the destined livery. 
Isab. 1 have no tongue but one: gentle my 
lord, 
Let me entreat you speak the lormer lan- 
guage. J 4o 
Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
Isab. My brother did love Juliet, 
And you tell me that he shall die for it. 

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me 

love. 
Isab. I know your virtue hath a license in t, 
Which seems a little fouler than it is, 
To pluck on others. 

Believe me, on mine honour, 
Mv words express my purpose. 

Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much be 
And most pernicious purpose ! Seeming, seem- 
ing ! , J 5° 
I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for t: 
Sign me a present pardon for my brother. 
Or with an outstretch' d throat I '11 tell the wond 

aloud 
What man thou art. 

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? 

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, 
My vouch against you. and my place i' the state, 
Will so your accusation overweigh, 
That you shall stifle in your own report 
And smell of calumny. I have begun, _ 
And now I give my sensual race the rein : 160 
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes, 
That banish what they sue for; redeem thy 

brother 
By yielding up thy body to my will ; 
Or else he must not only die the death, 
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, 
Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 
I '11 prove a tyrant to him. As for you, 
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your 
true. [Exit. 170 

Isab. To whom should I complain? Did I 
tell this, 
Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, 
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, 
Either of condemnation or approof ; 
Bidding the law make court'sy to their will : 
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, 
To follow as it draws ! I '11 to my brother : 
Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the 

blood, 
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, 
That, had he twenty heads to tender down 1S0 
On twenty bloody blocks, he 'Id yield them up, 
Before his sister should her body stoop 
To such abhorr'd pollution. 
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: 
More than our brother is our chastity. 
1 '11 tell him yet of Angelo's request, 
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. 

1 Exit. 



ACT 111. 



Scene I. A room in the prison. 

Enter Duke disguised as be/ore, Claudio, 

and Provost. 
Duke. So then you hope of pardon from 

Lord Angelo? , , 

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine 
But only hope: 

I 've hope to live, and am prepared to die. 
Duke. Be absolute for death; either death 
or life . 

Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with 

life : . 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep: a breath 

thou art. 
Servile to all the skyey influences, 
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 10 
Hourly afflict: mcrelv, thou art death's fool; 
For him thou labour's! by thy flight to shun 
And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not 

noble ; 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st 
Are nursed by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means 

valiant ; 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, 
And that thou oft provokest ; yet grossly fear'st 
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not 

thyself; 
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 20 
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not ; 
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get, 
And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not 

certain ; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; 
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none ; 
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, 
The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 30 

Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum. 
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth 

nor age, 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 
Dreaming on both ; for ali thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich, 
Thou hast neither heat, affe&ion, limb, nor beauty, | 
To make thy riches pleasant. V\ hat's yet m this 
That bears the name of life? Vet in this life 
Lie hid moe thousand deaths : yet death we fear. 
That makes these odds all even. 41 

Claud. 1 humbly thank you. 

To sue to live, I find T seek to die ; 
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. 
Isab. [ Within] What, ho ! Peace here ; grace 

and good company! 
Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish de 

serves a welcome. 
Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 
Claud. Most holy sir, 1 thank 



r Isabella. 
Isab. My business is a word or two with 



Claudio. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act hi. 



Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, 
here's your sister. 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 50 

Prov. As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I 
may be concealed. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. 

Clatid. Now, sister, what's the comfort? 

Isab. Why, 

As all comforts are ; most good, most good indeed. 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, 
Intends you for his swift ambassador, 
Where you shall be an everlasting leiger : 
Therefore your best appointment make with 
speed ; 60 

To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy? 

Isab. None, but such remedy as, to save a 
head, 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any? 

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live : 
There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
If you'll implore it, that will free your life, 
But fetter you till death. 

Claud. Perpetual durance? 

Isab. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, 
Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
To a determined scope. 

Claud. But in what nature? 70 

Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to't, 
Would bark your honour from that trunk you 

bear, 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, 
Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 80 
As when a giant dies. 

Claud. Why give you me this shame? 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness? If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
And hug it in mine arms. 

Isab. There spake my brother; there my 
father's grave 
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die : 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputjr, 
Whose settled visage and deliberate word 90 

Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew 
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil ; 
His filth within being cast, he would appear 
A pond as deep as hell. 

Claud. The prenzie Angelo ! 

Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
The damned' st body to invest and cover 
In prenzie guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio? 
If I would yield him my virginity, 
Thou mightst be freed. 

Claud. O heavens ! it cannot be. 

Isab. Yes, he would give't thee, from this 
rank offence, 100 

So to offend him still. This night's the time 
That I should do what I abhor to name, 
Or else thou diest to-morrow, 



Claud. Thou shalt not do 't. 

Isab. O, were it but my life, 
I 'Id throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to- 
morrow. 

Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him, 
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, 
When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin; no 
Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 

Isab. Which is the least? 

Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise, 
Why would he for the momentary trick 
Be perdurably fined? OTsabel ! 

Isab. What says my brother ? 

Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 

Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not 
where ; 
Tp lie in cold obstruction and to rot; 
This sensible warm motion to become 120 

A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to. reside 
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
Of those that lawless and incertain thought 
Imagine howling : 'tis too horrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life 
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment 130 
Can lay on nature is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 

Isab. Alas, alas ! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 

What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far 
That it becomes a virtue. 

Isab. O you beast ! 

faithless coward ! O dishonest wretch ! 
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 
Is't not a kind of incest, to take life 

From thine own sister's shame? What should I 

think? 140 i 

Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair ! 
For such a warped slip of wilderness 
Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance ! 
Die, perish ! Might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 

Isab. O, fie, fie, fie! 

Thy sm's not accidental, but a trade. 
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 150 
'Tis best that thou diest quickly. 

Claud. O hear me, Isabella ! 

Re-enter Dukte. 

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but 

one word. 
Isab. What is your will? 
Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, 

1 would by and by have some speech with you : 
the satisfaction I would require is likewise your 
own benefit. 

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure ; my stay 



Scene i.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will 
attend you awhile. [Walks apart. 

Duke. Son, I have overheard what hath passed 
between you and your sister. Angelo had never 
the purpose to corrupt her ; only he hath made 
an assay of her virtue to practise his judgement 
with the disposition of natures : she, having the 
truth of honour in her, hath made him that gra- 
cious denial which he is most glad to receive. I 
am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be 
true ; therefore prepare yourself to death : do not 
satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fal- 
lible : to-morrow you must die ; go to your knees 
and make ready. 

Cla?td. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am 
so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid 
of it. 

Duke. Hold you there : farewell. {Exit 
Claudio.] Provost, a word with you! 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. What's your will, father? 

Duke. That now you are come, you will be 
gone. Leave me awhile with the maid : my 
mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch 
her by my company. 

Prov. In good time. 

[Exit Proz'ost. Isabella comes forward. 

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair 
hath made you good : the goodness that is cheap 
in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but 
grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall 
keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that 
Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed 
to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath 
examples for his falling, I should wonder at 
Angelo. How will you do to content this sub- 
stitute, and to save your brother? 

Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I had 
rather my brother die by the law than my son 
should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much 
is the good duke deceived in Angelo ! If ever 
he return and I can speak to him, I will open 
my lips in vain, or discover his government. 

Duke. That shall not be much amiss : yet, as 
the matter now stands, he will avoid your accus- 
ation ; he made trial of you only. Therefore 
fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I 
have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I 
do make myself believe that you may most up- 
righteously do a poor wronged lady a merited 
benefit ; redeem your brother from the angry 
law ; do no stain to your own gracious person ; j 
and much please the absent duke, if peradven- 
ture he shall ever return to have hearing of this 
business.. 211 

Isab. Let me hear you speak farther. I have 
spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the 
truth of my spirit. 

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never 
fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, 
the sister of Frederick the great soldier who mis- 
carried at sea ? 

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good 
words went with her name. 220 

Duke. She should this Angelo have married ; 
was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial 
appointed : between which time of the contract 
and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick 



was wrecked at sea, having in that perished ves- 
sel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily 
this befell to the poor gentlewoman : there she 
lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love 
toward her ever most kind and natural ; with him, 
the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage- 
dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this 
well-seeming Angelo. 

Isab. Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her? 

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of 
them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, 
pretending in her discoveries of dishonour : in 
few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which 
she yet wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to 
her tears, is washed with them, but relents not. 

Isab. What a merit were it in death to take 
this poor maid from the world ! What corruption 
in this life, that it will let this man live! But 
how out of this can she avail? 

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily 
heal : and the cure of it not only saves your 
brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it. 

Isab. Show me how, good father. 

Duke. This forenamed maid hath yet in her 
the continuance of her first affection : his unjust 
unkindness, that in all reason should have quench- 
ed her love, hath, like an impediment in the cur- 
rent, made it more violent and unruly. Go you 
to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible 
obedience ; agree with his demands to the point; 
only refer yourself to this advantage, first, that 
your stay with him may not be long; that the 
time may have all shadow and silence in it ; and 
the place answer to convenience. This being 
granted in course, — and now follows all,— we 
shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your 
appointment, go in your place ; if the encounter 
acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him 
to her recompense : and here, by this, is your 
brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor 
Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for 
his attempt. If you think well to carry this as 
you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends 
the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? 

Isab. The image of it gives me content al- 
ready ; and I trust it will grow to a most pro- 
sperous perfection. 

Duke. It lies much in your holding up. Haste 
you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he en- 
treat you to his bed, give him promise of satis- 
faction. I will presently to Saint Luke's: there, 
at the moated grange, resides this dejected Ma- 
riana. At that place call upon me ; and dispatch 
with Angelo, that it may be quickly. 

Isab. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you 
well, good father. [Exeunt severally. 281 

Scene II. The street be/ore the prison. 

Enter, on one side, Duke disguised as before; on 

the other, Elbow, and Officers with Pom fey. 

Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but 
that you will needs buy and sell men and women 
like beasts, we shall have all the world drink 
brown and white bastard. 

Duke. O heavens ! what stuff is here ? 

Pom. 'Twas never merry world since, of two 
usuries, the merriest was put down, and the wors- 



So 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act hi. 



er allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep 
him warm; and furred with fox and lamb-skins 
too, to signify, that craft, being richer than inno- 
cency, stands for the facing. n 

Elb. Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good 
father friar. 

Duke. And you, good brother father. What 
offence hath this man made you, sir ? 

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: 
and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir ; for 
| we have found upon him, sir, a strange picklock, 
; which we have sent to the deputy. 

Di{ke. Fie, sirrah ! a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
The evil that thou causest to be done, 21 

That is thy means to live. Do thou but think 
What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back 
From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, 
From their abominable and beastly touches 

■ I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 

■ Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 

So stinkingly depending ? Go mend, go mend. 

Pom. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; 
but yet, sir, I would prove — 30 

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs 
for sin, 
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer : 
Correction and instruction must both work 
Ere this rude beast will profit. 

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has 
given him warning : the deputy cannot abide a 
whoremaster : if he be a whoremonger, and comes 
before him, he were as good go a mile on his 
errand. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem 
to be, 40 

f From our faults, as faults from seeming, free ! 

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, — a 
cord, sir. 

Pom. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a 
gentleman and a friend of mine. 

Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey! What, at 
the wheels of Caesar ? art thou led in triumph ? 
What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly 
made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand 
in the pocket and extracting it clutched? What 
reply, ha ? What sayest thou to this tune, matter 
and method? Is't not drowned i' the last rain, 
ha? What sayest thou, Trot? Is the world as it 
was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and 
few words? or how? The trick of it ? 

Duke. Still thus, and thus ; still worse ! 

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mis- 
tress? Procures she still, ha? 

Pom. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, 
and she is herself in the tub. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it ; it 
must be so : ever your fresh whore and your pow- 
dered bawd : an unshunned consequence; it must 
be so. Art going to prison, Pompey ? 

Pom. Yes, faith, sir. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Fare- 
well : go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pom- 
pey ? or how ? 

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 

Lucio. Well, then, imprison him : if imprison- 
ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : 
bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd- 



born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me 
to the prison, Pompey : you will turn good hus- 
band now, Pompey ; you will keep the house. 

Pom. I hope, sir, your good worship will be 
my .bail. 

Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is 
not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase 
your bondage : if you take it not patiently, why, 
your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. 
'Bless you, friar. 81 

Duke. And you. 

Lucio. Does Bridget paint stilf, Pompey, ha? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 

Pom. You will not bail me, then, sir? 

Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now What news 
abroad, friar? what news? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 

Lucio. Go to kennel, Pompey: go. \Exeunt 
Elbow, Pompey and Officers.} What news, friar, 
of the duke ? 91 

Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of any ? 

Lucio. Some say he is with the Emperor of 
Russia ; other some,, he is in Rome : but where is 
he, think you? 

Duke. I know not where ; but wheresoever, I 
wish him well. 

L?icio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to 
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he 
was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well 
in his absence ; he puts transgression to 't. 101 

Duke. He does well in't. 

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would 
do no harm in him : something too crabbed that 
way, friar. 

Ditke. It is too general a vice, and severity 
must cure it. 

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
kindred ; it is well allied : but it is impossible to 
extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be 
put down. They say this Angelo was not made 
by man and woman after this downright way of 
creation : is it true, think you ? 

Duke. How should he be made, then? 

Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned him ; 
some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. 
But it is certain that when he makes water his 
urine is congealed ice ; that I know to be true : 
f and he is a motion generative ; that 's infallible. 

Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. 

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in 
him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away 
the life of a man ! Would the duke that is absent 
have done this ? Ere he would have hanged a 
man for the. getting a hundred bastards, he would 
have paid for the nursing a thousand : he had 
some feeling of the sport ; he knew the service, 
and that instructed him to mercy. 

Diike. I never heard the absent duke much 
detected for women; he was not inclined that way. 

Lttcio. O, sir, you are deceived. 131 

Duke. 'Tis not possible. 

Lttcio. Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar 
of fifty ; and his use was to put a ducat in her 
clack-dish : the duke had crotchets in him. He 
would be drunk too ; that let me inform you. 

Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 

Lttcio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy 
fellow was the duke : and I believe I know the 
cause of his withdrawing. 140 



Scene ii.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



■ Duke. What, I prithee, might be the cause? 
Lucio. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be 
locked within the teeth and the lips : but this I 
can let you understand, the greater file of the 
subject held the duke to be wise. 

Duke. Wise ! why, no question but he was. 

Liccio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweigh- 
ing fellow. 

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or 
mistaking: the very stream of his life and the 
business he hath helmed must upon a warranted 
need give him a better proclamation. Let him 
be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, 
and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a 
statesman and a soldier. Therefore you speak 
unskilfully; or if your knowledge be more it is 
much darkened in your malice. 

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and 
knowledge with dearer love. 160 

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you 
know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke 
return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire 
you to make your answer before him. If it be 
honest you have spoke, you have courage to 
maintain it : I am bound to call upon you ; and, 
I pray you, your name? 

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to 
the duke. 170 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I 
may live to report you. 

Lucio. I fear you not. 

Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no 
more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an op- 
posite. But indeed I can do you little harm; 
you'll forswear this again. 

Liicio. I '11 be hanged first : thou art deceived 
in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou 
tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? 180 

Duke. Why should he die, sir? 

Lucio. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun- 
dish. I would the duke we talk of were returned 
again : this ungenitured agent will unpeople the 
province with continency ; sparrows must not 
build in his house-eaves, because they are lecher- 
ous. The duke yet would have dark deeds 
darkly answered ; he would never bring them to 
light : would he were returned ! Marry, this 
Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, 
good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The duke, 
I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. 
He's not past it yet, and I say to thee, he would 
mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown 
bread and garlic : say that I said so. Farewell. 

[Exit. 

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong 
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? 
But who comes here? 200 

Enter Escalus, Provost, and Officers with 
Mistress Overdone. 

Escal. Go ; away with her to prison ! 

Mrs Ov. Good my lord, be good to me ; your 
honour is accounted a merciful man; good my 
lord. 

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and 



still forfeit in the same kind ! This would make 
mercy swear and play the tyrant. 

Prov. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, 
may it please your honour. 

Mrs Ov. My lord, this is one Lucio's inform- 
ation against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was 
with child by him in the duke's time ; he promised 
her marriage : his child is a year and a quarter 
old, come Philip and Jacob : I have kept it my- 
self; and see how he goes about to abuse me ! 

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much license: 
let him be called before us. Away with her to 
prison ! Go to ; no more words. [Exeunt Officers 
with Mistress Ov.] Provost, my brother Angelo 
will not be altered; Claudio must die to-morrow: 
let him be furnished with divines, and have all 
charitable preparation. If my brother wrought 
by my pity, it should not be so with him. 

Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with 
him, and advised him for the entertainment of 
death. 
Escal. Good even, good father. 
Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 
Escal. Of whence are you? 
Duke. Not of this country, though my chance 
is now 230 

To use it for my time : I am a brother 
Of gracious order, late come from the See 
In special business from his holiness. 
Escal. What news abroad i' the world? 
Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever 
on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure 
it : novelty is only in request ; and it is as danger- 
ous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is 
virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There 
is scarce truth enough alive to make societies se- 
cure; but security enough to make fellowships 
accurst : much upon this riddle runs the wisdom 
of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is 
every day's news. I pray you, sir, of what dispos- 
ition was the duke? 

Escal. One that, above all other strifes, con- 
tended especially to know himself. 
Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? 
Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, 
than merry at any thing which professed to make 
him rejoice : a gentleman of all temperance. But 
leave we him to his events, with a prayer they 
may prove prosperous ; and let me desire to know 
how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to 
understand that you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He professes to have received no sinis- 
ter measure from his judge, but most willingly 
humbles himself to the determination of justice : 
yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction 
of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life ; 
which I by my good leisure have discredited to 
him, and now is he resolved to die. 

Escal. You have paid the heavens your 
function, and the prisoner the very debt of your 
calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman 
to the extremest shore of my modesty : but my 
brother justice have I found so severe, that he 
hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice. 

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of 
his proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein 
if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. 

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare 
you well. 



82 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act iv. 



Duke. Peace be with you ! 

[Exeunt Escalus and Provost. 
He who the sword of heaven will bear 
Should be as holy as severe ; 
Pattern in himself to know, 
t Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
More nor less to others paying 
Than by self-offences weighing. 280 

Shame to him whose cruel striking 
Kills for faults of his own liking I 
Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
To weed my vice and let his grow ! 
O, what may man within him hide, 
Though angel on the outward side ! 
t How may likeness made in crimes, 
Making practice on the times, 
To draw with idle spiders' strings _ 
Most ponderous and substantial things ! 290 

Craft against vice I must apply : 
With Angelo to-night shall lie 
His old betrothed but despised ; 
f So disguise shall, by the disguised, 
Pay with falsehood false exacting, 
And perform an old contracting. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. The moated grange at St Luke's. 
Enter Mariana and a Boy. 

Boy sings. 
Take, O, take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, bring again ; 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain. 
Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee 
quick away : 
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
Hath often still' d my brawling discontent. 

[Exit Boy. 

Enter Duke disgtiised as befo7-e. 
I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 10 

You had not found me here so musical : 
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, 
My mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe. 

Duke. 'Tis good ; though music oft hath such 
a charm 
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for 
me here to-day? much upon this time have I 
promised here to meet. 

Mari. You have not been inquired after : I 
have sat here all day. 20 

Enter Isabella. 

Duke. I do constantly believe you. The time 
is come even now. I shall crave your forbear- 
ance a little : may be I will call upon you anon, 
for some advantage to yourself. 

Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 

Duke. Very well met, and well come. 
What is the news from this good deputy? 

Jsab. He hath a garden circummured with 
brick, 
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ; 



And to that vineyard is a planched gate, 30 

That makes his opening with this bigger key : 
This other doth command a little door 
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
There have I made my promise 
Upon the heavy middle of the night 
To call upon him. 

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find 
this way ? 

I sab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon 't : 
With whispering and most guilty diligence, 
In action all of precept, he did show me 40 

The way twice o'er. 

Duke. Are there no other tokens 

Between you 'greed concerning her observance? 

Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; 
And that I have possess'd him my most stay 
Can be but brief; for I have made him know 
I have a servant comes with me along, • 
That stays upon me, whose persuasion is 
I come about my brother. 

Duke. 'Tis well borne up. 

I have not yet made known to Mariana 
A word of this. What, ho ! within ! come forth ! 

Re-enter Mariana. 

I pray you, be acquainted with this maid ; 51 
She comes to do you good. 

Isab. I do desire the like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I re- 
spect you? 
Mari. Good friar, I know you do, and have 

found it. 
Duke. Take, then, this your companion by 
the hand, 
Who hath a story ready for your ear. 
I shall attend your leisure : but make haste ; 
The vaporous night approaches. 

Ma?'i. Will't please you walk aside ? 

[Exetmt Mariana and Isabella. 
Duke. O place and greatness ! millions of false 
eyes 60 

Are stuck upon thee : volumes of report 
Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
Upon thy doings : thousand escapes of wit 
Make thee the father of their idle dreams 
And rack thee in their fancies. 

Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. 

Welcome, how agreed ? 
Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, 
father, 
If you advise it. 

Duke. It is not my consent, 

But my entreaty too. 

Isab. Little have you to say 

When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
' Remember now my brother.' 
Mari. Fear me not. 70 

Duke. Nqr, gentle daughter, fear you not at 
all. 
He is your husband on a pre-contract : 
To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin, 
Sith that the justice of your title to him 
Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go : 
Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene ii.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



63 



Scene II. A room in the prison. 
Enter Provost and Pompey. 

Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut oft' 
a man's head ? 

Pom. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can ; 
but if he be a married man, he's his wife's head, 
and I can never cut off a woman's head. 

Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning 
are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in 
our prison a common executioner, who in his 
office lacks a helper: if you will take it on you 
to assist him, it shall redeem you from your 
gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of 
imprisonment and your deliverance with an un- 
pitied whipping, for you have been a notorious 
bawd. 

Pom. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd 
time out of mind ; but yet I will be content to 
be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive 
some instruction from my fellow partner. 

Prov. What, ho ! Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson, 
there? 21 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Do you call, sir? 

Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you 
to-morrow in your execution. If you think it 
meet, compound with him by the year, and let 
him abide here with you ; if not, use him for the 
present and dismiss him. He cannot plead his 
estimation with you ; he hath been a bawd. 

A bhor. A bawd, sir ? fie upon him ^ he will 
discredit our mystery. 30 

Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally ; a feather 
will turn the scale. \_Exit. 

Pom. Pray, sir, by your good favour, — for 
surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you 
have a hanging look, — do you call, sir, your oc- 
cupation a mystery ? 

A bhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery. 

Pom. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a 
mystery; and your whores, sir, being members 
of my occupation, using painting, do prove my 
occupation a mystery : but what mystery there 
should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I 
cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 

Pom. Proof? 

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your 
thief: if it be too little for your thief, your true 
man thinks it big enough ; if it be too big for 
your thief, your thief thinks it little enough : so 
every true man's apparel fits your thief. 50 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Are you agreed ? 

Pom. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find 
your hangman is a more penitent trade than your 
bawd ; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and 
your axe to-morrow four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee 
in my trade ; follow. 

Pom. I do desire to learn, sir : and I hope, 
if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, 
you shall find me yare ; for truly, sir, for your 
kindness I owe you a good turn. 



Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio: 
[Exeun t Pompey and A bhorson. 
The one has my pity ; not a jot the other, 
Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 

Enter Claudio. 

Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 

'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 

Thou must be made immortal. Where's Bar- 
nardine ? 
Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless 
labour 

When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : 70 

He will not wake. 
Prov. Who can do good on him ? 

Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within.] 
But, hark, what noise ? 

Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit Claudio.] 
By and by. 

I hope it is some pardon or reprieve 

For the most gentle Claudio. 

Enter Duke disguised as be/ore. 

Welcome, father. 
Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
night 
Envelope you, good Provost ! Who call'd here of 
late? 
Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
Duke. Not Isabel? 
Prov. No. 

Duke. They will, then, ere'tbelong. 

Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ? 80 

Duke. There's some in hope. 
Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 

Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice : 
He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
That in himself which he spurs on his power 
To qualify in others : were he meal'd with that 
Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous ; 
But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within. 
Now are they come. 
[Exit Provost. 
This is a gentle provost : seldom when 
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. 

[Knocking within. 90 
How now ! what noise? That spirit's possessed 

with haste 
That wounds the unsisting postern with these 
strokes. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. There he must stay until the officer 
Arise to let him in : he is call'd up. 

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio 
yet, 
But he must die to-morrow ? 

Prov. None, sir, none. 

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, 
You shall hear more ere morning. 

Prov. Happily 

You something know; yet I believe there comes 
No countermand ; no such example have we: 100 
Besides, upon the very siege of justice 
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 



S4 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act iv. 



Enter a Messenger. 

This is his lordship's man. 

Duke. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 

■Mes. [Giving a paper.} My lord hath sent 
you this note ; and by me this further charge, 
that you swerve not from the smallest article of 
it, neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. 
Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day. 

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 

Duke. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchased 
by such sin 
For which the pardoner himself is in. 
Hence hath offence his quick celerity, 
When it is borne in high authority: 
When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, 
That for the fault's love is the offender friended. 
Now, sir, what news ? 

Prov. I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking 
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this 
unwonted putting-on ; methinks strangely, for he 
hath not used it before. 121 

Duke. Pray you, let 's hear. 

Prov. [Reads] 

' Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let 
Claudio be executed by four of the clock ; and in 
the afternoon Barnardine : for my better satis- 
faction, let me have Claudio's head sent me by 
five. Let this be duly performed ; with a thought 
that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. 
Thus fail not to do your office, as you will answer 
it at your peril.' 130 

What say you to this, sir? 

Duke. What is that Barnardine who is to be 
executed in the afternoon? 

Prov. A Bohemian born, but here nursed up 
and bred ; one that is a prisoner nine years old. 

Duke. How came it that the absent duke had 
not either delivered him to his liberty or executed 
him? I have heard it was ever his manner to 
do so. 

Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for 
him : and, indeed, his fact, till now in the govern- 
ment of Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful 
proof. 

Duke. It is now apparent? 

Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by him- 
self. 

Diike. Hath he borne himself penitently in 
prison? how seems he to be touched? 

Prov. A man that apprehends death no more 
dreadfully but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck- 
less, and fearless of what's past, present,- or to 
come ; insensible of mortality, and desperately 
mortal. 

Duke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore 
had the liberty of the prison ; give him leave to 
escape hence, he would not: drunk many times 
a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have 
very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execu- 
tion, and showed him a seeming warrant for it: 
it hath not moved him at all. 161 

Duke. More of him anon. There is written 
in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if 
I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; 
but, in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay my 
self in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have 
warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the 
law than Angelo who hath sentenced him. To 



make you understand this in a manifested effect, 
I crave but four days' respite ; for the which you 
are to do me both a present and a dangerous 
courtesy. 

Prov. Pray, sir, in what? 

Duke. In the delaying death. 

Prov. Alack, how may I do it, having the 
hour limited, and an express command, under 
penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? 
I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in 
the smallest. 

Duke. By the vow of mine order I war- 
rant you, if my instructions may be your guide. 
Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, 
and his head borne to Angelo. 

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will 
discover the favour. 

Duke. O, death's a great disguiser; and you 
may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the 
beard ; and say it was the desire of the penitent 
to be so bared before his death : you know the 
course is common. If any thing fall to you upon 
this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the 
saint whom I profess, I will plead against it with 
my life. 

Pardon me, good father; it is against 



Prov. 
my oath 

Duke. 
deputy? 

Prov. 

Duke. 



Were you sworn to the duke, or to the 



To him, and to his substitutes. 
You will think you have made no 
offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your 
dealing? 201 

Prov. But what likelihood is in that? 

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. 
Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, 
integrity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt 
you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all 
fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand 
and seal of the duke : you know the character, 
I doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you. 

Prov. I know them both. 210 

Duke. The contents of this is the return of 
the duke : you shall anon over-read it at your 
pleasure ; where you shall find, within these two 
days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo 
knows not; for he this very dayreceives letters of 
strange tenour ; perchance of the duke's death ; 
perchance entering into some monastery; but, by 
chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, the un- 
folding star calls up the shepherd. Put not your- 
self into amazement how these things should be : 
all difficulties are but easy when they are known. 
Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine's 
head : I will give him a present shrift and advise 
him for a better place. Yet you are amazed; 
but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come 
away; it is almost clear dawn. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another room in the same. 
Enter Pompey. 
Pom. I am as well acquainted here as I was 
in our house of profession : one would think it 
were Mistress Overdone's own house, for here be 
many of her old customers. First, here's young 
Master Rash ; he's in for a commodity of brown 
paper and old ginger, nine-score and seventeen 
pounds; of which he made five marks, ready 



money: marry, then ginger was not much in 
request, for the old women were all dead. Then 
is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of 
Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits 
of peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him 
a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and 
young Master Deep-vow, and Master Copper- 
spur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and 
dagger man, and young Drop-heir that killed 
lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, 
and brave Master Shooty the great traveller, and 
wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, 
forty more ; all great doers in our trade, and are 
now 'for the Lord's sake.' 21 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 

Pom. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and 
be hanged, Master Barnardine ! 

Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine! 

Bar. [ Within] A pox o' your throats ! Who 
makes that noise there? What are you? 

Pom. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You 
must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 

Bar. [Within] Away, you rogue, away ! I am 
sleepy. 31 

Abhor. Tell him he must awake, and that 
quickly too. 

Pom. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till 
you are executed, and sleep afterwards. 

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 

Pom. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear 
his straw rustle. 

Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? 

Pom. Very ready, sir. 40 

E7iter Barnardine. 

Bar. How now, Abhorson? what's the news 
with you? 

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap 
into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's 
come. 

Bar. You rogue, I have been drinking all 
night ; I am not fitted for 't. 

Pom. O, the better, sir ; for he that drinks all 
night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may 
sleep the sounder all the next day. 50 

Abhor. Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly 
father: do we jest now, think you? 

Enter T)u ke disguised as before. 

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
how hastily you are to depart, I am come to 
advise you, comfort you and pray with you. 

Bar. Friar, not I : I have been drinking hard 
all night, and I will have more time to prepare 
me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets : 
I will not consent to die this day, that's certain. 

Duke. O, sir, you must: and therefore I 
beseech you 60 

Look forward on the journey you shall go. 

Bar. I swear I will not die to-day for any 
man's persuasion. 

Duke. But hear you. 

Bar. Not a word : if you have any thing to 
say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not 
I to-day. [Exit. 



Duke. Unfit to live or die : O gravel heart ! 
After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 

[Exeunt Abhorson and Potnfcy. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the pri- 
soner ? ?0 

Duke. A creature unprepared, unmeet for 
death ; 
And to transport him in the mind he is 
Were damnable. 

Prov. Here in the prison, father, 

There died this morning of a cruel fever 
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
A man of Claudio's years ; his beard and head 
Just of his colour. What if we do omit 
This reprobate till he were well inclined; 
And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? 80 

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven pro- 
vides ! 
Dispatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
Prerix'd by Angelo : see this be done, 
And sent according to command ; whiles I 
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 

Prov. This shall be done, good father, pre- 
sently. 
But Barnardine must die this afternoon : 
And how shall we continue Claudio, 
To save me from the danger that might come 
If he were known alive? 

Duke. Let this be done. 90 

Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and 

Claudio: 
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting 
To the under generation, you shall find 
Your safety manifested. 

Prov. I am your free dependant. 

Duke. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to 
Angelo. [Exit Provost. 

Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 
The provost, he shall bear them, — whose contents 
Shall witness to him I am near at home, 
And that, by great injunctions, I am bound 100 
To enter publicly : him I'll desire 
To meet me at the consecrated fount 
A league below the city ; and from thence, 
By cold gradation and well-balanced form, 
We shall proceed with Angelo. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Here is the head ; I '11 carry it myself. 

Duke. Convenient is it. Make a swift return; 
For I would commune with you of such things 
That want no ear but yours. 

Prov. I '11 make all speed. [Exit. 

I sab. [IVithin] Peace, ho, be here ! no ! 

Duke. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to 
know 
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: 
But I will keep her ignorant of her good, 
To make her heavenly comforts of despair, 
When it is least expected. 

Enter Isabella. 
Isab. Ho, by your leave ! 

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 

daughter. 
Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 



85 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act iv. 



Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? 

Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from 
the world : 
His head is off and sent to Angelo. 120 

Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 

Duke. It is no other: show your wisdom, 
daughter, 
In your close patience. 

Isab. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes ! 

Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. 

Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! wretched Isabel ! 
Injurious world ! most damned Angelo ! 

Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you 
a jot ; 
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
Mark what 1 say, which you shall find 130 

By every syllable a faithful verity : 
The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry 

your eyes; 
One of our covent, and his confessor, 
Gives me this instance : already he hath carried 
Notice to Escalus and Angelo, 
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
There to give up their power. If you can, pace 

your wisdom 
In that good path that I would wish it go, 
And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 140 
And general honour. 

Isab. I am directed by you. 

Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give ; 
'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return : 
Say, by this token, I desire his company 
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and 

yours 
I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you 
Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo 
Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, 
I am combined by a sacred vow 
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter : 
Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
With a light heart ; trust not my holy order, 
If I pervert your course. Who's here? 

E titer Lucio. 

Lucio. Good even. Friar, where 's the pro- 
vost? 

Duke. Not within, sir. 

Lucio. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine 
heart to see thine eyes so red: thou must be 
patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water 
and bran ; I dare not for my head fill my belly ; 
one fruitful meal would set me to't. But they 
say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my 
troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother: if the old 
fantastical duke of dark corners had been at 
home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella. 

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little be- 
holding to your reports ; but the best is, he lives 
not in them. 

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so 
well as I do: he's a better woodman than thou 
take st him for. 171 

Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare 
ye well. 

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with thee : I 
can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 

Duke. You have told me too many of him 



already, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none 
were enough. 

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a 
wench with child. 180 

Duke. Did you such a thing ? 

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I : but I was fain to 
forswear it ; they would else have married me to 
the rotten medlar. 

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. 
Rest you well. 

Lucio. By my troth, I '11 go with thee to the 
lane's end : if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have 
very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr ; 
I shall stick. [Exeunt. 190 

Scene IV. A room in Angelo's house. 
Enter Angelo and Escalus. 

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath dis- 
vouched other. 

Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
His actions show much like to madness: pray 
heaven his wisdom be not tainted ! And why 
meet him at the gates, and redeliver our autho- 
rities there ? 

Escal. I guess not. 

Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an 
hour before his entering, that if any crave redress 
of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in 
the street? 

Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have 
a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from 
devices hereafter, which shall then have no power 
to stand against us. 

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed 
betimes i' the morn ; I'll call you at your house : 
gi . e notice to such men of sort and suit as are to 
mest him. 20 

Escal. I shall, sir. Fare you well. 

Ang. Goodnight. [Exit Escalus. 

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me un- 

pregnant 
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
And by an eminent body that enforced 
The law against it ! But that her tender shame 
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, 
How might she tongue me ! Yet reason dares 

her no ; 
For my authority bears of a credent bulk, 
That no particular scandal once can touch 30 

But it confounds the breather. He should have 

lived, 
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, 
By so receiving a dishonour'd life 
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had 

lived ! 
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, 
Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not. 

{Exit 

Scene V. Fields without the town. 

EnterTDvKK in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 

Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me : 

[Giving letters. 
The provost knows our purpose and our plot. 
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, 
And hold you ever to our special drift ; 



SCEXE V.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



87 



Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, 
As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house, 
And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; 
But send me Flavius first. 
Fri. P. It shall be speeded well. [Exit. 10 

Enter VARRIUS. 

Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made 
good haste : 
Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends 
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. . Street near the city gate. 
Enter Isabella and Mariana. 

Isal\ To speak so indirectly I am loath : 
I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, 
That is your part : yet I am advised to do it ; 
He says, to veil full purpose. 

Mart. Be ruled by him. 

Isal>. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure 
He speak against me on the adverse side, 
I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic 
That's bitter to sweet end. 

Mari. I would Friar Peter — 

Isab. O, peace ! the friar is come. 

Enter Friar Peter. 

Fri. P. Come, I have found you out a stand 

most fit, 10 

Where you may have such vantage on the duke, 

He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets 

sounded ; 
The generous and gravest citizens 
Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
The duke is entering : therefore, hence, away ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. The city gate. 

Mariana veiled, Isabella, and Friar Peter, 
at their stand. Enter Duke, VARRIUS, 
Lords, Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, 
Officers, and Citizens, at several doors. 

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met ! 
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. 

Escal \ ^ a PPy return be t0 your royal grace .' 

D?eke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
Forerunning more requital. 

Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 

Duke. O, your desert speaks loud ; and I should 
wrong it, 
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 10 

When it deserves, with characters of brass, 
A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time 
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand. 
And let the subject see, to make them know 
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
Favours that keep within. Come, Escaius, 



You must walk by us on our other hand ; 
And good supporters are you. 

Friar Peter and Isabella come forward. 
Fri. P. Now is your time : speak loud and 

kneel before him. 
Isab. Justice, O royal duke! Vail your re- 
gard 20 
Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid .' 
O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye 
By throwing it on any other object 
Till you have heard me in my true complaint 
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 
Duke. Relate your wrongs; in what? by 
whom? be brief. 
Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice : 
Reveal yourself to him. 

Isab. worthy duke, 

You bid me seek redemption of the devil : 
Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak 
Must either punish me, not being believed, 31 
Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear 
me, here ! 
Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not 
firm: 
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother 
Cut off by course of justice, — 
Isab. By course of justice ! 

Ang. And she will speak most bitterly and 

strange. 
Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I 
speak : 
That Angelo 's forsworn ; is it not strange? 
That Angelo's a murderer; is't not strange? 
That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 40 

An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; 
Is it not strange and strange? 
Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. 

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo 
Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
To the end of reckoning. 

Duke. Away with her ! Poor soul, 

She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. 
Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou be- 
lievest 
There is another comfort than this world. 
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion 50 
That I am touch'd with madness ! Make not im- 
possible 
That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible 
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, 
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute 
As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, 
In all his dressings, characis, titles, forms, 
Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince : 
If he be less, he's nothing ; but he's more, 
Had I more name for badness. 

Duke. By mine honesty. 

If she be mad, — as I believe no other, — Co 

Her madness hath the oddest frame cf sense, 
Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
As e'er I heard in madness. 

Isab. O gracious duke, 

Harp not on that, nor do not ban 
For inequality; but let your reason serve 
To make the truth appear where it seems hid. 
And hide the false seems true. 

Duke. Many that are DO) 



Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would 
you say ? 

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, 
Condemn'd upon the a<5l of fornication 70 

To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo : 
I, in probation of a sisterhood, 
Was sent to by my brother ; one Lucio 
As then the messenger, — 

Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace : 

I came to her from Claudio, and desired her 
To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo 
For her poor brother's pardon. 

Isab. That's he indeed. 

Duke. You were not bid to speak. 

Lticio. No, my good lord ; 

Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 

Dzcke. I wish you now, then ; 

Pray you, take note of it : and when you have 80 
A business for yourself, pray heaven you then 
Be perfect. 

Lucio. I warrant your honour. 

Duke. The warrant 's for yourself; take heed 
to't. 

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my 
tale,— 

Lucio. Right. 

Duke. It may be right ; but you. are i' the wrong 
To speak before your time. Proceed. 

Isab. I went 

To this pernicious caitiff deputy, — 

Duke. That 's somewhat madly spoken. 

Isab. Pardon it ; 

The phrase is to the matter. 90 

Duke. Mended again. The matter; proceed. 

Isab. In brief, to set the needless process by, 
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
How he refell'd me, and how I replied, — 
For this was of much length, — the vile conclusion 
I now begin with grief and shame to utter : 
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
To his concupiscible intemperate lust, 
Release my brother; and, after much debate- 

ment, 
My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, 100 
And I did yield to him : but the next morn be- 
times, 
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
For my poor brother's head. 

Duke. This is most likely ! 

Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true ! 

Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st 
not what thou speak'st, 
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour 
In hateful practice. First, his integrity 
Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no 

reason 
That with such vehemency he should pursue 
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, 
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself 
And not have cut him off. Some one hath set 

you on : 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
Thou earnest here to complain. 

Isab. And is this all ? 

Then, O you blessed ministers above, 
Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time 
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
In countenance ! Heaven shield your grace 
from woe, 



As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go ! 

Duke. I know you 'Id fain be gone. An 
officer ! I2 o 

To prison with her ! Shall we thus permit 
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. 
Who knew of your intent and coming hither? 

Isab. One that I would were here, Friar 
Lodowick. 

Duke. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows 
that Lodowick? 

Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling 
friar ; 
I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, 
For certain words he spake against your grace 
In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly. 

Duke. Words against me ! this is a good friar, 
belike ! 131 

And to set on this wretched woman here 
Against our substitute ! Let this friar be found. 

Lticio. But yesternight, my lord, she and 
that friar, 
I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
A very scurvy fellow. 

Fri. P. Blessed be your royal grace ! 
I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman 
Most wrongfully accused your substitute, 140 
Who is as free from touch or soil with her 
As she from one ungot. 

Duke. We did believe no less. 

Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? 

Fri. P. I know him for a man divine and holy ; 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 
As he's reported by this gentleman; 
And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 

Lucio. My lord, most villanously ; believe it. 

Fri. P. Well, he in time may come to clear 
himself; 150 

But at this instant he is sick, my lord, 
Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, 
Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither, 
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
Is true and false ; and what he with his oath 
And all probation will make up full clear, 
Whensoever he's convented. First, for this wo- 
man, 
To justify this worthy nobleman, 
So vulgarly and personally accused, 160 

Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
Till she herself confess it. 

Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 

[Isabella is carried off guarded; and 
Mariana comes forward. 
Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? 
O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools ! 
Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo ; 
In this I'll be impartial; be you judge 
Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? 
First, let her show her face, and after speak. 

Mart. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my 
face 
Until my husband bid me. 170 

Duke. What, are you married? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. Are you a maid? 

Mari. No, my lord. 



Scene i.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Duke. A widow, then ? 

Mart. Neither, my lord. 

Duke. Why, you are nothing then : neither 
maid, widow, nor wife? 

Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for 
many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 

Duke. Silence that fellow : I would he had 
some cause 181 

To prattle for himself. 

Lucio. Well, my lord. 

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was mar- 
ried; 
And I confess besides I am no maid : 
I have known my husband ; yet my husband 
Knows not that ever he knew me. 

Lucio. He was drunk then my lord : it can 
be no better. 

Duke. For the benefit of silence, would thou 
wert so too ! 191 

Lucio. Well, my lord. 

Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. 

Mari. Now I come to't, my lord : 
She that accuses him of fornication, 
In self-same manner doth accuse my husband, 
And charges him, my lord, with such a time 
When I '11 depose I had him in mine arms 
With all the effect of love. 

Ang. Charges she more than me ? 

Mari. Not that I know. 200 

Duke. No? you say your husband. 

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, 
But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. 

Aug: This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy 
face. 

Mari. My husband bids me; now I will 
unmask. {Unveiling. 

This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
Which once thou sworest was worth the look- 
ing on ; 
This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, 
j Was fast belock'd in thine ; this is the body 210 
I That took away the match from Isabel, 
And did supply thee at thy garden-house 
In her imagined person. 

Duke. Know you this woman? 

Lucio. Carnally, she says. 

Duke. Sirrah, no more ! 

Lucio. Enough, my lord. 

Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this 
woman : 
And five years since there was some speech of 

marriage 
Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off, 
Partly for that her promised proportions 
Came short of composition, but in chief 220 

For that her reputation was disvalued 
In levity : since which time of five years 
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, 
Upon my faith and honour. 

Mari. Noble prince, 

As there comes light from heaven and words from 

breath, 
As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, 
I am affianced this man's wife as strongly 
As words could make up vows : and, my good lord, 
But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house 
He knew me as a wife. As this is true, 230 

Let me in safety raise me from my knees ; 



Or else for ever be confixed here, 
A marble monument ! 

Ang. I did but smile till now : 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; 
My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive 
These poor informal women are no more 
But instruments of some more mightier member 
That sets them on : let me have way, my lord, 
To find this practice out. 

Duke. Ay, with my heart ; 

And punish them to your height of pleasure. 240 
Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, 
Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy 

oaths, 
Though they would swear down each particular 

saint, 
Were testimonies against his worth and credit 
That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, 
Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. 
There is another friar that set them on ; 
Let him be sent for. 

Fri. P. Would he were here, my lord ! for he 
indeed 250 

Hath set the women on to this complaint: 
Your provost knows the place where he abides 
And he may fetch him. 

Duke. Go do it instantly. [Exit Provost. 

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, 
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
Do with your injuries as seems you best, 
In any chastisement : I for a while will leave you ; 
But stir not you till you have well determined 
Upon these slanderers. 

Escal. My lord, we '11 do it throughly. 260 
[Exit Duke. 
Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that 
Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? 

Lucio. ' Cucullus non facit monachum :' honest 
in nothing but in his clothes; and one that hath 
spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. 

Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till 
he come and enforce them against him : we shall 
find this friar a notable fellow. 

L?tcio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 

Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again : 
I would speak with her. [Exit an Attendant.} 
Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question ; 
you shall see how I'll handle her. 

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 

Escal. Say you ? 

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her 
privately, she would sooner confess : perchance, 
publicly, she'll be ashamed. 

Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 

Lucio. That's the way; for women ar 
at midnight. 2S1 

Re-enter Officers with Isabella ; and Pro- 
vost with the Duke in his friar s habit. 

Escal. Come on, mistress: here's a gentle- 
woman denies all that you have said. 

Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke 
of; here with the provost. 

Escal. In very good time: speak not you to 
him till we call upon you. 

Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir : did you set these women 



go 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act v. 



on to slander Lord Angelo ? they have confessed 
you did. 291 

Duke. 'Tis false. 

Escal. How ! know you where you are ? 

Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let 
the devil 
Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne ! 
Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me 
speak. 

Escal. The duke's in us; and we will hear 
you speak : 
Look you speak justly. 

Duke. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls, 
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? 300 
Good night to your redress ! Is the duke gone? 
Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, 
Thus to retort your manifest appeal, 
And put your trial in the villain's mouth 
Which here you come to accuse. 

Lticio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 

Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd 
friar, 
Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women 
To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth 
And in the witness of his proper ear, 310 

To call him villain ? and then to glance from him 
To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice? 
Take him hence; to the rack with him ! We'll 

touse jrou 
Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. 
What, 'unjust'! 

Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 

Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he 
Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, 
Nor here provincial. My business in this state 
Made me a looker on here in Vienna, 
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble 
Till it o'er-run the stew ; laws for all faults, 321 
But faults so countenanced, that the strong sta- 
tutes 
"Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
As much in mock as mark. 

Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him 
to prison ! 

Ang. What can you vouch against him, Sig- 
nior Lucio? 
Is this the man that you did tell us of? 

Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- 
man baldpate : do you know me ? 

Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of 
your voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence 
of the duke. 

Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember 
what you said of the duke? 

Duke. Most notedly, sir. 

Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a 
fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then 
reported him to be ? 

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, 
ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke 
so of him; and much more, much worse. 341 

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not I 
pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches ? 

Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love 
myself. 

A ng. Hark, how the villain would close now, 
after his treasonable abuses ! 

Escal. Such a fello'w is not to be talked withal. 
Away with him to prison ! Where is the provost? 



Away with him to prison ! lay bolts enough upon 
him : let him speak no more. Away with those 
giglots too, and with the other confederate com- 
panion ! 

Duke. [To Provost] Stay, sir; stay awhile. 

Ang. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio. 

Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, 
sir ! Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must 
be hooded, must you ? Show your knave's visage, 
with a pox to you ! show your sheep-biting face, 
and be hanged an hour ! Will't not off? 360 

[Fulls off the friar's hood, a7id discovers 
the Duke. 

Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er 
madest a duke. 
First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. 
[To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and 

you 
Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. 

Lticio. This may prove worse than hanging. 

Duke. [To Escalus] What you have spoke I 
pardon : sit you down : 
We'll borrow place of him. [To Angelo] Sir, by 

your leave. 
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, 
That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, 
Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 370 

And hold no longer out. 

Ang. O my dread lord, 

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
To think I can be undiscernible, 
When I perceive your grace, like power divine, 
Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, 
No longer session hold upon my shame, 
But let my trial be mine own confession : 
Immediate sentence then and sequent death 
Is all the grace I beg. 

Duke. Come hither, Mariana. 

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 380 

Aug. I was, my lord. 

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her 
instantly. 
Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, 
Return him here again. Go with him, provost. 
[Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, F~riar Peter 
and Provost. 

Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his 
dishonour 
Than at the strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel. 

Your friar is now your prince : as I was then 
Advertising and holy to your business, 
Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
Attorney' d at your service. 

/sad. O, give me pardon, 390 

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
Your unknown sovereignty ! 

Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel : 

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
And you may marvel why I obscured myself, 
Labouring to save his life, and would not rather 
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power 
Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, 
It was the swift celerity of his death, 
Which I did think with slower foot came on, 400 
That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with 

him ! 
That life, is better life, past fearing death, 



SCENE I.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



..i 



Than that which lives to fear: make it your 

comfort, 
So happy is your brother. 
Isab. I do, my lord. 

Re-enter Akgelo, Mariana, Friar Peter, 

and Provost. 
Duke. For this new-married man approach- 
ing here, 
Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd 
Your well defended honour, you must pardon 
For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged your 

brother, — 
Eeing criminal, in double violation 
Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach 410 

Thereon dependent, for your brother's life, — 
The very mercy of the law cries out 
Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 
'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death ! ' 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers 

leisure ; 
Like doth quit like, and measure still for 

MEASURE. 

Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested ; 
Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee 

vantage. 
We do condemn thee to the very block 
Where Claudio s'toop'd to death, and with like 
haste. 420 

Away with him ! 

Mart. O my most gracious lord, 

I hope you will not mock me with a husband. 
Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a 
husband. 
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, 
I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation. 
For that he knew you, might reproach your life 
And choke your good to come : for his pos- 
sessions, 
Although by confiscation they are ours, 
We do instate and widow you withal, 
To buy you a better husband. 

Mart. O my dear lord, 430 

I crave no other, nor no better man. 

Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 
Mari. Gentle my liege, — [h'neeling. 

Duke. You do but lose your labour. 

Away with him to death ! [ To Lucio} Now, sir, 
to you. 
Mari. O my good lord ! Sweet Isabel, take 
my part ; 
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 

Duke. Against all sense you do importune 
her : 
Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
And take her hence in horror. 

Mari. Isabel, 441 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me : 
Hold up your hands, say nothing ; I'll speak all. 
They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; 
And, for the most, become much more the better 
For being a little bad : so may my husband. 
O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? 
Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 
Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling. 

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 
As if my brother lived : I partly think 450 



A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, 

Till he did look on me : since it is so, 

Let him not die. My brother had but justice, 

In that he did the thing for which he died: 

For Angelo, 

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, 

And must be buried but as an intent 

That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no 

subjects; 
Intents but merely thoughts. , 
Mart Merely, my lord. 

Duke. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, 
I say. 4 Go 

I have bethought me of another fault. 
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
At an unusual hour? 
Prov. It was commanded so. 

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the 

deed? 
Prov, No, my good lord; it was by private 

message. 
Duke. For which I do discharge you of your 
office: 
Give up your keys. 

Prov. _ Pardon me, noble lord : 

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
Yet did repent me, after more advice : 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 470 
That should by private order else have died, 
I have reserved alive. 

Duke. What's he? 

Prov. His name is Barnardine. 

Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. 
Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. 

[Exit Provost. 
Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so 
wise 
As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, 
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of" blood, 
And lack of temper'd judgement afterward. 
Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I pro- 
cure : 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart 480 
That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 
'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Re-enter Provost, with Barnardine, Claudio 

muffled, and Juliet. 

Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? 

Prov. This, my lord. 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this mar.. 
Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, 
That apprehends no further than this world, 
And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt con- 
demn'd : * 
But, for those earthly faults. I quit them all ; 
And pray thee take this mercy to provide 
For better times to come. Friar, advise bin 
I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow '.s 
that ? 

Prov. This is another prisoner that I saved. 
Who should have died when Claudio lost his 
As like almost to Claudio as himself. 

Duke. [To Isabella] If he "be like your 
brother, for his sake 
Is he pardon'd ; and, fir your lovely sake, 
Give me your hand and say you will be mine, 



9 2 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act v. 



He is my brother too : but fitter time for that. 
By this Lord Angelo perceives he 's safe ; 
Methinks I see a quickening in his eye. 500 

Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : 
Look that you love your wife ; her worth worth 

yours. 
I find an apt remission in myself; 
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. 
[To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, 

a coward, 
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; 
Wherein have I so deserved of you, 
That you extol me thus ? 

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but ac- 
cording to the trick. If you will hang me for it, 
you may ; but I had rather it would please you I 
might be whipt. 

Duke. Whipt first, sir, and hanged after. 
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, 
Is any woman wrong" d by this lewd fellow, 
As I have heard him swear himself there's 

one 
Whom he begot with child, let her appear, 
And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd, 
Let him be whipt and hang"d. 

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry 
me to a whore. Your highness said even now, 1 



made you a duke : good my lord, do not recom- 
pense me in making me a cuckold. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 
Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison ; 
And see our pleasure herein executed. 

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing 
to death, whipping, and hanging. 

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. 530 
[Exeunt Officers with Lucio. 
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. 
Joy to you, Mariana ! Love her, Angelo : 
I have confess' d her and I know her virtue. 
Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good- 
ness : 
There's more behind that is more gratulate. 
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy : 
We shall employ thee in a worthier place. 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's : 
The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, 540 
I have a motion much imports your good ; 
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, 
What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. 
So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll show 
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should 
know. [.Exeunt. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Solinus, duke of Ephesus. 
/Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse. 
Antipholus of Ephesus, ( twin *™£ers, and 
Antipholus of Syracuse A sons ^Sfon and 
' ' ( /Emilia. 

Dromio of Ephesus, f**™ br ^ e ", and attend- 
Dromio of Syracuse,| ants on th f u £° Antl P ho " 

Balthazar, a merchant. 

Anget.o, a goldsmith. 

First Merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. A hall in the Duke's palace. 

EnterDvKK, ^Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and other 
Attendants. 

JEge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall 
And by the doom of death end woes and all. 

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more ; 
I am not partial to infringe our laws : 
The enmity and discord which of late 
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, 
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives 
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods, 
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. 10 
For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, 
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : 
Nay, more, 

If any born at Ephesus be seen 
At any Syracusian marts and fairs ; 
Again : if any Syracusian born 
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 20 

His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose, 
Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
To quit the penalty and to ransom him. 
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ; 
Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die. 

■&ge. Yet this my comfort : when your words 
are done, 
My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 

Duke. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause 
Why thou departed' st from thy native home 30 
And for what cause thou earnest to Ephesus. 

sEge. A heavier task could not have been 
imposed 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
Yet, that the world may witness that my end 
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
In Syracusa was I born, and wed 
Unto a woman, happy but for me, 
And by me, had not our hap been bad. 



Second Merchant, to whom Angelo is a debtor. 
Pinch, a schoolmaster. 

^Emilia, wife to JEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus. 
Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. 
Luciana, her sister. 
Luce, servant to Adriana. 
A Courtezan. 

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 

Scene : Ephesus. 



With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased 40 

By prosperous voyages I often made 

To Epidamnum ; till my factor's death 

And the great care of goods at random left 

Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse : 

From whom my absence was not six months old 

Before herself, almost at fainting under 

The pleasing punishment that women bear, 

Had made provision for her following me 

And soon and safe arrived where I was. 

There had she not been long but she became 50 

A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 

And, which was strange the one so like the other 

As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 

That very hour and in the self-same inn 

A meaner woman was delivered 

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike : 

Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 

I bought and brought up to attend my sons. 

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 

Made daily motions for our home return : 60 

Unwilling I agreed ; alas ! too soon 

We came aboard. 

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 

Before the always wind-obeying deep 

Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 

But longer did we not retain much hope ; 

For what obscured light the heavens did grant 

Did but convey unto our fearful minds 

A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 

Which though myself wouldgladly have embraced, 

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 71 

Weeping before for what she saw must come, 

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, 

That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 

Forced me to seek delays for them and me. 

And this it was, for other means was none : 

The sailors sought for safety by our boat, 

And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us : 

My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 

Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, 80 

Such as seafaring men provide for storms ; 

To him one of the other twins was bound, 

Whilst I had been like heedful of the other: 

The children thus disposed, my wife and I, 

Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 

Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 



94 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act i. 



And floating straight, obedient to the stream, 

Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 

At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 

Dispersed those vapours that offended us ; 90 

And, by the benefit of his wished light, 

The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 

Two ships from far making amain to us, 

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 

But ere they came, — O, let me say no more ! 

Gather the sequel by that went before. 

Dztke. Nay, forward, old man ; do not break 
off so ; 
For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 

sEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! 100 

For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, 
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ; 
Which being violently borne upon, 
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; 
So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 
Fortune had left to both of us alike 
What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe, 
Was carried with more speed before the wind; no 
And in our sight they three were taken up 
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
At length, another ship had seized on us; 
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd 

guests ; 
And would have reft the fishers of their prey, 
Had not their bark been very slow of sail ; 
And therefore homeward did they bend their 

course. 
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, 
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, 120 
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrow- 
est for, 
Do me the favour to dilate at full 
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. 

■tEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest 
care, 
At eighteen years became inquisitive 
After his brother : and importuned me 
That his attendant — so his case was like, 
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name — 
Might bear him company in the quest of him : 
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, 131 

I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. 
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, 
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, 
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ; 
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought 
Or that or any place that harbours men. 
But here must end the story of my life ; 
And happy were I in my timely death, 
Could all my travels warrant me they live. 140 

Duke. Flapless ^Egeon, whom the fates have 
mark'd 
To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! 
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
But, though thou art adjudged to the death 
And passed sentence may not be recall'd 
But to our honour's great disparagement, 



Yet I will favour thee in what I can. 150 

Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day 

To seek thy life by beneficial help: 

Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; 

Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 

And live ; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. 

Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 

Gaol. I will, my lord. 

sEge. Hopeless and helpless doth iEgeon 
wend, 
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The Mart. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, Dromio of 
Syracuse, and First Merchant. 

First Mer. Therefore give out you are of 
t Epidamnum, 
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
This very day a Syracusian merchant 
Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
And not being able to buy out his life 
According to the statute of the town 
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. 
There is your money that I had to keep. 

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we 
host, 
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 10 
Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, 
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, 
And then return and sleep within mine inn, 
For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
Get thee away. 

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your 
word, 
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit. 

A fit. S. A trusty villain, sir, that veiy oft, 
When I am dull with care and melancholy, 20 
Lightens my humour with his merry jests. 
What, will you walk with me about the town, 
And then go to my inn and dine with me? 

First Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain mer- 
chants, 
Of whom I hope to make much benefit ; 
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock, 
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart 
And afterward consort you till bed-time : 
My present business calls me from you now. 

Ant. S. Farewell till then : I will go lose my- 
self 30 
And wander up and down to view the city. 

First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own 
content. [Exit. 

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own 
content 
Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
I to the world am like a drop of water 
That in the ocean seeks another drop, 
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, 
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
So I, to find a mother and a brother, 
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 40 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
Here comes the almanac of my true date. 
What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon? 
Dro. E. Return'd so soon ! rather approach'd 
too late : 



Scene ii.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



95 



The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, 
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; 
My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
She is so hot because the meat is cold ; 
The meat is cold because you come not home ; 
You come not home because you have no stomach ; 
You have no stomach having broke your fast ; 
But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray 51 
Are penitent for your default to-day. 

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, 
I pray: 
Where have you left the money that I gave you? 
Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that I had o' Wednes- 
day last 
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper? 
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not. 

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now: 
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? 
We being strangers here, how darest thou trust 
So great a charge from thine own custody? 61 
Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at 
dinner: 
I from my mistress come to you in post ; 
If I return, I shall be post indeed, 
For she will score your fault upon my pate. 
Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your 

clock 
And strike you home without a messenger. 
Ant. S. XHome, Dromio, come, these jests are 
out of season ; 
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. 
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 70 
Dro. E. To me, sir? why, you gave no gold 

to me. 
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your 
foolishness 
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge. 
Dro. £. My charge was but to fetch you from 
the mart 
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner : 
My mistress and her sister stays for you. 

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me 
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money, 
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours 
That stands on tricks when I am undisposed : 80 
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ? 
Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my 
pate, 
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
But not a thousand marks between you both. 
If I should pay your worship those again. 
Perchance you will not bear them patiently. 
Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, 

slave, hast thou? 
Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at 
the Phoenix; 
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner 
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. 
Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto 
my face, 91 

Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. 
Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, 
hold your hands! 
Nay, an you will not, sir, I '11 take my heels. 

[Exit. 
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other 
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
They say this town is full of cozenage, 
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, 



Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, 

Soul-killing witches that deform the body, 100 

Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 

And many such-like liberties of sin : 

If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 

I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : 

I greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit. 

ACT II. 
Scene I. The house ^/Antipholus of Ephesus. 

Enter Adrian. \. and Luciana. 
Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave re- 
turn'd, 
That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! 
Sure. Luciana, it is two o'clock. 

Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him 
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to 

dinner. 
Good sister, let us dine and never fret : 
A man is master of his liberty : 
Time is their master, and when they see time 
They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister. 
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be 
more? 10 

Luc. Because their business still lies out o' 

door. 
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it 

ill. 
Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will. 
Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so. 
Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with 
woe. 
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
The beasts, the fishes and the winged fowl's 
Are their males' subjects and at their controls : 
Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 20 
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, 
Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, 
Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
Then let your will attend on their accords. 

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 
Luc. Not this, but troublesof the marriage-bed. 
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear 

some sway. 
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. 
Adr. How if your husband start some other 

where? 30 ' 

Luc. Till he come home again, I would for- 
bear. 
Adr. Patience unmoved ! no marvel though 
she pause ; 
They can be meek that have no other cause. 
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. 
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry : 
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
As much or more we should ourselves complain : 
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, 
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me : 
But, if thou live to see like right bereft, 40 

This fool-beggM patience in thee will be left. 

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. 
Here comes your man ; now is your husband nigh. 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
Adr. Say, is your tinb, -hand? 



9 6 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act ii. 



Dro. E. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and 
that my two ears can witness. 
Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st 

thou his mind? 
Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine 
ear: 
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 

Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not 

feel his meaning? 51 

Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could 

too well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully 

that I could scarce understand them. 

Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? 
It seems he hath great care to please his wife. 
Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is 

horn-mad. 
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ! 
Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; 

But, sure, he is stark mad. 

When I desired him to come home to dinner, 60 
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
"Tis dinner-time,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth 

he: 
'Your meat doth burn,' quoth I; 'My gold!' 

quoth he : 
'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' 

quoth he, 
'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, 

villain?' 
'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd;' 'My gold!' 

quoth he : 
' My mistress, sir,' quoth I ; ' Hang up thy mis- 
tress ! 
I know not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! ' 
Luc. Quoth who? 

Dro. E. Quoth my master : 70 

' I know,' quoth he, ' no house, no wife, no mis- 
tress.' 
So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ; 
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 
Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch 

him home. 
Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten 
home? 
For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate 

across. 
Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with 
other beating : 
Between you I shall have a holy head. 80 

Adr. Hence, prating peasant ! fetch thy master 

home. 

Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you with me, 

That like a football you do spurn me thus ? 

You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : 

If I last in this service, you must case me in 

leather. [Exit. 

Luc. Fie, how impatience loureth in your 

face ! 
Adr. His company must do his minions grace. 
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it : 90 
Are my discourses dull ? barren my wit ? 
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
| Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard : 
\ Do their gay vestments his affections bait? 
! That's not my fault ; he's master of my state : 



What ruins are in me that can be found, 

By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ground 

Of my defeatures. My decayed fair 

A sunny look of his would soon repair : 

But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale 100 

And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 

Luc. Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat it hence ! 

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs 
dispense. 
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; 
Or else what lets it but he would be here? 
Sister, you know he promised me a chain ; 
Would that alone, alone he would detain, 
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed \ 
I see the jewel best enamelled 
Will lose his beauty ; yet the gold bides still, no 
That others touch, and often touching will 
t Wear gold : and no man that hath a name, 
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. 

Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy ! 
IE x emit. 

Scene II. A public place. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up 
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out 
By computation and mine host's report. 
I could not speak with Dromio since at first 
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter d ? 
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
You know no Centaur ? you received no gold ? 
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 10 
My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou mad, 
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? 

Dro. S. What answer, sir ? when spake I such 

a word ? 
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an 

hour since. 
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me 
hence, 
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 
Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's 
receipt 
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner ; 
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased. 
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry 
vein : 20 

What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell 
me. 
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in 
the teeth ? 
Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and 
that. [Beating him. 

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your 
jest is earnest: 
Upon what bargain do you give it me ? 

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
Do use you for my fool and chat with you, 
Your sauciness will jest upon my love 
And make a common of my serious hours. 
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, 30 
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 



Scene ii.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



If you will jest with me, know my aspect 
And fashion your demeanour to my looks, 
Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 

Dro. S. Sconce call you it? so you would leave 
battering, I had rather have it a head : an you 
use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my 
head and insconce it too ; or else I shall seek my 
wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I 
beaten ? 40 

Ant. S. Dost thou not know? 
Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. 
Ant, S. Shall I tell you why? 
Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for they say 
every why hath a wherefore. 
Ant. S* Why, first, — for flouting me; and 
then, wherefore, — 
For urging it the second time to me. 
Dro, S. Was there ever any man thus beaten 
out of season, 
When in the why and the wherefore is neither 

rhyme nor reason ? 
Well, sir, I thank you. 5° 

Ant. S. Thank me, sir ! for what ? 
Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that 
you gave me for nothing. 

Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give 
you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it 
dinner-time? 
Dro. S. No, sir : I think the meat wants that 

I have. 
Ant. S. In good time, sir ; what's that? 
Dro. S. Basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 60 

Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it. 
Ant. S. Your reason? 

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric and pur- 
chase me another dry basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : 
there's a time for all things. 

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you 
were so choleric. 
Ant. S. By what rule, sir ? 
Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the 
plain bald pate of father Time himself. 71 

Ant. S. Let's hear it. 

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover 
his hair that grows bald by nature. 
Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 
Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and 
recover the lost hair of another man. 

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, 
being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? 79 

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he be- 
stows on beasts ; and what he hath scanted men 
in hair he hath given them in wit. 

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath 
more hair than wit. 

Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the 
wit to lose his hair. 

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men 
plain dealers without wit. 

D>v. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : 
yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 90 

Ant. S. For what reason ? 
Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 
Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 
Dro. S. Sure ones then. 
Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 
Dro. S. Certain ones then. 



Ant. S. Name them. 

Dro. S. The one, to save the money that lie 
spends in trimming ; the other, that at dinner 
they should not drop in his porridge. 100 

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved 
there is no time for all things. 

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time 
to recover hair lost by nature. 

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, 
why there is no time to recover. 

Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is 
bald and therefore to the world's end will have 
bald followers. 

Ant. S. 1 knew 'twould be a bald conclusion : 
But, soft! who wafts us yonder? m 

Enter Adkiana and Luciana. 
A dr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and 
frown : 
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects ; 
I am not Adriana nor thy wife. 
The time was once when thou unurged wouldst 

vow 
That never words were music to thine ear, 
That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
That never touch well welcome to thy hand, 
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved 

to thee. 120 , 

How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, 1 
That thou art thus estranged from thyself? 
Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 
That, undividable, incorporate, 
Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ! 
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall 
A drop of water in the breaking gulf 
And take unmingled thence that drop again, 
Without addition or diminishing, 
As take from me thyself an^ not me too. 
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious 
And that this body, consecrate to thee, 
By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! 
Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me 
And hurl the name of husband in my face 
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow 
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring 
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? i 4 o 
I know thou canst; and therefore see thou 
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
For if we two be one and thou play false, 
I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 
Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 
I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured. 

A >it. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know 
you not : 
In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 150 

As strange unto your town as to your talk ; 
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, 
Want wit in all one word to understand. 

Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is changed 
with you ! 
When were you wont to use my sister thus? 
She sent for you by 1 >romio home to dinner. 

Ant. S. ByDromio? 

Dro. S. By me ? 



130 



oS 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act hi. 



Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return 
from him, 
That he did buffet thee and in his blows 160 

Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gen- 
tlewoman ? 
What is the course and drift of your compact? 
Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. 
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very 
words 
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 
Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by 
our names. 
Unless it be by inspiration. 

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 170 
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! 
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, 
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : 
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, 
Whose weakness married to thy stronger state 
Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss ; 180 

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
InfecT: thy sap and live on thy confusion. 
Ant. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me for 
her theme : 
What, was I married to her in my dream ? 
Or sleep I now and think I hear all this? 
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? 
Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for 

dinner. 
Dro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a 
sinner. 190 

This is the fairy land»; O spite of spites ! 
We talk with goblins, owls and sprites : 
If we obey them not, this will ensue, 
They'll suck our breath or pinch us black and 
blue. 
Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself and an- 
swerst not? 
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou 
sot ! 
Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am I not? 
Ant. S. I think thou art in mind, and so am I. 
Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in my 

shape. 
Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 200 

Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an 

ass. 
Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me and I long 
for grass. 
'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be 
But I should know her as well as she knows me. 
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, 
To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. 
Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. 
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. 210 
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
Say he dines forth and Jet no creature enter. 
Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well. 



Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? 
Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised? 
Known unto these, and to myself disguised ! 
I '11 say as they say and persever so 
And in this mist at all adventures go. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate ? 

Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break your 
pate. 220 

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too 
late. [Exemit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Before the house 0/ Antipholus of 
Ephesus. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of 
Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar. 

Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must ex- 
cuse us all ; 
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours : 
Say that I linger'd with you at your shop 
To see the making of her carcanet 
And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
But here 's a villain that would face me down 
He met me on the mart and that I beat him 
And charged him with a thousand marks in gold 
And that I did deny my wife and house. 
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by 
this? 10 

Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what 

I know ; 
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand 

to show : 
If the skin were parchment and the blows you 

gave were ink, 
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. 
Ant. E. I think thou art an ass. 
Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 

By the wrongs I suffer and the blows Ibear. 
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that 

pass, 
You would keep from my heels and beware of 
an ass. 
Ant. E. You're sad, Signior Balthazar : pray 
God our cheer 
May answer my good will and your good wel- 
come here. 20 
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your 

welcome dear. 
Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh 
or fish, 
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty 
dish. 
Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every 

churl affords. 
Ant. E. And welcome more common; for 

that's nothing but words. 
Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes a 

merry feast. 
Ant. E. Ay to a niggardly host and more 
sparing guest: 
But though my cates be mean, take them in good 

part; 
Better cheer may you have, but not with better 

heart. 
But, soft ! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



99 



Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gil- 
lian, Ginn ! 
Dro. S. [Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, 
coxcomb, idiot, patch ! 
Either get thee from the door or sit down at the 
| hatch. 

Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st 

for such store, 
When one is one too many? Go get thee from the 
door. 
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter'.' My 

master stays in the street. 
Dro. S. [ Within] Let him walk from whence 

he came, lest he catch cold oil's feet. 
Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open 

the door! 
Dro. S. [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you 

when, an you'll tell me wherefore. 
Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner: I have 
not dined to-day. 40 

Dro. S. [Within] Nor to-day here you must 

not ; come again when you may. 
Ant. E. What art thou that keepest me out 

from the house I owe? 
Dro. S. {Within] The porter for this time, 

sir, and my name is Dromio. 
Dro. E. O villain ! thou hast stolen both mine 
office and my name. 
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, 
Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name 
or thy name for an ass. 
Luce. [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? 

who are those at the gate? 
Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 
Luce. [Within] Faith, no; he comes too late; 
And so tell your master. 

Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh ! 

Have at you with a proverb — Shall I set in my staff? 

Luce. [Within] Have at you with another; 

that's — When ? can you tell ? 
Dro. S. [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce, — 

Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. 
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let 

us in, I hope '.' 
Luce. [Within] I thought to have ask'd you. 
Dro. S. [Within] And you said no. 

Dro. E. So, come, help: well struck ! there 

was blow for blow. 
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
Luce. [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? 
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
Litce. [Within] Let him knock till it ache. 

Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat 

the door down. 
Luce. [Within] What needs all that, and a 
pair of stocks in the town ? 60 

Adr. [Within] Who is that at the door that 

keeps all this noise? 
Dro. S. [Within'] By my troth, your town is 

troubled with unruly boys. 
Aut. E. Are you there, wife? you might 

have come before. 
Adr. [Within] Your wife, sir knave! go get 

you from the door. 
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this 

'knave' would go sore. 
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome : 
we would fain have either. 



Bal. In debating which was best, wi 

part with neither. 
Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ; bid 

them welcome hither. 
Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that 

we cannot get in. 
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your 
garments were thin. 70 

Your cake there is warm within ; you stand here 

in the cold : 
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so 
bought and sold. 
Aut. E. Go fetch me something: I'll break 

1 .pe the gate. 
Dro. S. \ Within] Break any breaking here, 

and I'll break your knave's pate. 
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, 
sir, and words arc but wind, 
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not 
behind. 
Dro. S. [Within] It seems thou want 'si 

breaking: out upon thee, hind ! 
Dro. E. Here's too much ' out upon thee !' I 

pray thee, let me in. 
Dro. S. [Within] Ay, when fowls haye no 

feathers and fish have no fin. 

Ant. E. Well, I'll break in : go borrow me a 

crow. go 

Dro. E. A crow without feather? Master, 

mean you so? 

For a fish without a fin, there 's a fowl without a 

feather : 
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow 
together. 
Ant. E. Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron 

crow. 
Bal. Have patience, sir ; O, let it not be so ! 
Herein you war against your reputation 
And draw within the compass of suspect 
The unviolated honour of your wife. 
Once this, — your long experience of her wisdom, 
Her sober virtue, years and modesty, 90 

Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
Be ruled by me : depart in patience, 
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner, 
And about evening come yourself alone 
To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
If by strong hand you offer to break in 
Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
A vulgar comment will be made of it, 100 

And that supposed by the common rout 

5t your yet ungalled estimation 
That may with foul intrusion enter in 
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead , 
For slander lives upon succession, 
For ever housed who session. 

Ant. E. You have prevailed : I will 
in quiet, 
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
I know a wench of excellent discourse. 
Pretty and witty, wild and yet, too, gentle: .iu 
There will we dine. This woman that 1 n 
My wife — but, I protest, without desert — 
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal: 
To her will we to dinner. [To Ang.] (. 

home 
And fetch the chain ; by this I know 'tis made : 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act ii. 



Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine ; 

For there 's the house : that chain will I bestow — 

Be it for nothing but to spite my wife — 

Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste. 

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 120 

I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. 

Ang. I'll meet you at that place some hour 
hence. 

Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some 
expense. [Exeunt. 

Scene IT. The same. 
Enter Luciana avd Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Luc. And may it be that you have quite 

forgot 
A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, 
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? 

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? 
If you did wed my sister for her wealth, 

Then for her wealth's sake use her with more 
kindness : 
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; 

Muffle your false love with some show of 
blindness : 
Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 10 
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; 
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be 
tainted ; 
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
Be secret-false : what need she be acquainted ? 

What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed 
And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 

111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 20 

Alas, poor women ! make us but believe, 

Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ; 
We in your motion turn and you may move us. 
Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain, 

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers 
strife. 
Ant. S. Sweet mistress, — what your name is 
else, I know not, 
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine, — 30 
Less in your knowledge and your grace you 
show not 
Than our earth's wonder, more than earth 
divine. 
Teach me, dear creature, how tp think and 
speak ; 
Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, 
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 

The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you 

To make it wander in an unknown field? 
Are you a god? would you create me new? 
Transform me then, and to your power I'll 
yield. 40 

But if that I am I, then well I know 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe : 

Far more, far more to you do I decline. 
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 



To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears : 
Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote : 

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
And as a bed I '11 take them and there lie, 

And in that glorious supposition think 50 

He gains by death that hath such means to die : 

Let Love, being light, be drowned if she 

sink ! 
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do rea- 
son so? 
Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not 

know. 
Luc . It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, 

being by. 
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will 

clear your sight. 
A nt. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look- 
on night. 
Luc. Why call you me love? call my sis- 
ter so. 
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
Luc. That 's my sister. 

Ant. S. No ; 60 

It is thyself, mine own self's better part, 
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart, 
My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's aim, 
My sole earth's heaven and my heaven's claim. 
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
A nt. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. 
Thee will I love and with thee lead my life : 
Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife. 
Give me thy hand. 

Luc. O, soft, sir ! hold you still : 

I '11 fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit. 70 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio! where 
runn'st thou so fast? 

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio? 
am I your man? am I myself? 

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, 
thou art thyself. 

Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man 
and besides myself. 

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides 
thyself? 80 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due 
to a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts 
me, one that will have me. 

A nt. S. What claim lays she to thee ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would 
lay to your horse ; ard she would have me as a 
beast : not that, I being a beast, she would have 
me ; but that she, being a very beastly creature, 
lays claim to me. 

Ant.S. What is she? 90 

Dro. S. A very reverent body ; ay, such a 
one as a man may not speak of without he say 
' Sir-reverence.' I have but lean luck in the 
match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. 

Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench 
and all grease ; and I know not what use to put 
her to but to make a lamp of her and run from 
her by her own light. I warrant, her rags and 
the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter : if 
she lives till doomsday, she '11 burn a week longer 
than the whole world. 



Scene ii.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face 
nothing like so clean kept : for why, she sweats ; 
a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. 

Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. 

Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood 
could not do it. 

Ant. S. What's her name? no 

Dro. S. Nell, sir ; but her name and three 
quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will not 
measure her from hip to hip. 

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? 
I Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than 
'from hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe ; I 
could find out countries in her. 

Ant. S. In what part of her bodv stand.-, 
Ireland ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks : I found 
it out by the bogs. 121 

Ant. S. Where Scotland ? 

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness ; hard 
in the palm of the hand. 

Ant. S. Where France? 

Dro. S. In her forehead ; armed and reverted, 
making war against her heir. 

Ant. S. Where England? 

Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I 
could find no whiteness in them ; but I guess it 
stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran 
between France and it. 

Ant. S. Where Spain? 

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot 
in her breath. 

Aut. S. Where America, the Indies? 

Dro. S. Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er em- 
bellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, de- 
clining their rich aspect to the hot breath of 
Spain ; who sent whole armadoes of caracks to 
be ballast at her nose. 141 

Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? 

Dro. S. Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To 
conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to 
me ; called me Dromio ; swore I was assured to 
her ; told me what privy marks I had about me, 
as, the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my 
neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I 
amazed ran from her as a witch : 
And, I think, if my breast had not been made of 
faith and my heart of steel, 150 

She had transform' d me to a curtal dog and made 
me turn i' the wheel. 

A nt. S. Go hie thee presently, post to the road : 
An if the wind blow any way from shore, 
I will not harbour in this town to-night : 
Tf any bark put forth, come to the mart, 
Where I will walk till thou return to me. 
If every one knows us and we know none, 
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. 

Dro. S. As from a btar a man would run for life, 
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. 

Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit 
here : 161 

And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. 
She that doth call me husband, even my soul 
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, 
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, 
Of such enchanting presence and discourse, 
Hath almost made me traitor to myself : 
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, 



I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
Enter Angelo with the chain. 

Ang. Master Antipholus, — 

Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 170 

Ang. I know it well, sir: lo, here is the chain. 
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine : 
The chain unnnish'd made me stay thus long. 

Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with 
this? 

Ang. What please yourself, sir : I have made 
it for you. 

Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. 

Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times 
you have. 
Go home with it and please your wife withal ; 
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you 
And then receive my money for the chain. 180 

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, 
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more. 

Ang. You are a merry man, sir : fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot 
tell: 
But this I think, there's no man is so vain 
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
I see a man here needs not live by shifts, 
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
I'll to the mart and there for Dromio stay : 
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. A public place. 

Enter Second Merchant, Angelo, and an 
Oificer. 

Sec. Mer. You know since Pentecost the sum 
is due, 
And since I have not much importuned you ; 
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
To Persia and want guilders for my voyage: 
Therefore make present satisfaction, 
Or I '11 attach you by this officer. 

Ang. Even just the sum that I do owe to you 
Is growing to me by Antipholus, 
And in the instant that I met with you 
He had of me a chain : at five o'clock 10 

I shall receive the money for the same. 
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
I will discharge my bond and thank you too. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio 

of EphesusyOw// the courtezan s. 
Off. That labour may you save : see where he 

comes. 
Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, 
go thou 
And buy a rope's end : that will I bestow 
Among my wife and her confederates, 
For locking me out of my doors by day. 
But, soft ! I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone ; 
Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me. 20 

Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year : I 
buy a rope. [Exit. 

Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to 
you: 
I promised your presence and the chain ; 
Put neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act iv. 



Belike you thought our love would last too long, 
If it were chain'd together, and therefore came 

not. 
' A ng. Saving your merry humour, here 's the 

note 
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat, 
The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion, 
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 30 
Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
I pray you, see him presently discharged, 
For he is bound to sea and stays but for it. 
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present 
money; 
Besides, I have some business in the town. 
Good signior, take the stranger to my house 
And with you take the chain and bid my wife 
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof: 
Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 
Ang. Then you will bring the chain to hei 
yourself? 40 

Ant.E. No; bear it with you, lest I come 

not time enough. 
Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain 

about you? 
A?it. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you 
have ; 
Or else you may return without your money. 
A tig. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me 
the chain : 
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, 
And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
A?it. E. Good Lord! you use this dalliance 
to excuse 
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. 
I should have chid you for not bringing it, 50 

But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 

Sec. Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, 

sir, dispatch. 
Ang. You hear how he importunes me; — the 

chain ! 
Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife and fetch 

your money. 
Ang, Come, come, you know I gave it you 
even now. 
Either send the chain or send me by some token. 
Ant. E. Fie, now you run this humour out of 
breath, 
Come, where 's the chain? I pray you, let me 
see it. 
Sec. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalli- 
ance. 
Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no :6o 
If not, I '11 leave him to the officer. 
Ant. E. I answer you ! what should I answer 

you? 
Ang. The money that you owe me for the 

chain. 
Ant. E. I owe you none till I receive the 

chain. 
Ang. You know I gave it you half an hour 

since. 
Ant. E. You gave me none: you wrong me 

much to say so. 
Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: 
Consider how it stands upon my credit. 

Sec. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 
Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name 
to obey me. 70 

Ang. This touches me in reputation. 



Either consent to pay this sum for me 
Or I attach you by this officer. 

Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never 
had! 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest. 

Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer. 
I would not spare my brother in this case, 
If he should scorn me so apparently. 

Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit. 

Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail. 
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 81 
As all the metal in your shop will answer. 

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame ; I doubt it not. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse, from the bay. 

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum 
That stays but till her owner comes aboard 
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, 

sir, 
I have convey' d aboard and I have bought 
The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitae. 
The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 90 

Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all 
But for their owner, master, and yourself. 

Ant. E. How now ! a madman! Why, thou 
peevish sheep, 
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? 

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 

Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for 
a rope 
And told thee to what purpose and what end. 

Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon : 
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 

Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more 
leisure 100 

And teach your ears to list me with more heed. 
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight : 
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry 
There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it : 
Tell her I am arrested in the street 
And that shall bail me : hie thee, slave, be gone ! 
On, officer, to prison till it come. 

[Exeunt Sec. Merchant, Angela, 
Officer, and Ant. E. 

D?v. S. To Adriana ! that is where we dined, 
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband : 
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 11 1 
Thither I must, although against my will, 
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. The house of Antipholus of 
Ephesus. 

Enter Adriana a?id Lucia:; \. 
Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 
Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye 
That he did plead in earnest? yea or no ? 

Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily ? 
What observation madest thou in this case 
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? 

Luc. First he denied you had in him no right. 
Adr. He meant he did me none ; the more 

my spite. 
Ltic. Then swore he that he was a stranger 
ht^re. 



Scene ii] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



k>8 



Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn 
he were. 10 

Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
Adr. And what said he ? 

Luc. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd 

of me. 
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy 

love? 
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might 
move. 
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. 
Adr. Didst speak him fair? 
Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 

Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ; 
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his 

_ will. 
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, 
Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; 20 
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkiiid, 
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. 

Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one ? 
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
Adr. Ah, but I think him better than I say, 
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. 
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away : 

My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 
curse. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
Dro. S. Here ! go ; the desk, the purse ! 

sweet, now, make haste. 
I^uc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 
Dro. S. By running fast. 30 

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he 

well? 
Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than 
hell, 
t A devil in an everlasting garment hath him ; 
One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough ; 
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; 
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun- 
termands 
The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands ; 
A hound that runs counter and yet draws dry-foot 

well ; 
One that before the judgement carries poor souls 
to hell. 40 

Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? 
Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is 

'rested on the case. 
Adr. What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose 

suit. 
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is ar- 
rested well ; 
But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that 

can I tell. 
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the 
money in his desk ? 
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. [Exit Luciano..] 
This I wonder at, 
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt. 
Tell me, was he arrested on a band? 

Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger 
thing ; 50 

A chain, a chain ! Do you not hear it ring ? 
Adr. What, the chain ? 

Dro. S. No, no, the bell : 'tis time that I were 
gone : 



It was two ere I left him, and now the clock 
strikes one. 
Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never 

hear. 
Dro. S. O, yes ; if any hour meet a sergeant, 

a' turns back for very ffar. 
Adr. As if Time were in debt! how fondly 

dost thou reason ! 
Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt and owes 
more than he's worth to s 
Nay, he's a thief too : have you not heard men say. 
That Time comes stealing on by night and 1 
If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in 

the way. 
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? 

Re-enter Luciana with a purse. 
Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it 
straight. 
And bring thy master home immediately. 
Come, sister : I am press'd down with conceit — 
Conceit, my comfort and my injury. \_Exeunt. 

Scene 1 1 1 . A public place. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth 
salute me 
As if I were their well-acquainted friend ; 
And every one doth call me by my name. 
Some tender money to me ; some invite 1 
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
Some offer me commodities to buy : 
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop 
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me 
And therewithal took measure of my body. 
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles 10 

And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me 
for. What, have you got the picture of old 
new-apparelled ? 

Ant. S. What gold is this? what Adam dost 
thou mean ? 

Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Para- 
dise, but that Adam that keeps the prison : he 
that goes in the calf's skin that was killed for the 
Prodigal ; he that came behind you, sir, like an 
evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. 20 

Ant. S. I understand thee not. 

Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that 
went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather ; the 
man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives 
them a sob and 'rests them : he, sir, that takes 
pity on decayed men and gives them suits of 
durance ; he that sets up his rest to do more ex- 
ploits with his mace than a marris-pike. 

Ant. S. What, thou meanest an otii 

Dro, S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band: he 
that brings any man to answer it that ir 
band; one that thinks a man always .coiug to bed 
. rest !' 

Ant S. Well, sir, there rest in your I 
Is there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be 
gone? 

Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an 
hour since that the bark Expedition put forth 
to-night; and then were you hindered by the 



104 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act iv. 



sergeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here 
are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. 

Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
And here we wander in illusions : 
Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! 

Enter a Courtezan. 
Cour. Well met, well met, Master Anti- 
pholus. 
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
Is that the chain you promised me to-day? 

Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt 

me not. 
Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan? 
Ant. S. It is the devil. 50 

Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's 
dam ; and here she comes in the habit of a light 
wench : and thereof comes that the wenches say 
'God damn me;' that's as much to say 'God 
make me a light wench.' It is written, they 
appear to men like angels of light: light is an 
effect of fire, and fire will burn ; ergo, light 
wenches will burn. Come not near her. 

Cour. Your man and you are marvellous 
merry, sir. 
Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner 
here? 60 

Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon- 
meat ; or bespeak a long spoon. 
Ant. S. Why, Dromio? 

Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon 
that must eat with the devil. 
Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou 
me of supping? 
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : 
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. 

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at 
dinner, 
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised, 70 
And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of 
one's nail, 
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
A nut, a cherry-stone ; 

But she, more covetous, would have a chain. 
Master, be wise : an if you give it her, 
The devil will shake her chain and fright us 
with it. 
Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the 
chain : 
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. 
Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, 
let us go.^ 80 

Dro. S. ' Fly pride,' says the peacock : mis- 
tress, that you know. 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. 
Cour. Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad. 
Else would he never so demean himself. 
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, 
And for the same he promised me a chain : 
Both one and other he denies me now. 
The reason that I gather he is mad, 
Besides this present instance of his rage, 
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner, 
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, (31 ! 

On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
My way is now to hie home to his house, 
And tell his wife that, being lunatic, 



He rush'd into my house and took perforce 

My ring away. This course I fittest choose ; 

For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. \ 

Scene IV. A street. 
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and tlie Officer. 
Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break 
away: 
I '11 give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money, 
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day, 
And will not lightly trust the messenger. 
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, 
I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope's-end. 

Here comes my man ; I think he brings the 

money. 
How now, sir! have you that I sent you for? 

Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay 
them all. 10 

Ant. E. But where's the money? 

Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for 
the rope. 

Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for 
a rope ? 

Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at 
the rate. 

Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee 
home? 

Dro. E. To a rope's-end, sir ; and to that end 
am I returned. 

Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome 
you. [Beating him. 

Off. Good sir, be patient. 

Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am 
in adversity. 21 

Off. Good, now, hold thy tongue. 

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold 
his hands. 

Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 

Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I 
might not feel your blows. 

Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but 
blows, and so is an ass. 

Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove 
it by my long ears. I have served him from the 
hour of my nativity to this instant, and have 
nothing at his hands for my service but blows. 
When I am cold, he heats me with beating; 
when I am warm, he cools me with beating : 
I am waked with it when I sleep ; raised with 
it when I sit ; driven out of doors with it when I 
go from home ; welcomed home with it when I 
return : nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a 
beggar wont her brat; and, I think, when he 
hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to 
door. 

Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming 
yonder. 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, 
and Pinch. 

Dro. E. Mistress, 'respice finem,' respecl 
your end; or rather, fthe prophecy like the 
parrot, 'beware the rope's-end.' 

Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beating- him. 



Scene iv.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



105 



is not vour hu.s 



50 



ithin 



60 



Cour. How say you now 

band mad? 
Adr. His incivility confirms no less. 
Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer 
Establish him in his true sense again, 
And I will please you what you will demand. 
Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! 
Cour. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy ! 
Finch. Give me your hand and let me feel 

your pulse. 
Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel 
your ear. [Striking kirn 

Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed 
this man, 
To yield possession to my holy prayers 
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight 
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven ! 

Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am 

not mad. 
Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed 

soul ! 
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your 
customers ? 
Did this companion with the saffron face 
Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut 
And I denied to enter in my house ? 

Adr. O husband, God doth know you dined 
at home ; , . - 

Where would you had remain'd until this time, 
Free from these slanders and this open shame ! 
Ant. E. Dined at home ! Thou villain, what 
sayestthou? 7 1 

Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at 

home. 
Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and I 

shut out? 
Dro. E. Perdie, your doors were lock d and 

you shut out. 
Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me 

there ? 
Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you 

there. 
Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt 
and scorn me ? 
• Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal 
scorn'd you. 
Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from 

thence ? 
Dro. E. In verity you did; my bones bear 
witness, 8° 

That since have felt the vigour of his rage. 
Adr. Is't good to soothe him in these con- 
traries? 
Finch. 1 1 is no shame : the fellow finds his vein 
And yielding to him humours well his frenzy. 
Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to 

arrest me. 
Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, 
l; I Iromio here, who came in haste for it. 
'Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good-will 
vou might ; 
But surely, master, not a rag of money. 

Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse 
of ducats? . , . 9 ° 

Adr. He came to me and I deliver'd it. 
Luc. And I am witness with her that she did. 
Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me 
witness 



I That 1 was sent for nothing but a rope ! 

Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos- 
sess' d ; 
I know it by their pale and deadly looks: 
They must be bound and laid in some dark room. 
Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me 
forth to-day ? 
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? 

Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee 

forth. 100 

Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no 

gold ; 

But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 

Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false 

in both. 
Ant.E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false inall 
And art confederate with a damned pack 
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : 
But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes 
That would behold in me this shameful sport. 

Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He 
strives. 

bind him ! let him not 



The fiend is strong 



Thou 



Adr. O, bind h 
come near me. 
Pinch. More company 

within him. no 

Luc . Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he 

looks ! 
Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? 
gaoler, thou, 
I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them 
To make a rescue ? 

Off. Masters, let him go : 

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
Pinch. Go bind this man, for he is frantic too. 
[ They offer to bind Dro. E. 
Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? 
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 

Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, 120 
The debt he owes will be required of me. 

Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee : 
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor 
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
Home to my house. O most unhappy day ! 
Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! 
Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond 

for you. 
Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost 

thou mad me? 
Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be 
mad, good master: cry 'The devil !' 131 

Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they 

talk ! 
Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with 
me. [Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, 
Officer and Courtezan.} 
Say now. whose suit is he arrested at V 

Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith : do you know 

him? 
Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he 

owes? 
Off. Two hundred ducats. 
Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 

Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. 
Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had 
it not. 



io6 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act v. 



Cour. When as your husband all in rage to-day- 
Came to my house and took away my ring — 141 
The ring I saw upon his finger now — 
Straight after did I meet him with a chain. 

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it. 
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is : 
I long to know the truth hereof at large. 

2?«^?-Antipholus of Syracuse with his racier 
drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. 
Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. 
Adr. And come with naked swords. 
Let's call more help to have them bound again. 
Off. Away! they'll kill us. 150 

[Exeunt ail but Ant. S. and Dro. S. 
Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of 

swords. 
Dro. S. She that would be your wife now ran 

from you. 
Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff 
from thence : 
I long that we were safe and sound aboard. 

Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night; they will 
surely do us no harm : you saw they speak us 
fair, give us gold : methinks they are such a 
gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad 
flesh that claims marriage of me, I could find in 
my heart to stay here still and turn witch. 160 
Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the 
town ; 
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. 

[Exeunt . 

ACT V. 

Scene I. A street before a Priory. 
Enter Second Merchant and Angelo. 
Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you ; 
But, I protest, he had the chain of me, 
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 

Sec. Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in 

the city ? 
Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir, 
Of credit infinite, highly beloved, 
Second to none that lives here in the city : 
His word might bear my wealth at any time. 
Sec. Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, 
he walks. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio 

of Syracuse. 
Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about -his 
neck 10 

Which he forswore most monstrously to have. 
Good sir, draw near to me, I '11 speak to him. 
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 
That you would put me to this shame and trouble ; 
And, not without some scandal to yourself, 
With circumstance and oaths so to deny 
This chain which now you wear so openly : 
Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
You have done wrong to this my honest friend, 
Who, but for staying on our controversy, 20 

Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day: 
This chain you had of me; can you deny it? 
Ant. S. I think I had ; I never did deny it. 
Sec. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore 
it too. 



Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or forswear it? 

Sec. Mer. These ears of mine, thou know'st, 
did hear thee. 
Fie on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity that thou livest 
To walk where any honest men resort. 

Ant. S. Thou arta villain to impeach me thus : 
I '11 prove mine honour and mine honesty 30 

Against thee presently, if thou darest stand. 

Sec. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for avillain. 
[ Tiiey draw. 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and 
others. 
Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ! he 
is mad. 
Some get within him, take his sword away : 
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, 
take a house ! 
This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd ! 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory. 

E7iter the Lady Abbess. 

Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you 
hither? 

Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband 
hence. 
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast 40 
And bear him home for his recovery. 

Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. 

Sec. Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on 
him. 

Abb. How long hath this possession held the 
man ? 

Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, 
And much different from the man he was ; 
But till this afternoon his passion 
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 

Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck 
of sea ? 
Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye 
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love ? 51 

A sin prevailing much in youthful men, 
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
Which of these sorrows is he subject to ? 

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; 
Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. 

A bb. You should for that have reprehended him. 

Adr. Why, so I did. 

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 

Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 

Abb. Haply, in private. 

Adr. And in assemblies too. 

Abb. Ay, but not enough. 61 

Adr. It was the copy of our conference : 
In bed he slept not for my urging it ; 
At board he fed not for my urging it ; 
Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
In company I often glanced it ; 
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 

Abb. And thereof came it that the man was 
mad: 
The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 70 
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing, 
And thereof comes it that his head is light. 
Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy up- 

braidings : 
Unquiet meals make ill digestions ; 



Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 

And what's a fever but a fit of madness ? 

Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls : 

Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue 

But moody and dull melancholy, 

Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, 80 

And at her heels a huge infectious troop 

Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? 

In food, in sport and life-preserving rest 

To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast : 

The consequence is then thy jealous fits 

Have scared thy husband from the use of wits. 

Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly. 
When he demean' d himself rough, rude and wildly. 
Why bear you these rebukes and answer not? 

Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. 90 
Good people, enter and lay hold on him. 

Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 

A dr. Then let your servants bring my husband 
forth. 

Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctuary, 
And it shall privilege him from your hands 
Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
Or lose my labour in assaying it. 

Adv. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
Diet his sickness, for it is my office, 
And will have no attorney but myself ; 100 

And therefore let me have him home with me. 

Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir 
Till I have used the approved means I have, 
With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers, 
To make of him a formal man again : 
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
A charitable duty of my order. 
Therefore depart and leave him here with me. 

Adr. I will not hence and leave my husband 
here : 
And ill it doth beseem your holiness 110 

To separate the husband and the wife. 

Abb. Be quiet and depart : thou shalt not have 
him. {Exit. 

Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. 

Adr. Come, go : I will fall prostrate at his feet 
And never rise until my tears and prayers 
Have won his grace to come in person hither 
And take perforce my husband from the abbess. 

Sec. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at 
five : 
Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person 
Comes this way to the melancholy vale, 120 

The place of death and sorry execution, 
Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 

Aug. Upon what cause ? 

Sec. Mer. To see a reverend Syracusian 
merchant, 
Who put unluckily into this bay 
Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
i'.cheaded publicly for his offence. 

Ang. See where they come: we will behold 
his death. 

Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the 
abbey. 

EnterT>XJK.% attended; zEgeon bareheaded ; 
■with the Headsman and other Officers. 

Duke. Vet once again proclaim it publicly, 130 
If any friend will pay the sum for him. 
He shall not die ; so much we tender him. 



Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the 

abbess ! 
Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady : 
It cannot be that she hath done thee wis 

Adr. May it please your grace, Amipholus 
my husband, 
Whom I made lord of me and all I had, 
At your important letters, — this ill day 
A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; 
That desperately he hurried through the street, — 
With him his bondman, all as mad as he, — 141 
Doing displeasure to the citizens 
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
Once did I get him bound and sent him home, 
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went 
That here and there his fury had committed. 
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, 
He broke from those that had the guard of 

him ; 
And with his mad attendant and himself, 150 

Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, 
Met us again and madly bent on us 
Chased us away, till raising of more aid 
We came again to bind them. Then they fled 
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them : 
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us 
And will not suffer us to fetch him out. 
Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence. 
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy com- 
mand 
Let him be brought forth and borne hence forhelp. 
Duke. Long since thy husband served me in 
my wars, 161 

And I to thee engaged a prince's word, 
When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
To do him all the grace and good I could. 
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate 
And bid the lady abbess come to me. 
I will determine this before I stir. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save 
yourself ! 
My master and his man are both broke loose, 
Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor, 170 
Whose beard they have singed off with brands 

of fire ; 
And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him 
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair : 
My master preaches patience to him and the while 
His man with scissors nicks him like a fool, 
And sure, unless you semi some present help, 
Between them they wiil kill the conjurer. 

Adr. Peace, fool ! thy master and his man are 
here, 
And that is false thou dost report tons. 

Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true : 
I have not breathed almost since I did see it. 181 
He .:ries for you and vows, if he can take you, 
To scorch your face and to disfigure you. 

[Cry within. 

Hark, hark ! I hear him. mistress: fly, be gone ' 

Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear nothing. 

( ruard with halberds ! 
Adr. Ay me, it is my husband ! Witness you, 
That he is borne about invisible : 
Even now we housed him in the abbey here: 
And now he's there, past thoughtof human reason. 



io8 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act v. 



Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of 
Ephesus. 

A nt. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant 
me justice ! 190 

Even for the service that long siuce I did thee, 
When I bestrid thee in the wars and took 
Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
JEge. Unless the fear of death doth make me 
dote, 
I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. 
Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that 
woman there ! 
She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife, 
That hath abused and dishonour'd me 
Even in the strength and height of injury ! 200 
Beyond imagination is the wrong 
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me 

just. 
Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the 
doors upon me, 
While she with harlots feasted in my house. 
Duke. A grievous fault ! Say, woman, didst 

thou so ? 
Adr.< No, my good lord: myself, he and my 
sister 
To-day did dine together. So befall my soul 
As this is false he burdens me withal ! 

Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on 
night, 210 

But she tells to your highness simple truth ! 
Ang. O perjured woman ! They are both 
forsworn : 
In this the madman justly chargeth them. 

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say, 
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine, 
Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire, 
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, 
Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 220 
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, 
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, 
Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
I went to seek him : in the street I met him 
And in his company that gentleman. 
There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down 
That I this day of him received the chain, 
Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which 
He did arrest me with an officer. 230 

I did obey, and sent my peasant home 
For certain ducats : he with none retum'd. 
Then fairly I bespoke the officer 
To go in person with me to my house. 
By the way we met 
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
Of vile confederates. Along with them 
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced 

villain, 
A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller, 
A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, 240 
A living-dead man : this pernicious slave, 
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, 
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me, 



Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together 
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence 
And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
There left me and my man, both bound together ; 
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
I gain'd my freedom and immediately 250 

Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech 
To give me ample satisfaction 
For these deep shames and great indignities. 
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with 
him, 
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee or no? 
Aug. He had, my lord: and when he ran in 
here, 
These people saw the chain about his neck. 
Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears 
of mine 
Heard you confess you had the chain of him 260 
After you first forswore it on the mart : 
And thereupon I drew my sword on you ; 
And then you fled into this abbey here, 
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 
Ant. E. I never came within these abbey- 
walls, 
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me : 
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven ! 
And this is false you burden me withal. 
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is 
this! 
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 270 
If here you housed him, here he would have 

been; 
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : 
You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you? 
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the 

Porpentine. 
Cour. He did, and from my finger snatch'd 

that ring. 
Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had 

of her. 
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey 

here? 
Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your 

grace. 
Duke. Why, this is strange. Go call the 
abbess hither. 280 

I think you are all mated or stark mad. 

[Exit one to the Abbess. 
sEge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak 
a word : 
Haply I see a friend will save my life 
And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou 

wilt. 
sEge. Is not your, name, sir, call'd Anti- 
pholus? 
And is not that your bondman, Dromio? 
Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, 
sir, 
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : 
Now am I Dromio and his man unbound. 290 
sEge. I am sure you both of you remember 

me. 
Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by 
you ; 
For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



109 



yEgc. Why look you strange on me? you 
know me well. 

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now. 

JEge. O, grief hath changed me since you 
saw me last, 
And careful hours with time's deformed hand 
Have written strange defeatures in my face : 
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 

Ant. E. Neither. 301 

/Ege. Dromio, nor thou ? 

Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 

ALge. I am sure thou dost. 

Dro. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and 
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to 
believe him. 

sEge. Not know my voice ! O time's extre- 
mity, 
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue 
; In seven short years, that here my only son 
1 Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares? 310 
j Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up, 
Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: 
All these old witnesses — I cannot err — 
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. 

Ant. E. I never saw my lather in my life. 

sEge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, 
boy, 320 

Thou know'st we parted : but perhaps, my son, 
Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery. 

Ant. E. The duke and all that know me in 
the city 
Can witness with me that it is not so : 
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years 
Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : 
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. 

Re-enter Abbess, with Antipholus of Syracuse 
and Dromio of Syracuse. 

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
wrong'd. [All gatJier to see them. 330 

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes de- 
ceive me. 
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the 
other; 
And so of these. Which is the natural man, 
And which the spirit? who deciphers them? 
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio : command him 

away. 
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio: pray, let me 

stay. 
Ant. S. i*Egeon art thou not? or else his 

ghost? 
Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound 

him here? 
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his 
bonds 
And gain a husband by his liberty. 340 

Speak, old jEgeon, if thou be'st the man 
That hadst a wife once call'd ^Emilia 
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
O, if thou be'st the same jEgeon, speak. 
And speak unto the same ^Emilia ! 



/Ege. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia: 
If thou art she. tell me where is that son 
That floated with thee on the fatal raft? 

Abb. By men of Epidamnum he and I 
And the twin Dromio all were taken up ; 350 

But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth 
By force took Dromio and my son from them 
And me they left with those of Epidamnum. 
What then became of them I cannot tell ; 
I to this fortune that you see me in. 
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story- 
right : 
These two Antipholuses, these two so like. 
And these two Dromios, one in semblance, — 
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — 
These are the parents to these children, 360 

Which accidentally are met together. 
Antipholus, thou earnest from Corinth first? 
A>it. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. 
Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which 

is which. 
Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gra- 
cious lord, — 
Dro. E. And I with him. 
Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most 
famous warrior, 
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to- 
day? 
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
Adr. And are not you my husband? 

Ant. E. No ; I say nay to that. 371 

Ant.S. And so do I ; yet did she call me so : 
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
Did call me brother. [To Luc.] What I told 

you then, 
I hope I shall have leisure to make good ; 
If this be not a dream I see and hear. 
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had 

of me. 
Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. 
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrest- 
ed me. 380 
Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. 
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not. 
Dro. E. No, none by me. 
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from 
you 
And Dromio my man did bring them me. 
I see we still did meet each other's man, 
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. 
And thereupon these errors are arose. 

A fit. E. These ducats pawn I for my father 

here. 
Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his 
life. 390 

Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from 

you. 
Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for 

my good cheer. 
Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the 
pains 
To go with us into the abbey here 
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : 
And all that are assembled in this place, 
That by this sympathized one day's error 
Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company, 
And we shall make full satisfaction. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act v. 



Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail 400 

Of you, my sons ; and till this present hour 

My heavy burthen ne'er delivered. 

The duke, my husband and my children both, 

And you the calendars of their nativity, 

Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me ; 

After so long grief, such festivity ! 

Duke. With all my heart, I '11 gossip at this 

feast. [Exeunt all but A nt. S.,Ant.E., 

Dro. S., and Dro. E. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from 

shipboard ? 
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 

embark'd ? 
Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in 
the Centaur. 410 

Ant. S. He speaks to me. I am your master, 
Dromio : 
Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon : 



Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him. 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E. 
Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's 
house, 
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner : 
She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not 
my brother : 
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. 
Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? 

Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder. 420 
Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we 

try it ? 
Dro. S. We'll draw cuts for the senior: till 

then lead thou first. 
Dro. E. Nay, then, thus : 
We came into the world like brother and brother ; 
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before 
another. [Exeunt. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.K 



Don Pedro, prince of Arragon. 
Don John, his bastard brother. 
Claudio, a young lord of Florence. 
Benedick, a young lord of Padua. 
Leonato, governor of Messina. 
Antonio, his brother. 
Balthasak, attendant on Don Pedro. 

BoL R c A H7oj followersofDo:i J° hn - 
Friar Francis. 
Dogberry, a constable. 



Verges, a headborough. 

A Sexton. 
A Boy. 

Hero, daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 
M.\ RGARET, I gentlewomen attending on 
Ursula, 3 Hero. 

Messengers^ Watch, Attendants, ^c. 

Scene: Messina. 



ACT I. 

.'•. I. Be/ore Leonato's house. 

1 Enter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, with a 
Messenger. 

Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Peter of 
Arragon comes this night to Messina. 

Mess. He is very near by this : he was not 
1 three leagues off when I left him. 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in 
this action? 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achie- 

I ver brings home full numbers. I find here that 

1 Don Peter hath bestowed much honour on a 

young Florentine called Claudio. n 

Mess. Much deserved on his part and equally 
remembered by Don Pedro : he hath borne him- 
self beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the 
figure of a Iamb, the feats of a lion : he hath in- 
deed better bettered expectation than you must 
1 expect of me to tell you how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will 
be very much glad of it. 

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, 
and there appears much joy in him ; even so 
much that joy could not show itself modest enough 
without a badge of bitterness. 

Leon. Did he break out into tears? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : there are 
no faces truer than those that are so washed. 
How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy 
at weeping ! 

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto re- 
turned from the wars or no? 31 

Mess. 1 know none of that name, lady: there 
was none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? 

Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of 
Padua. 

Mess. O, he's returned; and as pleasant as 
ever he was; 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and 
challenged Cupid at the flight ; and my uncle's 



fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupici, 
and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, 
how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? 
But how many hath he killed? for indeed I pro- 
mised to eat all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick 
too much; but he '11 be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in 
these wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath 
holp to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man ; 
he hath an excellent stomach. 

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady: but what 
is he to a lord? 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuffed 
with all honourable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed: he is no less than a 
stuffed man: but for the stuffing, — well, we are 
all mortal. 6b 

Leon. You mast not, sir, mistake my niece. 
There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior 
Benedick and her: they never meet but there's a 
skirmish of wit between them. 

Beat. Alas ! he gets nothing by that. In our 
last conflict four of his rive wits went halting 
off, and now is the whole man governed with one : 
so that if he have wit enough to keep himself 
warm, let him bear it for a difference between 
himself and his horse ; for it is all the wealth that 
he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. 
Who is his companion now ? He hath every month 
a new sworn brother. 

Mess. 1st possible? 

Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith 
but as the fashion of his hat ; it ever changes with 
the next block. 

Mess. 1 see, lady, the gentleman is not in your 
books. 

Beat. No: an he were, I would burn my 
study. But, 1 pray you, who is his companion? 
Is there no young squarer now that will make a 
voyage with him to the devil? 

Mess. Fie is most in the company of the right 
noble Claudio. 

Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act 



disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, 
and the taker runs presently mad. God help the 
noble Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, 
it will cost him a thousand pound ere a' be cured. 

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 91 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon.. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, 
Benedick, and Balthasar. 

D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are 
come to meet your trouble : the fashion of the 
world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the 
likeness of your grace : for trouble being gone, 
comfort should remain ; but when you depart from 
me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too wil- 
lingly. I think this is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked 
her? 

Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were 
you a child. 

D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we 
may guess by this what you arc, being a man. 
Truly, the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady; 
for you are like an honourable father. 

Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she 
would not have his head on her shoulders for all 
Messina, as like him as she is. 

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, 
Signior Benedick : nobody marks you. 

Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain ! are you 
yet living? 120 

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die while 
she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Be- 
nedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, 
if you come in her presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is 
certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: 
and I would I could find in my heart that I had 
not a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none. 

Beat. A dear happiness to women : they would 
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. 
I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your 
humour for that : I had rather hear my dog bark 
at a crow than a man swear he loves me. 

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that 
mind ! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a 
predestinate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 
'twere such a face as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a 
beast of yours. 141 

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of 
your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep 
your way, i' God's name ; I have done. 

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick : I 
know you of old. 

D. Pedro. That is the sum of all, Leonato. 
Signior Claudio and Signior Benedick, my dear 
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him 
we shall stay here at the least a month ; and he 
heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer. 



I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from 
his heart. 

f-eon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not 
be forsworn. [To Don John~\ Let me bid you 
welcome, my lord : being reconciled to the prince 
your brother, I owe you all duty. 

D. John. I thank you : I am not of many 
words, but I thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 160 

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go 
together. 

[Exeunt all except Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter 
of Signior Leonato ? 

Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. 

Clazid. Is she not a modest young lady ? 

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man 
should do, for my simple true judgement ; or 
would you have me speak after my custom, as 
being a professed tyrant to their sex ? 170 

Claud. No ; I pray thee speak in sober judge- 
ment. 

Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low 
for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and 
too little for a great praise : only this commenda- 
tion I can afford her, that were she other than 
she is, she were unhandsome ; and being no other 
but as she is, I do not like her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport : I pray 
thee tell me truly how thou likest her. 180 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire 
after her? 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But 
speak you this with a sad brow ? or do you play 
the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare- 
finder and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in 
what key shall a man take you, to go in the song? 

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady 
that ever I looked on. 190 

Bene. I can see yet without speclacles and I 
see no such matter : there 's her cousin, an she 
were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as 
much in beauty as the first of May doth the last 
of December. But I hope you have no intent to 
turn husband, have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I 
had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 

Bene. Is't come to this? In faith, hath not 
the world one man but he will wear his cap with 
suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of three- 
score again ? Go to, i' faith ; an thou wilt needs 
thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it 
and sigh away Sundays. Look ; Don Pedro is 
returned to seek } T ou. 

. Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, 
that you followed not to Leonato's ? 

Bene. I would your grace would constrain me 
to tell. 

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, Count Claudio : I can be 
secret as a dumb man ; I would have you think 
so ; but, on my allegiance, mark you this, on my 
allegiance. He is in l6ve. With who? now that 
is your grace's part. Mark how short his answer 
is ; — With Hero, Leonato's short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 



Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: 'it is not 

so, nor 'twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it 

should be so.' 220 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, 

[ God forbid it should be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the 
lady is very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

And, by my two faiths and troths, my 

lord, I spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her, I feel. 230 

I). Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 

loved nor know how she should be worthy, is the 

opinion that fire cannot melt out of me : I will 

die in it at the stake. 

/>. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic 
in the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part but 
in the force of his will. 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank 
her ; that she brought me up, I likewise give her 
most humble thanks : but that I will have a re- 
cheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle 
in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon 
me. Because I will not do them the wrong to 
mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust 
none ; and the fine is, for the which I may go the 
liner, I will live a bachelor. 

/). Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look 
pale with love. 250 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with 
hunger, my lord, not with love : prove that ever 
I lose more blood with love than I will get again 
with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad- 
maker's pen and hang me up at the door of a 
brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid. 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from 
this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat 
and shoot at mc : and he that hits me, let him be 
clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. 261 

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 
• In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.' 

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the 
sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's 
horns and set them in my forehead : and let me 
be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they 
write ' Here is good horse to hire,' let them sig- 
nify under my sign ' Here you may see Benedick 
the married man.' 270 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou 
wouldst be horn-mad. 

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 

quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the 

hours. In the meantime, good Signior Benedick, 

repair to Leonato's : commend me to him ami 

tell him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed 

he hath made great preparation. 2S0 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for 

such an embassage ; and so I commit you — 

Claud. To the tuition of God : From my 
house, if I had ir, — 

A Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving 
friend, Benedick. 



Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body 
of your discourse is sometime guarded with frag- 
ments, and the guards are but slightly basted on 
neither : ere you flout old ends any further, 
examine your conscience : and so 1 leave you. 

[Exit. 291 
Claud. My liege, your highness now may do 

me good. 
D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach : teach it 
but how, 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? 
D. Pedro. No child but Hero; she's his only 
heir. 
Dost thou affecT: her, Claudio? 

Claud. O, my lord, 

\\ hen you went onward on this ended action, 
I look' d upon her with a soldier's eye, 300 

That liked, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love: 
But now I am return'd and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover pre- 
sently 
And tire the hearer with a book of words. 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, 310 

And I will break with her and with her father 
And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end 
That thou began 'st to twist so fine a story? . 

Claud. How sweetly you do minister to love, 
That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem. 
I would have salved it with a longer treatise. 
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 
than the flood ? 
The fairest grant is the necessity. 
Look, what will serve is fit: 'tis once, thou 
lovest, 320 

And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
I know we shall have revelling to-night: 
T will assume thy part in some disguise 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio, 
And in her bosom I '11 unclasp my heart 
And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale ; 
Then after to her father will I break ; 
And thc_ conclusion is, she shall be thine. 
In praclice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 330 

Scene II. A room in Leonato's house. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting. 

Leon. How now, brother ! Where is my 
cousin, your son? hath he provided this music? 

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, 
I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamt 
not of. ' 

Leon. Are they good? 

Ant. As the event stamps them: but they 
have a good cover ; they show well outward. 
The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a 
thick -pleached alley in mine orchard, were thus 
much overheard by a man of mine : the prince 
discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece 
your daughter and meant to acknowledge it 



ii 4 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act ii. 



this night in a dance ; and if he found her ac- 
cordant, he meant to take the present time 
by the top and instantly break with you of it. 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you 
this? 

Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for 
him ; and question him yourself. 20 

Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream till 
it appear itself: but I will acquaint my daughter 
withal, that she may be the better prepared for 
an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you 
and tell her of it. [Enter- attendants.} Cou- 
sins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry 
you mercy, friend ; go you with me, and I will 
use your skill. Good cousin, have a care this 
busy time. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. 
Enter Don John and Conrade. 

Con. What the good-year, my lord ! why are 
you thus out of measure sad ? 

D. John. There is no measure in the occa- 
sion that breeds ; therefore the sadness is with- 
out limit. 

Con. You should hear reason. 

D. John. And when I have heard it, what 
blessing brings it? 

C071. If not a present remedy, at least a 
patient sufferance. 10 

D. John. I wonder that thou, being, as thou 
sayest thou art, born under Saturn, goest about 
to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mis- 
chief. I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad 
when I have cause and s-mile at no man's jests, 
eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's 
leisure, sleep when I am drowsy and tend on no 
man's business, laugh when I am merry and claw 
no man in his humour. 

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full 
show of this till you may do it without con- 
trolment. You have of late stood out against 
your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into 
his grace ; where it is impossible you should take 
true root but by the fair weather that you make 
yourself: it is needful that you frame the season 
for your own harvest. 

D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge 
than a rose in his grace, and it better fits my 
blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a 
carriage to rob love from any : in this, though I 
cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it 
must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing 
villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and en- 
franchised with a clog ; therefore I have decreed 
not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I 
would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would do my 
liking : in the meantime let me be that I. am and 
seek not to alter me. 

Con. Can you make no use of your discon- 
tent ? 40 

D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it 
only. 
Who comes here? 

Enter Borachio. 
What news, Borachio ? 

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper : 
the prince your brother is royally entertained by 



Leonato ; and I can give you intelligence of an 
intended marriage. 

D. John. Will it serve for any model to build 
mischief on? What is he for a fool that betroths 
himself to unquietness? 50 

Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 

D. John. Who ? the most exquisite Claudio ? 

Bora. Even he. 

D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and 
who ? which way looks he ? 

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and 
heir of Leonato. 

D. John. A very forward March-chick ! How 
came you to this ? 

Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I 
was smoking a musty room, comes me the 
prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad confer- 
ence : I whipt me behind the arras ; and there 
heard it agreed upon that the prince should woo 
Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give 
her to Count Claudio. 

D. John. Come, come, let us thither : this 
may prove food to my displeasure. That young 
start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow : if I 
can cross him any way, I bless myself every 
way. You are both sure, and will assist me? 71 

Con. To the death, my lord. 

D. John. Let us to the great supper : their 
cheer is the greater that I am subdued. Would 
the cook were of my mind ! Shall we go prove 
what's to be done? 

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. A hall in Leonato's house. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, 
and others. 

Leon. Was not Count John here at supper? 

Ant. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I 
never can see him but I am heart-burned an 
hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man that were 
made just in the midway between him and Bene- 
dick: the one is too like an image and says 
nothing, and the other too like my lady's eldest 
son, evermore tattling. 11 

Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue 
in Count John's mouth, and half Count John's 
melancholy in Signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, 
and money enough in his purse, such a man 
would win any woman in the world, if a' could 
get her good-will. 

Lco7i. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never 
get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy 
tongue. 21 

A7it. In faith, she's too curst. 

Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall 
lessen God's sending that way ; for it is said, 
'God sends a curst cow short horns;' but to a 
cow too curst he sends none. 

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send 
you no horns. 

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



"5 



the which blessing I am at him. upon my knees 
every morning and evening. Lord, I could not 
endure a husband with a beard on his face : I 
had rather lie in the woollen. 

Leon. You may light on a husband that hath 
no beard. 

Beat. What should I do with him? dress him 
in my apparel and make him my waiting-gentle- 
woman? He that hath a beard is more than a 
youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a 
man : and he that is more than a youth is not for 
me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for 
him: therefore I will even take sixpence in ear- 
nest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell. 

Leon. Well, then, go you into hell? 

Beat. No, but to the gate; and there will 
the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with 
horns on his head, and say '(let you to heaven, 
Beatrice, get you to heaven; here's no place for 
you maids:' so deliver I up my apes, and away 
to Saint Peter for the heavens; he shows me 
where the bachelors sit, and there live we as 
merry as the day is long. 

Ant. ['To J Zero] Well, niece, I trust you will 
be ruled by your father. 

Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to 
make curtsy and say ' Father, as it please 
you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a 
handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy 
and say 'Father, as it please me.' 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
fitted with a husband. 61 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other 
metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman 
to be overmastered with a piece of valiant dust? 
to make an account of her life to a clod ofway- 
ward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons 
are my brethren ; and, truly, I hold it a sin to 
match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told 
you : if the prince do solicit you in that kind, 
you know your answer. 71 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, 
if you be not wooed in good time : if the prince 
be too important, tell him there is measure in 
every thing and so dance out the answer. For, 
hear me, Hero : wooing, wedding, and repenting, 
is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: 
the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, 
and full as fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly- 
modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry ; 
and then comes repentance and, with his bad legs, 
falls into the cinque pace faster and faster, till 
he sink into his grave. 

Leon. Cousin, youapprehendpassingshrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a 
church by daylight. 

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother : 
make good room. [A II put on their masks. 

Enter ~Do~x Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- 
thasar, Don John, Borachio, .Mar- 
garet, Ursula, and others, masked. 
D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with 
your friend? 90 

Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly 
and say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and 
especially when I walk away. 

D. Pedro. With me in your company? 



Hero. I may say so, when 1 please. 

D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? 

Hero. When I like your favour; for God 
defend the lute should be like the case ! 

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; with- 
in the house is Jove. 100 

Hero. Why, then, your visor should be 
thatched. 

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 

[ Drawing her aside. 

Balth. Well, I would you did like me. 

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; 
for I have many ill qualities. 

Balth. Which is one? 

Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 

Balth. I love you the better: the hearers 
may cry, A:nen. no [ 

Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 

Balth. Amen. 

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight j 
when the dance is done ! Answer, clerk. 

Balth. No more words : the clerk is ansv 

Urs. I know you well enough ; you are Sig- ! 
nior Antonio. 

- Int. At a word, I am not 

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your 
head. 120 , 

Ant. To tell you true, T counterfeit him. 

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, un- , 
less you were the very man. Here's his dry 
hand up and down : you are he, you are he. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not 
know you by your excellent wit? can virtue hide 
itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will 
appear, and there 's an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? 

Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 131 

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? 

Bene. Not now. 

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had 
my good wit out of the ' Hundred Merry Tales : ' 
— well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. 

Bene. What's he? 

Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. , 

Bene. Not I, believe me. 

Beat. Did he never make you laugh? 140 i 

Bene. I pray you, what is lie? 

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very | 
dull fool; only his gift is in devising impossible , 
slanders: none but libertines delight in him ; and 
the commendation is not in his wit, but in his 
villany; for he both pleases men and . 
them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. 
I am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had 
boarded me. 

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I '11 tell 
him what you say. I 5 I 

Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison 
or two on me ; which, peradventure not marked 
or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; 
and then there's .1 partridge wing saved, for the 
fool will eat no supper that night. [Music] We 
must follow the leaders. 

/.',■;/,-. In every good thing. 

Beat. Nay, if 'they lead to any ill, 1 will leave 
them at the next turning. 160 , 

{Dance. Then exeunt all except Don 
John, Borachio, and Claudio. 



D. Jokn. Sure my brother is amorous on 
Hero and hath withdrawn her father to break 
with him about it. The ladies follow her and 
but one visor remains. 

Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by 
his bearing. 

D. Jokn. Are not you Signior Benedick? 

Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 

D. John. Signior, you are very near my bro- 
ther in his love: he is enamoured on Hero; I 
pray you, dissuade him from her: she is no equal 
for his birth: you may do the part of an honest 
man in it. 

Claud. How know you he loves her? 
. D. John. I heard him swear his affection. 

Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would 
marry her to-night. 

D. Jokn. . Come, let us to the banquet. 
« ' [Exeunt Don John and Borachio. 

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 
'Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself. 181 
Friendship is constant in all other things 
Save in the office and affairs of love : 
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
Let every eye negotiate for itself 
And trust no agent ; for beauty is a witch 
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. 
This is an accident of hourly proof, * 
Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, 
Hero ! 

Re-enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio? 190 

Claud. Yea, the same. 

Bene. Come, will you go with me? 

Claud. Whither? 

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your 
own business, county. What fashion will you 
wear the garland of? about your neck, like an 
usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieute- 
nant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the 
prince hath got your Hero. 

Claud. I wish him joy of her. 200 

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest dro- 
vier : so they sell bullocks. But did you think 
the prince would have served you thus ? 

Claud. I pray you, leave me. 

Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man : 
'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll 
beat the post. 

Claud. If it will not be, I '11 leave 3rou. [Exit. 

Bette. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! now will he creep 
into sedges. But that my Lady Beatrice should 
know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! 
Ha? It may be I go under that title because I 
am merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself 
wrong ; I am not so reputed : it is the base, 
though bitter, disposition of Beatrice that puts 
the world into her person, and so gives me out. 
Well, I'll be revenged as I may. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D.Pedro. Now, signror, where 's the count? 
did you see him? =. 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part 
of Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy 
as a lodge in a warren : I told him, and I think I 
told him true, that your grace had got the good 



will of this young lady ; and I offered him my 
company to a willow-tree, either to make him a 
garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a 
rod, as being worthy to be whipped. 

D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault? 

Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, 
who, being overjoyed with finding a birds' nest, 
shows it his companion, and he steals it. 230 

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a trans- 
gression? The transgression is in the stealer. 

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had 
been made, and the garland too ; for the garland 
he might have worn himself, and the rod he 
might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, 
have stolen his birds' nest. 

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and 
restore them to the owner. 240 

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by 
my faith, you say honestly. 

D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel 
to you : the gentleman that danced with her told 
her she is much wronged by j^ou. 

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance 
of a block ! an oak but with one green leaf on it 
would have answered her ; my very visor began 
to assume life and scold with her. She told me, 
not thinking I had been myself, that I was the 
prince's jester, that I was duller than a great 
thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such impos- 
sible conveyance upon me that I stood like a 
man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at 
me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs : 
if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, 
there were no living near her ; she would infect 
to the north star. I would not many her, though 
she were endowed with all that Adam had left 
him before he transgressed : she would have made 
Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his 
club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her: 
you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. 
I would to God some scholar would conjure her; 
for certainly, while she is here, a man may live 
as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary ; and people sin 
upon purpose, because they would go thither ; so, 
indeed, all disquiet, horror and perturbation fol- 
lows her. 

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes, 270 

Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and 
Leo nato. 

Bene. Will youx grace command me any ser- 
vice to the world's end? I will go on the slight- 
est errand now to the Antipodes that you can 
devise to send me on ; I will fetch you a tooth- 
picker now from the furthest inch of Asia, bring 
you the length of Prester John's foot, fetch you a 
hair off the great Cham's beard, do you any em- 
bassage to the Pigmies, rather than hold three 
words' conference with this harpy. You have no 
employment for me? 2S0 

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good 
company. 

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not: 
I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. [Exit. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost 
the heart of Signior Benedick. - 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; 
and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his 
single one : marry, once before he won it of me 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



117 



with false dice, therefore your grace may well 
say I have lost it. 291 

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, 
you have put him down. 

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my 
lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. I 
have hrought Count Claudio, whom you sent me 
to seek. 

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count', wherefore 
arc you sad ? 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. 300 

D. Pedro. How then? sick? 
Claud. Neither, my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
merry, nor well; but civil count, civil as an 
orange, and something of that jealous com- 
plexion. 

D. Pedro. Y faith, lady, I think your blazon 
to be true ; though, I '11 be sworn, if he be so, his 
conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in 
thy name, and fair Hero is won: 1 have broke 
with her father, and his good will obtained : name 
the day of marriage, and God give thee joy ! 

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and 
with her my fortunes : his grace hath made the 
match, and all grace say Amen to it. 

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 

Clan. Silence is the perfeclest herald of joy: 
I were but little happy, if I could say how much. 
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away 
myself for you and dote upon the exchange. 320 

Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop 
his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak 
neither. 

D. Pedro, In faith, lady, you have a merry 
heart. 

Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it 
keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin 
tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. 

Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance ! Thus goes 
every one to the world but I, and I am sun- 
burnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho 
for a husband ! 

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
getting. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like 
you ? Your father got excellent husbands, if a 
maid could come by them. 

D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? 

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have an- 
other for working-days : your grace is too costly 
to wear every day. But, I beseech your grace, 
pardon me : I was born to speak all mirth and no 
matter. 

D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and 
to be merry best becomes you ; for, out of ques- 
tion, you were born in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; 
but then there was a star danced, and under that 
was I born. Cousins, God give you joy ! 350 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I 
told you of? 

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace's 
pardon. [Exit. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited 
lady. 

Leon. There's little of the melancholy ele- 
ment in her, my lord : she is never sad but when 



she sleeps, and not ever sad then ; for I have 
heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed 
of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing. 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a 
husband. 

Leon. O, by no means : she mocks all her 
wooers out of suit. 

D. Pedro, She were an excellent wife for 
Benedick. 

Leon. Lord, my lord, if they were but a 
week married, they would talk themselves mad. 

D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you 
to go to church? 371 

Claud. To-morrow, my lord: time goes on 
crutches till love have all his rites. 

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which 
is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief, 
too, to have all things answer my mind. 

D.Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so 
long a breathing: but, 1 warrant thee, Claudio, 
the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the 
interim undertake one of Hercules' labours; 
which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the 
Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the 
one with the other. I would fain have it a 
match, and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you 
three will but minister such assistance as I shall 
give you direction. 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost 
me ten nights' watchings. 

Claud. And I, my lord. 

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? 

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to 
help my cousin to a good husband. 391 

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhope- 
fullest husband that I know. Thus far can I 
praise him ; he is of a noble strain, of approved 
valour and confirmed honesty. I will teach you 
how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in 
love with Benedick; and I, with your two helps, 
will so practise on Benedick that, in despite of his 
quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in 
love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is 
no longer an archer : his glory shall be ours, for 
we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and 
I will tell you my drift. {Exeunt. 

Scene II. The sa??ie. 
Enter Don John and Bokachio. 

D. John. It is so; the Count Claudio shall 
marry the daughter of Leonato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it. 

D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impedi- 
ment will be medicinable to me : I am sick in 
displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart 
his affeclion ranges evenly with mine. How 
canst thou cross this marriage? 

Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so co- 
vertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 10 

D. "John. Show me briefly bow. 

Bora. I think I told your lordship a year 
since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, 
the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. 

D. John. I remember. 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of 
the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's 
chamber window. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act ii. 



D. John. What life is in that, to be the death 
of this marriage ? 20 

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. 
Go you to the prince your brother; spare not to 
tell him that he hath wronged his honour in mar- 
rying the renowned Claudio — whose estimation 
do you mightily hold up — to a contaminated 
stale, such a one as Hero. 

D. John. What proof shall I make of that? 

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to 
vex Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato. 
Look you for any other issue ? 30 

D. John. Only to despite them, I will endea- 
vour any thing. 

Bora. Go, then ; find me a meet hour to draw 
Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone: tell 
them that you know that Hero loves me ; intend 
a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as, 
— in love of your brother's honour, who hath 
made this match, and his friend's reputation, who 
is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of 
a maid, — that you have discovered thus. They 
will scarcely believe this without trial : offer them 
instances; which shall bear no less likelihood 
than to see me at her chamber-window, hear me 
tcall Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me 
Claudio ; and bring them to see this the very 
night before the intended wedding, — for in the 
meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero 
shall be absent, — and there shall appear such 
seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty that jealousy 
shall be called assurance and all the preparation 
overthrown. 5 1 

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it 
can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the 
working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and 
my cunning shall not shame me. 

D. John. I will presently go learn their day 
of marriage. [Exaiiut. 

Scene III. Leonato's orchard. 



Enter Benedick. 



Bene. Boy ! 



Enter Boy. 



Boy. Signior? 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book: 
bring it hither to me in the orchard. 

Boy. I am here already, sir. 

Bene. I know that; but I would have thee 
hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much 
wonder that one man, seeing how much another 
man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to 
love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow 
follies in others, become the argument of his own 
scorn by falling in love : and such a man is 
Claudio. I have known when there was no 
music with him but the drum and the fife ; and 
now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe : 
I have known when he would have walked ten 
mile a-foot to see a good armour ; and now will 
he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a 
new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and 
to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier ; 
and now is he turned orthography ; his words are 
a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange 
dishes. May I be so converted and see with 



these eyes ? I cannot tell ; I think not : I will not 
be sworn but love may transform me to an oys- 
ter; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have 
made an oyster of me, he shall never make me 
such a fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well ; 
another is wise, yet I am well ; another virtuous, 
yet I am well ; but till all graces be in one wo- 
man, one woman shall not come in my grace. 
Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll 
none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, 
or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near 
me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; of good dis- 
course, an excellent musician, and her hair shall 
be of what colour it please God. Ha ! the prince 
and Monsieur Love ! I will hide me in the arbour. 
[ Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? 
Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the 
evening is, 40 

As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid 
himself? 

Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended, 
We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. 

Enter Balthasar with Music. 

D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we '11 hear that 
song again. 

Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad avoice 
To slander music any more than once. 

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency 
To put a strange face on his own perfection. 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 50 

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing ; 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes, 
Yet will he swear he loves. 

D. Pedro. Now, pray thee, come ; 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Do it in notes. 

Balth. Note this before my notes ; 

There's not a note of mine that's worth the 
noting. 

D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets 
that he speaks; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. [Air. 

Bene. Now, divine air ! now is his soul ra- 
vished ! Is it not strange that sheeps' guts should 
hale souls out of men's bodies? Well, a horn for 
my money, when all's done. 

The Song. 
Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 
Men were deceivers ever, 
One foot in sea and one on shore, 

To one thing constant never : 
Then sigh not so, but let them go, 

And be you blithe and bonny, 
Converting all your sounds of woe 70 

Into Hey nonny, nonny. 
Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 

Of dumps so dull and heavy; 
The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer first was leafy : 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 



Scene hi.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



119 



Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith ; thou singestwell 
enough for a shift. 80 

Bene. An he had been a dog that should have 
howled thus, they would have hanged him : and 
I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had 
as lief have heard the night-raven, come what 
plague could have come after it. 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Bal- 
thasar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent music ; 
for to-morrow night we would have it at the Lady 
Hero's chamber-window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 90 

D.Pedro. Do so: farewell. [E.vitBalikasar.] 
Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me 
of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love 
with Signior Benedick ? 

Claud. O, ay : stalk on, stalk on ; the fowl 
sits. I did never think that lady would have 
loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor T neither; but most wonderful 
that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom 
she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever 
to abhor. 10 1 

Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that 
corner } 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what 
to think of it but that she loves him with an en- 
raged affection ; it is past the infinite of thought. 

D. Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit. 

Claud. Faith, like enough. 

Leon. O God, counterfeit ! There was never 
counterfeit of passion came so near the life of pas- 
sion as she discovers it. 111 

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows 
she? 

Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. 

Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit 
you, you heard my daughter tell you how. 

Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze 
me : I would have thought her spirit had been 
invincible against all assaults of affection. 120 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; 
especially against Benedick. 

Bene. I should think this a gull, but that the 
white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery cannot, 
sure, hide himself in such reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection : hold it up. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known 
to Benedick ? 

Leon. No; and swears she never will : that's 
her torment. 130 

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter 
says: 'Shall I,' says she, 'that have so oft en- 
countered him with scorn, write to him that I 
love him?' 

Leon. This says she now when she is begin- 
ning to write to him ; for she '11 be up twenty times 
a night, and there will she sit in her smock till 
she have writ a sheet of paper : my daughter tells 
us all. 

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I 
remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. 

Leon. O, when she had writ it and was read- 
ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice be- 
tween the sheet? 

Claud. That. 

Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand 



halfpence ; railed at herself, that she should be so 
immodest to write to one that she knew would flout 
her ; ' I measure him,' says she, ' by my own spirit ; 
for I should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, 
though I love him, I should.' 151 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, 
weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, 
curses ; ' O sweet Benedick ! God give me pa- 
tience !' 

Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : 
and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her that 
my daughter is sometime afeard she will do a 
desperate outrage to herself: it is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew 
of it by some other, if she will not discover it. 161 
Claud. To what end? He would make but a 
sport of it and torment the poor lady worse. 

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to 
hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady; and, 
out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Bene- 
dick. 

Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood com- 
bating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to 
one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for 
her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her 
guardian. 

D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this do- 
tage on me : I would have daffed all other respects 
and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Bene- 
dick of it, and hear what a' will say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you ? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for 
she says she will die, if he love her not, and she 
will die, ere she make her love known, and she 
will die, if he woo her, rather than she will bate 
one breath of her accustomed crossness. 

D. Pedj-o. She doth well : if she should make 
tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ; 
for the man, as you know all, hath.a contemptible 
spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward 
happiness. 191 

Claud. Before God! and, in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks 
that are like wit. 

Claud. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in 
the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; 
for either he avoids them with great discretion, 
or undertakes them with a most Christian-like 
fear. 200 

Leon. If he do fear God, a' must necessarily 
keep peace : if he break the peace, he ought to 
enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. 

D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth 
fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some 
large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for 
your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell 
him of her love ? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord : let her wear 
it out with good counsel. 

Leon. Nay, that's impossible : she may wear 
her heart out 210 

D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by 
your daughter : let it cool the while. I love 
Benedick well ; and I c mid wish he would 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act in. 



modestly examine himself, to see how much he is 
unworthy so good a lady. 

Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready. 

Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I 
will never trust my expectation. 220 

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread 
for her ; and that must your daughter and her 
gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when 
they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, 
and no such matter: that's the scene that I would 
see, which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us 
send her to call him in to dinner. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudia, and Leonato. 

Bene. [Coming forward] This can be no 
trick: the conference was sadly borne. They 
have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to 
pity the lady : it seems her affections have their 
full bent. Love me ! why, it must be requited. 
I hear how I am censured : they say I will bear 
myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from 
her ; they say too that she will rather die than 
give any sign of affection. I did never think to 
marry : I must not seem proud : happy are they 
that hear their detractions and can put them to 
mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, 
I can bear them witness: and virtuous ; 'tis so, I 
cannot reprove it ; and wise, but for loving me ; 
by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor.no 
great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly 
in love with her. I may chance have some odd 
quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because 
I hav» railed so long against marriage : but doth 
not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat in 
his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall 
quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the 
brain awe a man from the career of his humour ? 
No, the world must be peopled. When I said I 
would die a bachelor, I did not think I should 
live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. 
By this day! she's a fair lady: I do spy some 
marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you 
come in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks 
than you take pains to thank me : if it had been 
painful, I would not have come. 261 

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message ? 

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take 
upon a knife's point and choke a daw withal. 
You have no stomach, signior : fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Bene. Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid 
you come in to dinner; ' there 's a double meaning 
in that. ' I took no more pains for those thanks 
than you took pains to thank me;' that's as 
much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is 
as easy as_ thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I 
am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I 
will go get her picture. [Exit. 

ACT III. 
Scene I. Leonato's garden. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour ; 
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 



Proposing with the prince and Claudio : 
Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard and our whole discourse 
Is all of her ; say that thou overheard'st us ; 
And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
Forbid the sun to enter, like favourites, 
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
Against that power that bred it: there will she 
hide her, 11 

To listen our purpose. This is thy ofhee ; 
Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. 

Marg. I '11 make her come, 1 warrant you, 
presently. [Exit. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 
As we do trace this alley up and down, 
Our talk must only be of Benedick. 
When I do name him, let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
My talk to thee must be how Benedick 20 

Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
That only wounds by hearsay. 

Enter Beatrice, bekind. 

Now begin ; 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish ! 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
Is couched in the woodbine coverture. 30 ■ 

Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose ; 
nothing 
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. 

[Approaching the bower. j 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
I know her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggerds of the rock. 

Urs. But are you sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 

Hero. So says the prince and my new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, i 
madam? 

He?-o. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it ; j 
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 41 j 
To wish him wrestle with affection, 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

Urs. Whydidyouso? Doth not the gentleman | 
Deserve as full as fortunate a bed 
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? 

Hero. O god of love ! I know he doth deserve ; 
As much as may be yielded to a man : 
But Nature never framed a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice ; 50 : 

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
Misprising what they look on, and her wit 
Values itself so highly that to her 
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
She is so self-endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And therefore certainly it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet \ 
saw man, 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



How wise, how noble, young, how rarely fea- 
tured, 60 
But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, 
She would swear the gentleman should be her 

sister ; 
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique, 
Hade a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut; 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out 
And never gives to truth and virtue that 
Which simpleness and merit purchased!. 70 

L rs. Sure, sure, such carping is not com- 
mendable. 
Hero. No, not to be so odd and from all 
fashions 
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
But who dare tell her so? If I should spe:ik, 
She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh 

me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
Consume away in si^hs, waste inwardly : 
It were a better death than die with mocks, 
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 80 

Urs. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will say. 
Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick 
And counsel him to fight against his passion. 
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
To stain my cousin with : one doth not know 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
She cannot be so much without true judgement — 
Having so swift and excellent a wit 
As she is prized to have — as to refuse go 

So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, 
madam, 
Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour, 
Goes foremost in report through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good 

name. 
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. 
When are you married, madam ? 100 

He?v. Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, 
go in : 
I '11 show thee some attires, and have thy counsel 
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 

Urs. She's limed, I warrant you: we have 

caught her, madam. 
Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps : 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
[Exeunt Hero and Ursula. 
Beat. {Coming forward] What fire is in mine 
ears? Can this be true? 

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so 
much? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 

No glory lives behind the back of such. no 
And, Benedick, love on ; 1 will requite thee, 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand : 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band ; 
For others say thou dost deserve, and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 



Scene II. A room in Leonatu's house. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
Leonato. 

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be 
consummate, and then go I toward Arr.i 

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if 
you'll vouchsafe me. 

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil 
in the new gloss of your marriage as to show a 
child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. 
I will only be bold with Benedick for In 
pany; for, from the crown of his bead 
bis f>ot. he is all mirth: he bath I 
thrice cut Cupid's bow-string and the little hang- 
man dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as 
sound as a bell and his tongue is the clapper, for 
what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

Leon. So say I : me thinks you are sadder. 

Claud. I hope he be in love. 

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ! there's no true 
drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with 
love : if he be sad, he wants money. 20 

Bene. I have the toothache. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. 

Bene. Hang it ! 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it 
afterwards. 

D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the toothache ? 

Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm. 

Betie. Well, every one can master a grief but 
he that has it. 

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 30 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in 
him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange 
disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day, a French- 
man to-morrow, or in the shape of two countries 
at once, as, a German from the \v;iist downward, 
all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no 
doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, 
as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as 
you would have it appear he is. 

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
there is no believing old signs : a' brushes his hat 
o' mornings ; what should that bode? 42 

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the 
barber's? 

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been 
seen with him, and the old ornament of his cheek 
hath already stuffed tennis-balls. 

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, 
by the loss of a beard. 

D.Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet: 
can you smell him out by that? 51 

Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet 
youth's in love. 

D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melan- 
choly. 

Claud. And when was he wont to wash his 
face? 

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the 
which, I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit : whi< h is 
now crept into a lute-string and now governed 
by stops. 

J). Pedro. Indeed, that tells a h 
him: conclude, conclude he is in love. 

Claud. Nay, but 1 know who love-, him. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



D. Pedro. That would I know too : I warrant 
one that knows him not. 

Claud Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in de- 
spite of all, dies for him. 
D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face 
j upwards. 

I Bene. _ Yet is this no charm for the toothache. 

; Uld signior, walk aside with me: I have studied 

eight or nine wiss words to speak to you, which 

these hobby-horses must not hear. 

„ • , {.Exeunt Benedick and Lconato. 

D. Pedro For my life, to break with him 
about Beatrice. 

Claud _ 'Tig even so. Hero and Margaret 
have by this played their parts with Beatrice- and 
then the two bears will not bite one another when 
they meet. o 



[Act m 



you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till mid- 
night, and let the issue show itself. 

D. Pedro O day untowardly turned ! 
C laud O mischief strangely thwarting ! 
JJ John. O plague right well prevented ! so 
will you say when you have seen the sequel. 

{Exemit. 
Scene III. A street. 



E)iter Don John. 
D. John. My lord and brother, God save you! 
D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 
D. John. If your leisure served, I would 
speak with you. 
D. Pedro. In private ? 

I). John. If it please you : yet Count Claudio 

may hear; for what I would speak of concerns 

him. 

D.Pedro. What's the matter? oo 

D. John. [To Claudio] Means your lordship 

to be married to-morrow? 

D. Pedro. You know he does. 
D. John. I know not that, when he "knows 
i what I know. 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I prav 
you discover it. 

D. John. You may think I love you not- let 
that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by 
that 1 now will manifest. For my brother, I 
think he holds you well, and in dearness of heart 
hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage ■— 
surely suit ill spent and labour ill bestowed. ' 
D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? 
D. John. I came hither to tell you ; and, cir- 
cumstances shortened, for she has been too long; 
a talking of, the lady is disloyal 
Claud. Who, Hero? 

D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your 
Hero, every man's Hero. IIO 

Claud. Disloyal ? 

D. John The word is too good to paint out 
her WI ck e dness; I could say she were worse- 
think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it 
Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me 
to-night, you shall see her chamber-window en- 
tered, even the night before her wedding-day ■ if 
y° u l° ve her then, to-morrow wed her; but it 
would better fit your honour to change your mind 
Claud. May this be so? I20 

D. Pedro. I will not think it. 
D John. If you dare not trust that you see, 
confess not that you know: if you will follow me, 
i will show you enough ; and when you have seen 
more and heard more, proceed accordingly. 

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I 
should not marry her to-morrow, in the congre- 
gation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. 
D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain 
her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. 130 

D. John. I will disparage her no farther till 



Enter Dogberry and Verges with the Watch. 

Dog. Are you good men and true ? 

P erg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
surfer salvation, body and soul. 

Dog. Nay that were a punishment too good 
for them, if they should have any allegiance in 
them, being chosen for the prince's watch. 

Do42rr giVG thCm theIr Charge ' nei S hb °ur 

Dog. First, who think you the most desartless 
man to be constable ? IO 

First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George 
beacoie ; for they can write and read. 
1 D ^%\ C T e hither > neighbour Seacole. God 
nath blessed you with a good name: to be a 
well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to 
write and read comes by nature. 
Sec. Watch. Both which, master constable — 
g - ^ U «H ve: l knew k wouId be your 
answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give 
God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for 
your writing and reading, let that appear when 
there is no need of such vanity. You are thought 
here to be the most senseless and fit man for The 
constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the 
lantern This is your charge : you shall compre- 
hend all vagrom men ; you are. to bid any man 
stana, in the prince's name. 

Sec. Watch. How if a' will not stand' 
Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but let 
him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch 
together and thank God you are rid of a knave 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, 
he is none of the prince's subjects. 

Dog. True and they are to meddle with none 
but the prince s subjedls. You shall also make 
no noise in the streets ; for for the watch to babble 
and to talk is most tolerable and not to be en- 
dured. 

Watch. We will rather sleep than talk : we 
know what belongs to a watch. . Q 

Dog. _ Why, you speak like an ancient and 
most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleep- 
ing should offend: only, have a care that your 
bihs be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all 
the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk °- e t 
them to bed. 

Watch. How if they will not ? 
Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they are 
sober: if they make you not then the better 
answer, you may say they are not the men you 
took them for. 

Watch. Well, sir. 5 

■Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect 
him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; 
and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or 
make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 
Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall 
we not lay hands on him? 



Scene hi.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



123 



Dog. Truly, by your office, you may ; but I 
think they that touch pitch will be denied : the 
most peaceable way for you, if you do take a 
thief, is to let him show himself what he is and 
Steal out of your company. 

Verg. You have been always called a merciful 
man, partner. 

Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my 
will, much more a man who hath any honesty in 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, 
you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 70 

Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will 
not hear us? 

Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the 
child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will 
not hear her lamb when it baeswill never answer 
a calf when he bleats. 

Verg. 'Tis very true. 

Dog. This is the end of the charge :— you, 
constable, are to present the prince's own person : 
if you meet the prince in the night, you may 
stay him. , . , , 

Verg. Nay, by'r our lady, that I think a 
cannot. . 

Dog. Five shillings to one on't, with any man 
that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, 
not without the prince be willing; for, indeed, 
the watch ought to offend no man : and it is an 
offence to stay a man against his will. 

Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so. 

Dog. Ha, ah, ha ! Well, masters, good night : 
an there be any matter of weight chances, call 
up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your 
own ; and good' night. Come, neighbour. 

Watch. "Well, masters, we hear our charge: 
let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, 
and then all to bed. 

Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I 
pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door ; 
for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a 
great coil to-night. Adieu : be vigitant, I beseech 
you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 101 

Enter Borachio and Conrade. 

Bora. What, Conrade ! 

Watch. [Aside] Peace ! stir not. 
Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Con. Here, man ; I am at thy elbow. 
Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought 
there would a scab follow. 

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that : and 
now forward with thy tale. 

Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this pent- 
house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true 
drunkard, utter all to thee. 

Watch. [Aside] Some treason, masters : yet 
stand close. 

Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don 
John a thousand ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villany should 
be so dear ? 

/>',>;-.*. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were 
possible any villany should be so rich ; for when 
rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones 
may make what price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Bora. Th:it shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou 



knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, 
or a cloak, is nothing to a man. 
Con. Yes, it is apparel. 
Bora. I mean, the fashion. 
C',w. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 
Bora. Tush ! I may as well say the fool's the 
fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief 
this fashion is? 

Watch. [Aside] I know that Deformed ; a' 
has been a vile thief this seven year ; 
up and down like a gentleman : I remember his 
name. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 
Con, No ; 'twas the vane on the 1 
Bora. Seest thou not. I say. what a deformed 
thief this fashion is? how giddily a' turn 
all the hot bloods between fourteen and five-and- 
thirty? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's 
soldiers in the reeky painting, sometime 1. 
Bel's priests in the old church-window, sometime 
like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm- 
eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as 
massy as his club ? 

Con. All this I see : and I see that the 
wears out more apparel than the man. But art 
not thou thyself giddy with the fashion I 
thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me 
of the fashion ? 

Bora. Not so, neither : but know that I have 
to-night wooed Margaret, the Lady Her 
tlewoman, by the name of Hero : she leans me 
out at her mistress' chamber- window, bids me a 
thousand times good night,— I tell this tale vilely : 
— I should first tell thee how the prince, Claudio 
and my master, planted and placed and 
by my master Don John, saw afar off in the 
orchard this amiable encounter. 161 

Con. And thought they Margaret was 
Hero? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and 
Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she was 
Margaret; and partly by his oath-, which tirst 
possessed them, partly by the dark ni^ht, which 
did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany. 
which did confirm any slander that Do 
had made, away went Claudio enraged : swore 
he would meet 'her, as he was appointed, next 
morning at the temple, and there, before the 
whole congregation, shame her with what he saw 
o'er night and send her home again without a 
husband. 

First Watch. We charge you, in the prince's 
name, stand ! 

Sec. Watch. Call up the right master con- 
stable. We have here recovered the m 
gerous piece of lechery that ever was known in 
the commonwealth. 181 

First Watch. And one Deformed is one of 
them : I know him ; a' wears a lock. 
Con. Masters, misters, — 
Sec. // 'atch. You '11 be made bring Deformed 
forth. I warrant you. 
Con. Masters, — 
First Watch. Never speak : we charge you 

you to go with us. 

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly com- 

modity, being taken Up of these men's bills. 191 

\ commodity in question, I warrant 

you. Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act hi. 



Scene IV. Hero's apartment. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, atid Ursula. 

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, 
and desire her to rise. 
Urs. I will, lady. 

Hero. And bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [Exit. 

Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato were 
better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. 

Marg. By my troth, 's not so good ; and I 
warrant your cousin will say so. 10 

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art ano- 
ther : I'll wear none but this. 

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, 
if the hair were a thought browner ; and your 
gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the 
Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so. 

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 

Marg. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in 
respedt of yours : cloth o' gold, and cuts, and 
laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, 
side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with a 
bluish tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful and 
excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it ! for my 
heart is exceeding heav}'. 

Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight 
of a man. * 

Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed? 

Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honour- 
ably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? 
Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I 
think you would have me say, ' saving your rever- 
ence, a husband :' an bad thinking do not wrest 
true speaking, I '11 offend nobody : is there any 
harm in 'the heavier for a husband'? None, I 
think, an it be the right husband and the right 
wife ; otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy : ask my 
Lady Beatrice else ; here she comes. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 40 

Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the 
sick tune? 

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 

Marg. Clap's into ' Light o' love ;' that goes 
without a burden: do you sing it, and I'll 
dance it. 

Beat. Ye light o' love, with your heels ! then, 
if your husband have stables enough, you'll see 
he shall lack no barns. 

Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn 
that with my heels. 51 

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis 
time you were ready. By my troth, I am ex- 
ceeding ill : heigh-ho ! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? 

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 

Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, 
there's no more sailing by the star. 

Beat. What means the fool, trow? 

Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one 
their heart's desire ! 61 

Hero. These gloves the count sent me ; they 
are an excellent perfume. 

Beat. I am stuffed, cousin ; I cannot smell. 



Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly 
catching of cold. 

Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how 
long have you professed apprehension ? 

_Marg. Even since you left it. Doth not my 
wit become me rarely? 70 

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear 
it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick. 

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Car- 
duus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart : it is 
the only thing for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou prickest her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus? you have 
some moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no 
moral meaning ; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You 
may think perchance that I think you are in 
love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to 
think what 1 list, nor I list not to think what I 
can, nor indeed I cannot think, if I would think 
my heart out of thinking, that you are in love or 
that you will be in love or that you can be in 
love. Yet Benedick was such another, and now 
is he become a man: he swore he would never 
marry, and yet now, in despite of his heart, he 
eats his meat without grudging: and how you 
may be converted I know not, but methinks you 
look with your eyes as other women do. 
Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? 
Marg. Not a false galiop. 

Re-enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, withdraw : the prince, the count, 
Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants 
of the town, are come to fetch you to church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, 
good Ursula. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another room in Leonato's house. 
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. 

Leon. What would you with me, honest 
neighbour? 

Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confi- 
dence with you that decerns you nearly. 

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a 
busy time with me. 

Dog. Marry, this it is, sir. 

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends? 

Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off 
the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not 
so blunt as, God help, I would desire they were ; 
but, in faith, honest as the skin between his 
brows. 

Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as 
any man living that is an old man and no ho- 
nester than I. 

Dog. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, 
neighbour Verges. 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 20 

Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but 
we are the poor duke's officers ; but truly, for 
mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I 
could find it in my heart to bestow it all of your 
worship. 

Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah? 

Dog. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more 
than 'tis; for I hear as good exclamation on your 



SCENE IV.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



i -- 



worship as of any man in the city ; and though I 
be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. 30 

/ 'erg. And so am I. 

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, except- 
ing your worship's presence, ha' ta'en a couple of 
as arrant knaves as any in Messina. 

Dog. A good old man, sir ; he will he talking : 
as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out: 
God he'p us! it is a world to see. Well said, i' 
faith, neighbour Verges: well, God's a good 
man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride 
behind. An honest soul, i' faith, sir; by my 
troth he is, as ever broke bread ; but God is to be 
worshipped; all men are not alike; alas, good 
neighbour ! 

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short 
of you. 

Gifts that God gives. 

Leon. I must leave you. 

Dog. One word, sir : our watch, sir, have 
I indeed comprehended two aspicious persons, and 
> we would have them this morning examined be- 
\ fore your worship. 

Leon. Take their examination yourself and 
bring it me : 1 am now in great haste, as it may 
appear unto you. 

Dog. It shall be suffigance< 

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare 
you well. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give 
your daughter to her husband. 60 

Leon. I'll wait upon them : T am ready. 

[Exeunt Lconato and J/ 
Dog.. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis 
Seacole ; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to 
the gaol : we are now to examination these men. 
/ r erg. And we must do it wisely. 
Dog. We will spare for no wit, f warrant you ; 
here's that shall drive some of them to a non- 
come : only get the learned writer to set down 
our excommunication and meet me at the gaol. 

! 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. A church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, 

Friar Francis, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, 

Beatrice, and attendants. 

Leon. Come. Friar Francis, be brief; only to 
the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount 
their particular duties after.. 

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry 
this lady. 

Claud. No. c 

Leon. To be married to her: friar, you come 
to marry her. 

Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married 
to this count. 10 

Hero. I do. 

Friar. If either of you know any inward 
impediment why you should not be conjoined, I 
charge you, on your souls, to utter it. 

Claud. Know you any, Hero? 

Hero. None, my lord. 



Friar. Know you any, count? 

Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 

Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men 
may do I what men daily do, not knowing what 
they do ! 21 

Bene. How now! interjections? Why, then, 
some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he! 

Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by 
your leave : 
Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
Give 'me this maid, your dau 

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 

Claud. And what have I to give you back, 
whose worth 
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? 

1). Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her 

3° 

Cla id. Sweet prince, you learn me noble 
thankfulness. 
There, Leonato, take her back again : 
Give not this rotten orange to your friend : 
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour. 
Behold how like a maid she blushes here! 
( >, what authority and show of truth 
Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
Comes not that blood as modest evidence 
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, 
All you that see her, that she were a maid, 40 
By these exterior shows? But she is none: 
She knows the heat of a luxuriou 
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord? 

Claud. Not to be married, 

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own 
proof, 
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, 
And made defeat of her virginity, — 

Claud. I know what you would say : if I have 
known her, 
You will say she did embrace me as a husband, 
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 51 

No, Leonato, 

I never tempted her with word too large ; 
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd 
Bashful sincerity and comeb 

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? 

Claud. Out on thee! Seeming! I will write 
against it : 
You seem to me as Dian in her orb, 
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown : 
But you are more intemperate in your blood 60 
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
That rage in savage sensuality. 

Hero. Is my lord we!!, that he doth speak 
so wide? 

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not j 

D. Pedro. What should I 

I stand dishonour'.!, that have gone about 
To link my dear friend to a common stale. 

Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but 
dream ? 

D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these 
things are true. 

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 

Hero. True ! O God ! 

Claud. Leonato, stand I here? 70 

Is this the prince? is this the prince's brother? 
Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own? 



126 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act iv. 



Leon. All this is so : but what of this, my lord ? 

Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
daughter ; 
And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art 
my child. 

Hero. O, God defend me ! how am I beset! 
What kind of catechising call you this ? 

Claud. To make you answer truly to your 
name. 80 

Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name 
With any just reproach? 

Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one ? 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, 
my lord. 

D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. 
Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear : upon mine honour, 
Myself, my brother and this grieved count go 
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night 
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
A thousand times in secret. 

D. John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be named, 
my lord, 
Not to be spoke of ; 

There is not chastity enough in language 
Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, 
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 100 

Claud. O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been, 
If half thy outward graces had been placed 
About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart ! 
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell, 
Thou pure impiety and impious purity ! 
For thee I '11 lock up all the gates of love, 
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for 
me? [Hero swoons, no 

Beat. Why, how now, cousin ! wherefore sink 
you down? 

D. John. Come, let us go. These things, 
come thus to light, 
Smother her spirits up. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Clajidio. 

Bene. How doth the lady? 

Beat. Dead, I think. Help, uncle ! 

Hero ! why, Hero ! Uncle ! Signior Benedick ! 
Friar ! 

Leon. O Fate ! take not away thy heavy hand. 
Death is the fairest cover for her shame 
That may be wish'd for. 

Beat. How now, cousin Hero ! 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look up? 120 

Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not? 

Leon. Wherefore ! Why, doth not every earthly 
thing 
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny 
The story that is printed in her blood? 
Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : 
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, 



Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy 

shames, 
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 
Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one? 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame? 130 

O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one 2 
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? 
Why had I not with charitable hand 
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates, ■ 
Who smirch'd thus and mired with infamy, 
I might have said 'No part of it is mine ; 
This shame derives itself from unknown loins'? 
But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised 
And mine that I was proud on, mine so much 
That I myself was to myself not mine, 140 

Valuing of her, — why, she, O, she is fallen 
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea 
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again 
And salt too little which may season give 
To her foul-tainted flesh ! 

Bene. Sir,- sir, be patient. 

For my part, I am so attired in wonder, 
I know not what to say. 

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last 
night? 

Beat. No, truly not; although, until last 
night, 150 

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 

Leon. Confirm'd, confirm' d ! O, that is stronger 
made 
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! 
Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, 
Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her 
die. 

Friar. Hear me a little ; for I have only been 
Silent so long and given way unto 
tThis course of fortune .... . ' 

By noting of the lady I have mark'd 160 

A thousand blushing apparitions 
To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames 
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes; 
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool ; 
Trust not my reading nor my observations, 
Which with experimental seal doth warrant 
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 170 

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be. 

Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left 
Is that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness? 

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accused 
of? 

Hero. They know that do accuse me ; I know 
none: 
If I know more of any man alive 180 

Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy ! O my father, 
Prove you that any man with me conversed 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death ! 



SCEXE I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHIXG. 



127 



Friar. There is some strange misprision in 

the princes. 
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of 
honour ; 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 190 
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 
Lecni. I know not. If they speak but truth 
of her. 
These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her 

honour, 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
Nor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
! But they shall find, awaked in such a kind, 
J Both strength of limb and policy of mind, 200 
Ability in means and choice of friends, 
To quit me of them throughly. 

Friar. Pause awhile, 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead: 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
I And publish it that she is dead indeed ; 
Maintain a mourning ostentation 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. 210 

Leon. What shall become of this? what will 

this do? 
Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her 
behalf 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
But not for that dream I on this strange course, 
But on this travail look for greater birth. 
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, 
Upon the instant that she was accused, 
Shall be lamented, pitied and excused 
Of every hearer: for it so falls out 
That what we have we prize not to the worth 220 
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue that possession would not show ns 
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio : 
When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination, 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
More moving-delicate and full of life, 230 

; Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 

Than when she lived indeed ; then shall he mourn, 
1 If ever love had interest in his liver, 
And wish he had not so accused her, 
J No, though he thought his accusation true. 
Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion the event .n better shape 
Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
Put if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
The supposition of the lady's death 240 

Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
And if it sort not well, you may conceal her, 
As best befits her wounded reputation, 
In some reclusive and religious life. 
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries. 

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : 
And though you know my inwardness and love 
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 



Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this 

As secretly and justly as your soul 250 

Should with your body. 

Leon. Being that 1 flow in grief, 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'Tis well consented : presently away ; 
For to strange sores strangely they strain the 
cure. 
Come, lady, die to live : this wedding-day 
Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience and 
endure. 

[Exeunt all but Benedick ami B 
Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 

while ? 
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 
Bene. I will not desire that. 
Beat. You have no reason : 1 do it freely. 260 
Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is 
wronged. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve 
of me that would right her ! 

Bene. Is there anyway to show such friendship? 
Beat. A very even way. but no such friend. 
Bene. May a man do it? 
Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 
Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well 
as you : is not that stra 270 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. It 
were as possible for me to say 1 loved nothing so 
well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie 
not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I 
am sorry for my cousin. 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 
Beat. Do not swear, and eat it. 
Bene. I will swear by it that you love me ; and 
I will make him eat it that says 1 love nol 
Beat. Will you not eat your word'.' 280 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. 
I protest I love thee. 
Beat. Why, then, God forgive me ! 
Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? 
Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour : I 
was about to protest I loved you. 
Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 
Beat. I love you with so much of my heart 
that none is left to pr 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 290 
Beat. Kill Claudio. 
Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 
Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. 
Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
Beat. I am gone, though I am here : there is 
no love in you : nay, I pray you, let me go. 
Bene. Beatrice, — 
Beat. In faith, I will go. 
Bene. We'll be friends first. 
Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than 
fight with mine enemy. 301 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy? 
Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my 
kinswoman? that I were a man ! \V! 
her in hand until they come to take hands ; and 
then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, 
unmitigated rancour. — < ) ( rod, that I were a man ! 
I would eat his heart in the market-place. 

y>\ me. Hear me. Beatrice, — 310 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a wind . 
proper saying ! 



128 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act v. 



Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice, — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! She is wronged, she is 
slandered, she is undone. 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes and counties ! Surely, aprincely 
testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect ; a 
sweet gallant, surely ! O that I were a man for 
his sake ! or that I had any friend would be a 
man for my sake ! But manhood is melted into 
courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are 
only turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he is 
now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie 
and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, 
therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I 
love thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
swearing by it. 330 

Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio 
hath wronged Hero? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a 
soul. 

Bene. Enough, I am engaged ; I will challenge 
him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. 
By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear 
account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, 
comfort your cousin : I must say she is dead : and 
so, farewell. [Exeunt. 340 

Scene II. A prison. 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in 

goivns ; and the Watch, with Conrade and 

Borachio. 

Dog. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. 

Sex. Which be the malefactors? 

Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhi- 
bition to examine. 

Sex. But which are the offenders that are to 
be examined ? let them come before master con- 
stable. 

Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. 
What is your name, friend ? 11 

Bora. Borachio. 

Dog. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, 
sirrah ? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is 
Conrade. 

Dog. Write down, master gentleman Conrade. 
Masters, do you serve God ? 

C B°ora. ) Yea ' sir ' we h °P e ' 

Dog. Write down, that they hope they serve 
God : and write God first ; for God defend but 
God should go before such villains ! Masters, it 
is proved already that you are little better than 
false knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so 
shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? 

C071. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Dog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; 
but I will go about with him. Come you hither, 
sirrah ; a word in your ear : sir, I say to you, it 
is thought you are false knaves. 30 

Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none. 

Dog. Well, stand aside. 'Fore God, they are 
both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they 
are none ? 



Sex. Master constable, you go not the way 
to examine : you must call forth the watch that 
are their accusers. 

Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let 
the watch come forth. Masters, I charge you, 
in the prince's name, accuse these men. 40 

First Watch. This man said, sir, that Don 
John, the prince's brother, was a villain. 

Dog. Write down Prince John a villain. Why, 
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. 

Bora. Master constable, — 

Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace : I do not like 
thy look, I promise thee. 

Sex. What heard you him say else ? 

Sec. Watch. Marry, that he had received a 
thousand ducats of Don John for accusing the 
Lady Hero wrongfully. 51 

Dog. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, by mass, that it is. 

Sex. What else, fellow ? 

First Watch. And that Count Claudio did 
mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before 
the whole assembly, and not marry her. 

Dog. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into 
everlasting redemption for this. 

Sex . What else ? 60 

Watch. This is all. 

Sex. And this is more, masters, than you can 
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly 
stolen away ; Hero was in this manner accused, 
in this very manner refused, and upon the grief 
of this suddenly died. Master constable, let 
these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's : 
I will go before and show him their examination. 

[Exit. 

Dog. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. f Let them be in the hands — ■ 70 

Con. Off, coxcomb ! 

Dog. God's my life, where 's the sexton? let 
him write down the prince's officer coxcomb. 
Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet ! 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost 
thou not suspect my years ? O that he were 
here to write me down an ass ! But, masters, 
remember that I am an ass ; though it be not 
written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. 
No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall 
be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a 
wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer, and, 
which is more, a householder, and, which is more, 
as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina, and 
one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow 
enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses, 
and one that hath two gowns and every thing 
handsome about him. Bring him away. O that 
I had been writ down an ass ! [Exeunt. 90 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Before Leonato's house. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 

Leo7i. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Nor let no comforter delight mine ear 
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
Bring me a father that so loved his child, 
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
And bid him speak of patience ; 10 

Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine 
And let it answer every strain for strain, 
As thus for thus and such a grief for such, 
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard, 
t Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem !' when he should 

groan, 
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk 
With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, 
And I of him will gather patience. 
But there is no such man : for, brother, men 20 
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief 
Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it, 
Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 
Charm ache with air and agony with words : 
No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
To those that wring under the load of sorrow, 
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency 
To be so moral when he shall endure 30 

The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: 
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing 
differ. 

Le#ti. I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh 
and blood ; 
For there was never yet philosopher 
That could endure the toothache patiently, 
However they have writ the style of gods 
And made a push at chance and sufferance. 

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 40 

Leon. There thou speak' st reason : nay, I 
will do so. 
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied ; 
And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the prince 
And all of them that thus dishonour her. 

Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio 
hastily. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 
D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 
D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you 
well, my lord : 
Are you so hasty now ? well, all is one. 

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good 
old man. 50 

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrel- 
ing, 
Some of us would lie low. 

Claud. Who wrongs him ? 

Leon. Marry, thou dost wTong me ; thou dis- 
sembler, thou : — 
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword ; 
I fear thee not. 

Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, 

If it should give your age such cause of fear: 
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 
Leon. Tush, tush, man ; never fleer and jest 
at me : 



I speak not like a dotard nor a fool, 

As under privilege of age to brag 60 

What I have done being young, or what would do 

Were I not old. Know, Claudio, !<> thy head. 

Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me 

That I am forced to lay my reverence by 

And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days, 

Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 

I say thou hast belied mine innocent child; 

Thy slander hath gone through and through her 

heart, 
And she lies buried with her ancestors ; 
(), in a tomb where never scandal slept, 70 

Save this of hers, framed by thy villany ! 

Claud. My villany ? 

Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, my lord. 

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare, 
Despite his nice fence and his active practice, 
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. 

Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you. 

Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast 
kill'd my child : 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : 
But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; 81 
Win me and wear me ; let him answer me. 
Come, follow me, boy ; come, sir boy, come, fol- 
low me : 
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence ; 
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother, — 

Ant. Content yourself. God knows I loved 
my niece ; 
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains, 
That dare as well answer a man indeed 
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 90 

Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! 

Leon. Brother Antony, — 

Ant. Hold you content. What, man ! I know 
them, yea, 
And what they weigh, even to the utmost 

scruple, — 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging bny^. 
That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander, 
Go anticly, show outward hideousness, 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, 
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst ; 
And this is all. 

Leon. But, brother Antony, — 

Ant. Come, 'tis no matter : 100 

Do not you meddle ; let me deal in this. 

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
your patience. 
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death : 
But, on my honour, she was charged with nothing 
But what was true and very full of proof. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, — 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 

Leon. No? Come, brother; away! I will be 
heard. 

Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. 
[ Exeunt Leonato and A ft t onto. 

D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we 
went to seek. no 

Enter Benedick. 
Claud. Now, signior, what news ? 



[ Z° 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act v. 



Bene. Good clay, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : you are almost 
come to part almost a fray. 

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
snapped off with two old men without teeth. 

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What 
thinkest thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should 
have been too young for them. 

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. 
I came to seek you both. 121 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek 
thee ; for we are high-proof melancholy and would 
fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit? 

Bene. It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it? 

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? 

Claud. Never any did so, though very many 
have been beside their wit. 1 will bid thee draw, 
as we do the minstrels-; draw, to pleasure us. 

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks 
pale. Art thou sick, or angry? 131 

Claud. What, courage, man ! What though 
care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee 
to kill care. 

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, 
an you charge it against me. I pray you choose 
another subject. 

Claud. Nay, then, give him another staff: this 
last was broke cross. 

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
more : I think he be angry indeed. 141 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his 
girdle. 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? 

Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 

Bene. [Aside to Claudio\ You are a villain; 
I jest not: I will make it good how you dare, 
with what you dare, and when you dare. Do me 
right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have 
killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall 
heavy on you. Let me hear from you. 151 

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have 
good cheer. 

D. Pedro. What, a feast, a feast ? 

Claud. V faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me 
to a calf's head and a capon ; the which if I do 
not carve most curiously, say my knife 's naught. 
Shall I not find a woodcock too? 

Betie. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised 
thy wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine 
wit: 'True,' said she, 'a fine little one.' ' No,' 
said I, ' a great wit :' ' Right,' says she, 'a great 
gross one.' ' Nay,' said I, ' a good wit:' 'Just,' 
said she, 'it hurts nobody.' ' Nay,' said I, 'the 
gentleman is wise :' ' Certain,' said she, ' a wise 
gentleman.' ' Nay,' said I, 'he hath the tongues:' 
'That I believe,' said she, 'for he swore a thing 
to me on Monday night, which he forswore on 
Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; 
there's two tongues.' Thus did she, an hour 
together, trans-shape thy particular virtues: yet 
at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the 
properest man in Italy. 

Claud. For the which she wept heartily and 
said she cared not. 

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all 
that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would 
love him dearly: the old man's daughter told 
us all. 180 



Claud. All, all ; and, moreover, God saw him 
when he v/as hid in the garden. 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage 
bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here 
dwells Benedick the married man'? 

Bene. Fare you well, boy : you know my 
mind. I will leave you now to your gossip-like 
humour: you break jests as braggarts do their 
blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My 
lord, for your many courtesies I thank you: I 
must discontinue your company: your brother 
the bastard is fled from Messina: you have 
among you killed a sweet and innocent lady. 
For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and I shall 
meet : and, till then, peace be with him. [Exit. 

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll 
wan-ant you, for the love of Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee. 200 

Clazid. Most sincerely. 

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when 
he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off 
his wit ! 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape ; but then 
is an ape a doctor to such a man. 

D. Ped?-o. But, soft you, let me be : pluck 
up, my heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my 
brother was fled? 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, 
iviih Conrade and Borachio. 

Dog. Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame 
you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her 
balance : nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, 
you must be looked to. 

D. Pedro. How now? two of my brothers 
men bound ! Borachio one ! 

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these 
men done ? 

Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false 
report ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; 
secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, 
they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have veri- 
fied unjust things; and, to conclude, they are 
lying knaves. 

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have 
done; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; 
sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, 
to conclude, what you lay to their charge. 

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own 
division; and, by my troth, there's one meaning 
well suited. 231 

D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, 
that you are thus bound to your answer? this 
learned constable is too cunning to be under- 
stood: what's your offence? 

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to 
mine answer: do you hear me, and let this 
count kill me. I have deceived even your very 
eyes : what your wisdoms could not discover, 
these shallow fools have brought to light; who in 
the night overheard me confessing to this man 
how Don John your brother incensed me to 
slander the Lady Hero, how you were brought 
into the orchard and saw me court Margaret in 
Hero's garments, how you disgraced her, when 
you should marry her : my villany they have 



Scene i. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



131 



upon record ; which I had rather seal with my 
death than repeat over to my shame. The lady- 
is dead upon mine and my master's false accusa- 
tion ; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the re- 
ward of a villain. 

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron 
through your blood? 

Claud, 1 have drunk poison whiles he ut- 
ter'd it. 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on 
to this? 

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice 
of it. 

D. Pedro. He is composed and framed of 
treachery : 
And fled he is upon this vi'.lany. 

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth 
appear 
In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 260 

Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiff's: by 
this time our sexton hath reformed Senior Leo- 
nato of the matter: and, masters, do not forget to 
specify, when time and place shall serve, that 
I am an ass. 

Verg. Here, here comes master Signior Leo- 
nato, and the sexton too. 

Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, -with the 
Sexton. 

Leon. Which is the villain ? let me see his eyes, 
That, when I note another man iike him, 270 

I may avoid him : which of these is he? 

Bora. If you would know your wronger, 
look on me. 

Lean. Art thou the slave that with thy breath 
hast kill'd 
Mine innocent child? 

Bora. Yea, even I alone. 

Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou behest thyself: 
Here stand a pair of honourable men; 
A third is fled, that had a hand in it. 
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death : 
Record it with your high and worthy deeds: 
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience : 
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; 
Impose rne to what penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not 
Lut in mistaking. 

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I : 
And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
I would bend under any heavy weight 
That he'll enjoin me to. 

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live ; | 
That were impossible : but, I pray you both, 



Possess the people in Messina here 
How innocent she died ; rind if your love 
Can lab iiir ought in sad invention, 
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb 
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night: 
To-morrow morning come you to my house, 
And since you could not be my son-in-law, 
Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter, 
Almost the copy of my child that's dead, 
And she alone is heir to both of us : 
Give her the right you should have given her 
cousin, 300 

And so dies my revenge. 

Claud. O noble sir, 



Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me ! 
I do embrace your offer; and dispose 
For henceforth of poor Claudio. 

Leon. To-morrow then 1 will expect your 
coming ; 
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man 
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong, 
Hired to ii by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not, 

Nor knew not what site did when she spoke to me, 
But always hath been just and virtuous 311 

In any tiling that I do know by her. 

Dog. Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under 
white and b'ack, this plaintiff here, the offender, 
did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remem- 
bered in his punishment. And also, the watch 
heard them talk of one Deformed : they say he 
liis ear and a lock hanging by it, 
and bon in God's name, the which he 

hath used so long and never paid that now men 
grow hard-hearted and will lend nothing for God's 
sake : pray you, examine him upon that point. 

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest 
pains. 

Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful 
and reverend youth ; and I praise God for you. 

Leon. There's for thy ]> 1 

Dog. God save the foundation ! 

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, 
and I thank thee. 

Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your wor- 
ship ; which I beseech your worship to correct 
yourself, for the example of others. God keep your 
worship! I wish your worship well; God restore 
you to health ! I humbly give 3'ou leave to depart ; 
and if a merry meeting may be wished, God pro- 
hibit it ! Come, neighbour. 

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 

Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, fare- 
well. 

Ant. Farewell, my lords: we look for you 
to-morrow. 

D. Pedro. We will not fail. 

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 

Leon. [ To the IVatch] Bring you these fel- 
lows on. We'll talk with Margaret, 340 
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. 
[Exeunt, severally. 

Scene II. Leonato's garden. 
Enter Benedict and Margaret, meeting. 

Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, 
deserve well at my hands by helping me to the 
speech of Beatrice. 

Ma?g. Will you then write me a sonnet in 
praise of my beauty? 

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no 
man living shall come over it ; for, in most comely 
truth, thou deservest it. 

Marg, To have no man come over me ! why, 
shall I always keep below stairs? 10 

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
mouth; it catches. 

Afarg-. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
which hit, but hurt not. 

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will 



9—2 



I 3 2 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act v. 



not hurt a woman : and so, I pray thee, call Bea- 
trice : I give thee the bucklers. 

Marg. Give us the swords ; we have bucklers 
of our own. 

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must 
put in the pikes with a vice ; and they are danger- 
ous weapons for maids. 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who 
I think hath legs. 

Bene. And therefore will come. 

[Exit Margaret. 

[Sings] The god of love, 
That sits above, 
And knows me, and knows me, 
How pitiful I deserve, — 

I mean in singing ; but in loving, Leander the good 
swimmer,Troilus the first employer of panders, and 
awholebookful of these quondam carpet-mongers, 
whose names yet run smoothly in the even road 
of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly 
turned over and over as my poor self in love. 
Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have tried : 
I can find out no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby,' an 
innocent rhyme ; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhyme ; 
for, school,' ' fool,' a babbling rhyme ; very omi- 
nous endings : no, I was not born under a rhyming 
planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. 41 

Enter Beatrice. 
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I galled 
thee? 

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 

Bene. O, stay but till then ! 

Beat. 'Then' is spoken; fare you well now: 
and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came ; 
which is, with knowing what hath passed between 
you and Claudio. 

Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will 
kiss thee. 51 

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul 
wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; 
therefore I will depart unkissed. 

Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his 
right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell 
thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; 
and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will 
subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, 
tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first 
fall in love with me ? 61 

Beat. For them all together; which maintained 
so politic a state of evil that they will not admit 
any good part to intermingle with them. But for 
which of my good parts did you first suffer love 
for me ? 

Bene. Suffer love ! a good epithet ! I do suffer 
love indeed, for I love thee against my will. 

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas, poor 
heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it 
for yours; for I will never love that which my 
friend hates. 

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peace- 
ably. 

Beat. It appears not in this confession : there 's 
not one wise man among twenty that will praise 
himself. 

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do 
not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he 



shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings 
and the widow weeps. 

Beat. And how long is that, think you? 

Bene. Question : why, an hour in clamour and 
a quarter in rheum: therefore is it most expedient 
for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find 
no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of 
his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for 
praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, 
is praiseworthy : and now tell me, how doth your 
cousin? 91 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you? 

Beat. Very ill too. 

Bene. Serve God, love me and mend. There 
will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 

Enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. 
Yonder 's old coil at home : it is proved my Lady 
Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and 
Claudio mightily abused ; and Don John is the 
author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come 
presently? 

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? 

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap 
and be buried in thy eyes ; and moreover I will 
go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and three or four 
with tapers. 
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? 
A Lord. It is, my lord. 
Claud. [Reading out of a scroll] 

Done to death by slanderous tongues 

Was the Hero that here lies : 
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, 

Gives her fame which never dies. 
So the life that died with shame 
Lives in death with glorious fame. 

Hang thou there upon the tomb, 
Praising her when I am dumb. 10 

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 

Song. 
Pardon, goddess of the night, 
Those that slew thy virgin knight ; 
For the which, with songs of woe, 
Round about her tomb they go. 
Midnight, assist our moan ; 
Help us to sigh and groan, 

Heavily, heavily: 
Graves, yawn and yield your dead, 
Till death be uttered, 20 

Heavily, heavily. 

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 
Yearly will I do this rite. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your 
torches out : 
The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle 
day, 
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. 
Thanks to you all, and leave us : fare you well. 
Claud. Good morrow, masters : each his seve- 
ral way. 



Scene hi.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



i33 



D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on 
other weeds ; _ 3° 

And then to Leonato's we will go. 
Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue 
speed 's 
Than this for whom we render'd up this woe. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Leonato's house. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Bea- 
trice, Makgaket, Ursula, Friar Francis, 
and Hero. 

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? 
Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who 
accused her 
Upon the error that you heard debated : 
But Margaret was in some fault for this, 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In the true course of all the question. 
Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so 

well. 
Bene. And so am I, being else by faith en- 
forced 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen 
all, IO 

Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, 
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd. 

[Exeunt Ladies. 
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour 
To visit me. You know your office, brother : 
You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
And give her to young Claudio. 

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd coun- 
tenance. 
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I 

think. 
Friar. To do what, signior? 
Bene. To bind me, or undo me ; one of them. 
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, 21 

Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. 
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis 

most true. 
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite 

her. 
Leon. The sight whereof I think you had 
from me, 
From Claudio and the prince: but what's your 
will? 
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: 
But, for my will, my will is your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
In the state of honourable marriage : 30 

In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
Friar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince and Claudio. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, a?id two or 
three others. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, 
Claudio: 
We here attend you. Are you yet determined 
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? 
Claud. I '11 hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. 
Leon. Call her lorth, brother ; here's the friar 
ready. [Exit A ntouio. 
1 , 



D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why. 
what's the matter, 40 

That you have such a February face, 
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness? 

Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage 
bull. 
Tush, fear not, man; we'll tip thy horns with 

gold 
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, 
As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
When he would play the noble beast in love. 

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's 

cow, 
And got a calf in that same noble feat 50 

.Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
Claud. For this I owe you : here comes other 
reckonings. 

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. 

Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 
Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let 

me see your face. 
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take 
her hand 
Before this friar and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me your hand: before this holy 
friar, 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, I was your other 
wife : [Unmasking. 60 

And when you loved, you were my other husband. 
Claud. Another Hero! 
Hero. Nothing certainer : 

One Hero died denied, but I do live, 
And surely as I live, I am a maid. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is 

dead ! 
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slan- 
der lived. 
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
When after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: 
Meantime let wonder seem familiar, 70 

And to the chapel let us presently. 

Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? 
Beat. [Unmasking] I answer to that name. 

What is your will? 
Bene. Do not you love me ? 
Beat. Why, no ; no more than rer.son. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle and the prince 
and Claudio 
Have been deceived ; they swore you did. 
Beat. Do not you love me? 
Bene. Troth, no ; no more than reason. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret and 
Ursula 
Are much deceived ; for they did swear you did. 
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick 
for me. 80 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh 

dead for me. 
Bene. Tis no such matter. Then you do not 

love me? 
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 
Leon. Come, cousin, 1 am sure you love the 
gentleman. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act v. 



Claud. And I'll be sworn upon 't that he loves 
her; 
For here 's a paper written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion' d to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 90 

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against 
our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by 
this light, I take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not di-ny you; but, by this 
good day, I yield upon great persuasion'; and 
partly to save your life, for I was told you were 
m a consumption. 
Bene. Peace ! I will stop your mouth. 

[Kissing her. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the 

married man ? IOO 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of 

wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. 

j Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram ? 

No: if a man will be beaten with brains, a ? shall 

wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, 

since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing 

to any purpose that the world can say against it ; 

and therefore never flout at me for what I have 



said against it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this 
is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did 
think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art 
like to be my kinsman, live unbruised and love 
my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have 
denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled 
thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double- 
dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if 
my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends : let's have 
a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten 
our own hearts and our wives' heels. 121 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. 

Bene. First, o r my word ; therefore play, music. 
Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a 
wife : there is no staff more reverend than one 
tipped with horn. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in 
flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think njt on him till to-morrow: I'll 
devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike 
up, pipers. [Dance. i 3I 

[Exeunt. \ 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Ferdinand, king of Navarre. 

Eiron, ) 

Longaville, } lords attending on the King 

DUMAIN, ) 

Boyet, ] lords attending on the Princess 

Mercade, J of France. 

Don Adriano de Ar.mado, a fantastica 

Spaniard. 
Sir Nathaniel, a curate. 
Holofernes, a schoolmaster. 
Dull, a constable. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. The king of Navarre's park. 

Enter Ferdinand, king ^Navarre, Biron, 

Longaville, a«t/ Domain. 
King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their 
lives, 
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs 
And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; 
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, 
The endeavour of this present breath may buy 
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen 

edge 
And make us heirs of all eternity. 
Therefore, brave conquerors,— lor so you are, 
That war against your own affections 
And the huge army of the world's desires, — 10 
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : 
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; 
Our court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemplative in living art. 
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me 
My fell nd to keep those statutes 

That are recorded in this schedule here : 
Your oaths are pass'd ; and now subscribe your 

names, 
That his own hand may strike his honour down 
That violates the smallest branch herein : 21 

If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do, 
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. 

Long: I am resolved ; 'tis but a three years' 
fast : 
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : 
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite th 

Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified : 
The grosser manner of these world's delights 
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves: 
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; 31 
With all these living in philosophy. 

Biron. I can but say their protestation over ; 
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, 
That is, to live and study here three years. 
But there are other strict observances ; 
As, not to see a woman in that term, 



Costard, a clown. 

Moth, page to Armado. 

A Forester. 

The Princess of France. 

ROSALINE, } ladies attending on the 

™ ARlA > Princess. 

Katharine, ) 

Jaquenetta, a country wench. 
Lords, Attendants, &c. 

Scene: Navarre. 



Which I hope well is not enrolled there : 
And one day in a week to touch no food 
And but one meal on every day beside, 40 

The which I hope is not enrolled there ; 
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
And not be seen to wink of all the day — ■ 
When I was wont to think no harm all night 
And make a dark night too of half the day— 
Which I hope well is not enrolled there : 
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, 
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep ! 
King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away fix m 

these. 

Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you 

please : 5° 

I only swore to study with your grace 

And stay here in your court for three years' space. 

Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to 

the rest 
Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore 
in jest. 
What is the end of study? let me know. 

King. Why, that to know, which else we 

should not know. 
Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, 

from common so.: 
King. Ay, ti 's god-like recompense. 

Biron. Come on, then : I will swear to study so. 
To know the thing I am forbid to know : 60 

As thus, — to study where I well may dine, 

When I to feast expressly am forbid; 
Or study where to meet some mistress fine, 

When mistresses from common sense are hid ; 
Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath, 
Study to break it and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be thus and this be so, 
Study knows that which yet it doth not know: 
I I will ne'er say no. 
King. These be the stops that hinder study 
quite 70 

And train our intellects to vain delight. 

Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that 
most vain, 
Which with pain purchased cloth inherit pain : 
As, painfully to pore upon a book 

k the light of truth ; while truth the 
while 



136 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Biron. 
Dum. 
Biron. 
King. 



Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 

Light seeking light doth light of light beguile 
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eye's. 
Study me how to please the eye indeed 8c 

By fixing it upon a fairer eye, 
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed 
And give him light that it was blinded by. 
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun 

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks : 
Small have continual plodders ever won 

^ Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven*s lights 

That give a name to every fixed star 
Have no more profit of their shining nights 90 
Than those that walk and wot not what 
they are. 
Too much to know is to know nought but fame • 
And every godfather can give a name. 
King. How well he's read, to reason against 

reading ! 
Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro- 
ceeding ! y 
Long. He weeds the corn and still lets crow 

the weeding. 
Biron. The spring is near when green geese 

are a-breeding. 
Dum. How follows that? 

Fit in his place and time. 
In reason nothing. 

. Something then in rhyme. 

Biron is like an envious sneaping fros^ 
That bites the first-born infants of 
the spring. IOI 

Biron. Well, say I am; why should proud 
summer boast 
Before the birds have any cause to 
sing ? 
Why should I joy in any abortive birth? 
At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth ; 
But like of each thing that in season grows. 
Soyou, to study now it is too late, 
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 
King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron ■ 
. adieu - no 

Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to 
stay with you : 
And though I have for barbarism spoke more 
/ Than tor that angel knowledge you can say 
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore ' 

And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
Give me the paper; let me read the same ; 
And to the stricTst decrees I'll write my name 
King. How well this yielding rescues thee 

from shame ! 
Biron {reads']. ' Item, That no woman shall 
come within a mile of my court :' Hath this been 
proclaimed? I2I 

Long. Four days ago. 

Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Beads] 'On 
pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this 
penalty? 
Long. Marry, that did I. 
Biron. Sweet lord, and why? 
Long. To fright them hence with that dread 

penalty. 
Biron. A dangerous law against gentility ! 
[Reads] 'Item, If any man be seen to talk 



[Act 



with a woman within the term of three years, he 
shall endure such public shame as the rest of the 
court can possibly devise.' 
This article, my liege, yourself must break ■ 
b or well you know here comes in embassy 

s e en k- ' S daughter with Yourself to 

A maid of grace and complete majesty— 
About surrender up of Aquitaine ' 

lo her decrepit, sick and bedrid father: 
I herefore this article is made in vain, I4Q 

Ur vainly comes the admired princess hither 
^ing. What say you, lords? why, this was 
quite forgot. 
w^T^'j S ,° studv eve rmore is overshot: 
While lt doth study to have what it would 
It doth forget to do the thing it should, 
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
lis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost 
Ring. We must of force dispense with this 
decree; 
She nrnst i; e here on mere necessity 
Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
1 hree thousand times within this three years' 
space ; tct 

For every man with his affeas is born, 

Not by might master'd but by special grace : 
Ii I break faith, this word shall speak for me ■ 
I am forsworn on ' mere necessity.' 
So to the laws at large I write my name : 

• , , . , , , {Subscribes. 

And he that breaks them in the least degree 
Stands in attainder of eternal shame: 
'-uggestions are to other as to me; 
But I believe, although I seem so loath, 160 

1 am the last that will last keep his oath. 
But LS there no quick recreation granted 9 
A mg. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know 
is haunted 
With a refined traveller of Spain; 
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 

1 hat hath a mint of phrases in his brain ; 
One whom the music of his own vain tongue 

Doth ravish like enchanting harmony 
A man of complements, whom right and'wrong 
„, " av e , ph ose as umpire of their mutiny : lyo 

Ihis child of fancy that Armado hight 
For interim to our studies shall relate 
In high-born words the worth of many a kni'o-ht 
Prom tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. 
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ■ 
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 
Long. Costard the swain and he shall be our 



sport 



180 



And so to study, three years is but short. 

Enter Dull with a letter, ami Costard. 

Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? 

Biron. This, fellow : what wouldst? 

Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for 
1 am his grace's tharborough : but I would see his 
own person in flesh and blood. 

Biron. This is he. 

Dull. Signior Arme—Arme— commends you. 
ihere s villany abroad : this letter will tell you 
more - 190 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



i37 



Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touch- 
ing me. 

King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 

Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in 
God for high words. 

Long. A high hope for a low heaven : God 
grant us patience ! 

Biron. To hear ? or forbear laughing ? 

Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh 
moderately : or to forbear both. 200 

Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give 
us cause to climb in the merriness. 

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning 
Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, i was taken 
with the manner. 

Biron. In what manner? 

Cost. Inmannerandformfollowing.sir; allthose 
three : I was seen with her in the manor-house, 
sitting with her upon the form, and taken follow- 
ing her into the park ; which, put together, is in 
manner and form following. Now, sir, for the 
manner, — it is the manner of a man to speak to a 
woman : for the form, — in some form. 

Biron. For the following, sir? 

Cost. As it shall follow in my correction : and 
God defend the right ! 

King. Will you hear this letter with attention? 

Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 

Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken 
after the flesh. 220 

King [reads]. ' Great deputy, the welkin's 
vicegerent and sole dominator of Navarre, my 
soul's earth's god, and body's fostering patron.' 

Cast. Not a word of Costard yet. 

King [reads]. ' So it is,' — 

Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he 
is, in telling true, but so. 

King. Peace ! 

Cost. Be to me and every man that dares not 
fight ! 230 

King. No words ! 

Cost. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 

King [reads]. ' So it is, besieged with sable- 
coloured melancholy, I did commend the black- 
oppressing humour to the most wholesome physic 
of thy health-giving air ; and, as I am a gentle- 
man, betook myself to walk. The time when. 
About the sixth hour ; when beasts most graze, 
birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourish- 
ment which is called supper : so much for the 
time when. Now for the ground which ; which, 
I mean, I walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. 
Then for the place where ; where, I mean, I did 
encounter that obscene and most preposterous 
event, that draweth from my snow-white pen the 
ebon-coloured ink, which here thou viewest, 
beholdest, surveyest, or seest : but to the place 
where ; it standeth north-north-east and by east 
from the west corner of thy curious-knotted 
garden : there did I see that low-spirited swain, 
that base minnow of thy mirth,' — 251 

Cost. Me; 

King [reads], ' that unlettered small-knowing 
soul,' — 

Cost. Me ? 

King [reads]. ' that shallow vassal,' — 

Cost. Still me ? 

King [reads], 'which, as I remember, hight 
Costard, — 



Cost. O, me ! 260 

King [reads], ' sorted and consorted, contral- 
to thy established proclaimed edict and continent 
canon, which with, — O, with — but with this I 
passion to say wherewith, — 

Cost. With a wench. 

King [reads]. ' with a child of our grandmother 
Eve, a female ; or, for thy more sweet under- 
standing, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed 
duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive 
the meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's 
officer, Anthony Dull ; a man of good repute, 
carriage, bearing, and estimation.' 

Dull. Me, an 't shall please you ; I am Anthony 
Dull. 

King [reads]. 'For Jaquenetta, — so is the 
weaker vessel called which I apprehended with 
I the aforesaid swain, — I keep her as a vessel of 
thy law's fury ; and shall, at the least of thy sweet 
notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all compli- 
ments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty. 
Don Adriano i 

Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but 
the best that ever I heard. 

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, 
what say you to this? 

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 

King. Did you hear the proclamation? 

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but 
little of the marking of it. 

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprison- 
ment, to be taken with a wench. 290 

Cost. I was taken with none, sir: I was taken 
with a damsel. 

King. Well, it was proclaimed 'damsel.' 

Cost. This was no damsel neither, sir ; she 
was a virgin. 

King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed 
'virgin.' 

Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity : I was 
taken with a maid. 

King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 301 

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : 
you shall fast a week with bran and water. 

Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton 
and porridge. 

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. 
My Lord Biron, see him deliverM 
And go we, lords, to put in practi. 

Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. 
[Exeunt King. Longaville, and Dumain. 
Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, 

These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 
Sirrah, come on. 

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir ; for true it is, 
I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a 
true girl ; and therefore welcome the sour cup of 
prosperity ! Affliction may one day srnil*- 
and till then, sit thee down, sorrow ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. 
Enter Armado and Moth. 
Arm, Boy, what sign is it when a man of 
great spirit grows melanchi •' 

Motk, A great sis, r n, .sir, that he will look sad. 
A nn. Why, sadness is one and the self-same 
thing, dear imp. 



r 3 8 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Moth. No, no ; O Lord, sir, no. 

choir my H t:x^a u i? artsadnessand mei - 

woSntn^o^^^^-^t 

Moth Whl T% S£ni0r ? Wh ^ t0 ^ h se ™" 
venal? Y tender J uve "al? why tender ju- 

Arm. I spoke it, tender Juvenal as a con 

SEP CPlthet0n a PP er ^ining J to thy young dSs 
which we may nominate tender. * Y ' 

tir£ t An ^ T '- t0U - h senior ' as an appertinent 

xt f' yrett y and a pt. 

-4/^. How mean you, sir? I orettv a „H 

m H? ? or ? 4 a " d ->' iCSw 

7/ f/ x^ h ? U prett y' ^cause little. 

<WA. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore 



apt? 
Arm. 
Moth. 
A rm. 
Moth. 
A rm. 
Moth. 
Arm 



And therefore apt, because quick. 
bpeak you this in my praise, master? 
in thy condign praise. 

WhVvl^ a " ee ! Avith the same P^se 
What, that an eel is ingenious ? 
1 hat an eel is quick 

thouheateltmy^o^^^^"--- 
Moth. I am answered, sir 
Arm I love not to be crossed. 

J^J&8£" *"*» "* "« — y ; 

wilTheduke^ Pr ° miSed t0 **** three 3-ars 

A A°J,i' t Y ° U ma Z d ° " b an hour > sir. 
■Arm. Impossible. 

Moth. How many is one thrice told' 4 ° 

firm I am in at reckoning; it fineth the 
spirit of a tapster. «"etn the 

^Moih. You are a gentleman and a gamester, 

| Arm. I confess both : they are both the v.r 
nish of a complete man. ° Var " 

the grots sJmTf J ^ ^ Y ° U k ° 0W how mu <* 
cne gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

S WmS ? m T nt t0 «? ne more tha " two. 
22*' TV^ le aSC VUlffar do cal1 thre ^ 

dancing horse will tell you. ' 

^fw*. A most fine figure ! 
Moth. To prove you a cipher. 

tier for a new-devised courtesy. I think scoS to 
sigh : methinks I should outswear Cup d Com 

7K/^/i. Hercules, master. 

dearTov ^Z'J™* H<a ? Iei ! More authority, 
th™ k/' r m ° r f ; and ' sweet ™ v child le 

2?J* me c" ° f g ° 0d rCpUte and ca "' ia £e. 
A*tf. Samson, master : he was a man of 
good carnage, great carriage, for he carrkd the 



L°To n vT teS ° R hiS back Hke a P° rter : a * d he was 

thou didst me in carrying eates fjll, S 
too Whn ,„-,,. c , , t> tll - c s. i am in love 

kfT Samson's love, my dear Moth ? 

Moth. A woman, master. o 

*T% 2£ what com P!exion ? 

*K S^seSS^re^ir^ 1 ^ 011 - 

f/3 A ' h T a l 0ne ° f * e four complexions ? 

them too AS * haVe rCad > SIr " and ** best of 

3£? Mv7n S S °' Sh ' ; ^ ShC had a 8™«» "it 

re ^^- My love is most immaculate white and 

, Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master are 
| masked under such colours master, are 

m!k Mw' ?yf fi " e ' w . eI1 - e ducated infant. 

pr^d^SicaP^ 011 ° f a ^ -S 
j dflw*. If she be made of white and red, 
Her faults will ne'er be known, 

A b ]" shm S Cheeks b >' faults a re bred 

And fears by pale white shown : 
I hen if she fear, or be to blame 

by this you shall not know, ' 
I or still her cheeks possess the same 

Which native she doth owe. IIr 

rf^sava^ master > against the «s 

and JheBeigiT ^ & baHad ' b °^ of ^ ^ 

^^j^MJiSS£ would 

siS: 'rsssKa^ the rationai hind 

uif^f • [ <"^ To be whipped ; and yet a 
better love than my master. J 

ASS S A fA I ' ny Spirk ffr0WS heav y in ] °ve. 
wench g, ' eat marvd ' l0vin ^ a %ht 

Arm. I say, sing 

*f*<*. Forbear till this company be past. ^ 
XriterDuLL, Costard, «;^ Jaquenetta 

7«T Mi „ b ? etraymySeIfwithblushio & M »'<1! 

rlT' Tl,^.'' *"*« « *e lodge. ,„ 

jag- 1 hat s hereby, 4 



Scene II.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Arm. I know where it is situate. 

Jaq. Lord, how wise you are . 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Jaq. With that face? 

Arm. I love thee. 

Jaq. So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so, farewell. 

Jaq. Fair weather alter you ! 

Dull Come, Jaquenetta, away ! 150 

VuU. wm , ^ xeuHt Dull and Jaquenetta. 

Arm. Villain, thou sha-lt fast tor thy offences 
ere thou te pardoned. ,, 

CW. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall 
do it on a full stomach. 

^ m . Thou shalt be heavily punisned. 

C««* I am more bound to you than your fel- 
lows, for they are but lightly rewarde d . 

A rm. Take away this villmn : shut him up. 

Moth. Come, you transgressing s avej away ! 

CW. Let me not be pent sp, sir : 1 will last, 

be Sr S No, sir; that were fast and loose : thou 
Sh C^ P wS if ever I do see the merry days of 
desolation that I have seen, some shall see. 

Moth. What shall some see .' . 

cVrf Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what 
thev look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too 
silent in their words; and therefore I will say 
nothing" I thank God I have as little p,t,ence as 
pnother man- and therefore I can be quiet. 171 
anotner man , ai £jegim( Moth and Costard. 

Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is 
base where her shoe, which is baser, guided by 
her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shalL be 
forsworn, which is a great argument of falsehood 
f Ilove And how can that be true love which 
is falsely attempted? Love is a ^J^J^ 
a devil- there is no evil angel but Love. Yet 
was Samson so tempted, and he had an .e^eUent 
stren-th; yet was Solomon so seduced and he 
had a very -ood wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too 
WfcriTe^cules'club; and therefore^ much 
odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first ana se 
cond Kuse will not serve my turn; the passado 
herespedls not, the duello he regards not . his 
dfsSce is to be called boy; but his glory is to 
£ men. Adieu, valour!, rus. rapier be 
still, drum ! for your manager is in love 
loveth Assist me, some extempoial god 01 

in folio. 



ACT II. 



Scene 



The same. 



r^,r^Princessof France, RosauneMak^ 
Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other At 
tendants. 

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dear 
est spirits: 
Consider who the king your father sends, 
To whom he sends, and what's his emba 
Yourself, held precious in the world s esteem, 
To parley with the sole inl. 
Of all perfections that a man may owe, _ 
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 



Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. 

Be now as prodigal of all dear grace 

As Nature was in making graces dear 10 

When she did starve the general world beside 

And prodigally gave them all to you. 

Frin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though 
but mean, . , , • . 

Needs not the painted nourish of your praise . 

Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, 

Not utter'd by bp.se sale o! chapmen's tongues. 

I am less proud to hear you tell my worth 

Than you much willing to be counted wise 

I n spending your wit in the praise oi mine. 

But now to task the taskcr : good Boyet, 

You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 

Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, 

Till painful study shall outwear three years, 

No woman may approach his silent court. 

Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course, 

Before we enter his forbidden gates, 

To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf, 

Bold of your worthiness, we single you 

As our best-moving fair solicitor. 

Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 3 o 

On serious business, craving quic* dispatch, 

Importunes personal conference with his grace : 

so much; while we attend. 
Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will. 
Boyet. Proud of empl >yment, willing 
Frin. All pride is willing P"^',^ ^ ou // 

Who are the votaries, my loving lords, 
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke. 
First Lord. Lord Longaville is one. 
p r .-., Know you the man .' 

Mar. I know him, madam: at a marriage- 
feast *° 
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized 
In Normandy, saw I this Longaville : 
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem d ; 
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: 
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. 
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil, 
T s a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will; 
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still 
wills 5 ° 
It should none spare that come within his power 
Frin. Some merry mocking lord, belike, 

Mar. They say so most that most his hu- 
mours know. . , 
Frin. Such short-lived wits do wither as 
they grow. 
Who are the rest? , 

Kaih. The young Dumain, a well-accom- 
plished youth. 
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved : _ 
Most power to do most harm least knowing ill . 
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, 
\nd shape to win grace though he had no witOo 

im at the Duke Alengon's once ; 
\nd much too little of that good I saw 
Is my report to his great w 

Ros Another of these students at that time 
Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. 
Biron thev call him ; but a merrier man, 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 



I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
Wis eye begets occasion for his wit ■ 

The nth7 ? bjea that the ° ne doth ^ch 7C 

Which M« T- nS , t0 a m irth-moving jest, 7 

i\ v hl . s fair ^gue, conceit's expositor 

tnd\ ™f u Play trUant at his tales 

And younger hearings are quite ravished • 

/S et r d /°K 1 , Uble " his discourse d ' 

We, lGSS my ladies! are the y a " in 

Wifh t^ r /,°T 1 f r ° Wn hath ^rnished 
^iz,W C M ng ° rnamen ts of praise? 
first Loid. Here comes Boyet. 

Re-enter Boyet. 
fif*; at Novv ' what admittance, lord' 8 
ipfoacn"r Varre had n ° tice ° f your Sr ap° 
And he and his competitors in oath 
Selca,^^-^ 1 ^'^^^ 



Z °^^ LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act 



tt ,, -'■"•")) uiub mucn 1 have 

Sf-e a onfH meanS t0 '? dge y° u in ^ field, 
.Like one that comes here to besie-e his court 
1 haii seek a dispensation for his oath "^ 
go Jet you enter his unpeopled house 
were comes Navarre. 



IS" - tX'? mUSt r Mt be SO 9>&k. 
Vs^o„i Mg ° f ! ' 0U thM **» ™ -W. such 

^. Fair fall the face it cover, " 

^Am nd Send y o —y lovers! 
£*j. Amen, so you be none. 
Arm. Nay, then will I be gone 
Thf 3gJS?5ff £5 fa , th r here doth ^imate ' 

Received tt? 6 " WG ' aS neith « " ha -, 



— --- j,v, u , sclllpJC laav whirl, -~*w, m mi 



... "^Attendants. ' J«r here he doth demand to have re aid 

'"lavage' ^"^ « ta ™ <° *• — «\$Z£i22SZS3R^r^ 



--- --&" -v "v- juurs; a: 
nelds too base to be mine 

A/ court Y ° U Shal1 ^ WelC0me > madam , to my 

^hither^ 11 ^ WeIC ° me ' then: cond "^ me 

A Tth Hear m£ ' dCar kdy '■ * have ™n an 

/5 tworn° UrLadyheIpmy l0rd! he ' ]I ^ for- 

K %\ NOt f ° r thG W ° rld ' fair m ^am, by my 

"'Thing^'^ 1 ^ 11 ^^- 11 ^- 

PrlS' Were ^/fS " ^? rant ^at it is!" 
wise y ° rd S °' hlS ^norance were 

Where now his knowledge must prove Ignorance 
I hear your grace hath sworn out hou^SS? 

Atd d sL ad o y bre n ak°it keeP that «"*• ^ ^ ' 

Iw H ?) r r PC ^ red if y° u raa ><e me stlf' 
once ? d n0t J danCG With you in *&* 

%ceH id "^ * danCS With ^ u in Brabant 
ifc>w». I know vou did 

que£on7 eedleSS ™* * ^ to asl < the 



TW ^ • *° g e, aed as it is. 

An^we^S^S-^y breast 

wronI° Ll thG ^^ my fathGr t0 ° m uch 

And wrong? the reputation of your name 
Of S T^k^ t0 COnfess receipt ' 

°£ W U hath S ° f f ithf miy been paid. 
A „hT" d ° protest J "ever heard of it • 
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back ' 
Oyield up Aquitaine. P Y ° k 

Boyetfyou can produc^^anS' ™ L l6 ° 

orcfeK££ spe ^ officers 

«'"*"; o , Satisfy me so. 

™ne P Me 5 ' 0l,r grace ' ,he P-->*« ^ not 

S,^t; y ft,rhr^StT f ,tm d: 

Meantime receive such welcome at mv hand 
your S g V ra:e! hea ' th a ° d to *»**■ ~»-« 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



141 



King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every 
place ' \h.xit. 

Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine 
own heart. l8 9 

Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; l 
would' be glad to see it. _ 

Biron. I would you heard it groan. 

Ros. Is the fool sick? 

Biron. Sick at the heart. 

Ros. Alack, let it blood. 

Biron. Would that do it good ? 

Ros. My physic says 'ay.' 

Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye ? 

Ros. No point, with my knite. 19° 

Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 

Ros. And yours from long living ■ 

Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring. 

Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word : what lady is 
that same ? . , 

Boyd. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her 

Vion^A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you 
well [Exit. 

Long. I beseech you a word : what is she in 
the white? _ , 

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw ner 

LoOgi Perchance light in the light. I desire 
her name. , . 

£<»>r*. She hath but one for herself ; to desire 
thai were a shame. 2 °° 

Z<7«£-. Pray you, sir, whose daughter/ 

Boyct. Her mother's, I have heard. 

Long. God's blessing on your beard ! 

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended. 
She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
She is a most sweet lady. 

Boyet. Not unlike, sir, that may be. 

^ [isav/ Long. 

Biron. What's her name in the cap ? 

Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap. 21c 

Biron. Is she wedded or no? 

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 

Biron. You are welcome, sir: adieu. 

Bovct Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to 
you. ^ Exit B \ nvi - 

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap 

lord: 
Not a word with him but a jest. _ 

Boyet. And every jest but a word. 

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at 

his word. 
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was 

to board. 
Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry. 
Boyet And wherefore not ships > 

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we leed on your 

r 220 

Mar* You sheep, and I pasture: shall that 

finish the jest? 
Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. 

' {Offering to kiss her. 

M aTm Not so, gentle beast : 

My lips are no common, though several they be. 
Boyet. Belonging to whom? 
Mar. T° m Y fortunes and me. 

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but. gen- 
tles, agree : 



This civil war of wits were much better used 
On Navarre and his book-men; for here tis 
abused. 
Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom 
lies, . 

By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 230 
Prin. With what ? 

.gtfirz'. With that which we lovers entitle af- 
fected. 
Prin. Your reason? 

Z>o.;rA Why, all his behaviours did make the.r 
retire . . 

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : 
His heart, like an agate, with your print lm- 

press'd, . , 

Proud with his form, in his eye pride express d : 
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, 
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be ; 
All senses to that sense did make their repair, 240 
To feel only looking on fairest of fair: 
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye, 
As jewels in cr\ stal for some prince to buy ; 
Who, tendering their own worth from where they 

were glass'd, 
Did point you to buy them, along as you- 
His face's own margent did quote such amazes 
That all eves saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. 
I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his. 
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 
Prin. Come to our pavilion : Boyet is disposed. 
Boyet But to speak that in words which his 
eye hath disclosed. 2 5Q 

I only have made a mouth of his eye. 
By adding a tongue which I know will not he. 
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger and speakest 

skilfully. 
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather and learns 

news of him. 
R os. Then was Venus like her mother, for her 

father is but grim. 
Bovet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? 
Mar ^°- 

Boyet. What then, do you see ? 

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
Bovet You are too hard for me. 

J ' [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. The same. 

Enter Armado and Moth. 

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my 
sense of hearing. . 

Moth. Concolinel. \$m 

Ann Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years ; 
take this key, give enlargement to the swam, bring 
him festinately hither : 1 must employ him in a 
letter to my love. , 

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a 
French brawl? 

A rin How meanest thou ? brawling in French ? 

Moth No, my complete master : but to jig off 
a tune at the tongue's end. canary to it with your 
feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh 
a note and sing a note, sometime through the 
throat as if you swallowed love with singing love, 
sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up 



1 4 2 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ove by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse- 
like oer the shop of your eyes; with your arms 
crossed _ on your thin-belly doublet like a rabbit 
on a spit ; or your hands in your pocket like a 
man alter the old painting; and keep not too long 
in one tune, but a snip and away. These are 
complements, these are humours; these betrav 
nice wenches that would be betrayed without 
these ; and make them men of note— do you note 



[Act hi. 



, ,„ ..HV.1J1 uu.li ui note— 

me?— that most are affected to these. 



-. «™ "«»i ctic ctueuiea to tnese. 
Arm How hast thou purchased this experience ? 
Moth. JJy my penny of observation. 
Arm. But O,— but O — ' 
Moth. 'The hobby-horse is forgot.' o D 

Arm Callest thou my love ' hobby-horse ' ? 
Moth No master ; the hobby-horse is but a 
colt and your love perhaps a hackney. But have 
you forgot your love ? 
Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart 
Ar?n. By heart and in heart, boy 
Moth. And out of heart, master: all those 
three 1 will prove. 
Ar?n. What wilt thou prove ? 4 o 

Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and 
without, upon the instant : by heart vou love her 
because your heart cannot come by her ; in heart 
you love her, because your heart is in love with 
her ; and out of heart you love her, being out of 
heart that you cannot enjoy her. 
Arm. I am all these three. 
Moth And three times as much more, and 
yet nothing at all. 

Arm. Fetch hither the swain : he must carry 
me a letter. _ 

Moth A message well sympathized ; a horse 
to be ambassador for an ass. 
Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou? 
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon 
the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go 
Arm. The way is but short : away ! 
Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 
Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
nJ? 1 a metal heav Y> dull, and slow ? Go 

Mot/i. Minime, honest master; or rather 

master, no. 
Arm. I say lead is slow. 

t 3 /u L \ j , You are t0 ° swift ' s ' r > t0 say so : 

Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? 
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! 

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that 'she ■ 

1 shoot thee at the swain. 
Moth. Thump then and I flee. [Exit 

A rm A most acute Juvenal ; volable and free 
of grace ! 

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thv 
face : J 

Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place 

My herald is return 'd. ' 

Re-efiter Moth with Costard. 
Moth A wonder, master! here's a costard 

broken in a shin. 
Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, thv 

1 envoy ; begin. 

+!,Sf* N m e .S m ^ nor:ddl e.norenvoy;nosalve 

tin the mail, srr :Q, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ' 

no 1 envoy no 1 envoy,- nosalve.sir, butaplantain ! 

Arm. By virtue, thou enforces! laughter ; thy 



silly thought my spleen ; the heaving of my tones 
provokes me to ridiculous smiling O pardon 
me my stars ! Doththe inconsiderate takeTalve 

^s oy b a n i the word j- e ? voy for a saive ' so 

itvo^asa^" *** ^ <**« is «* 

/^"mak;S : k " anePil0 ^ e ° r diSC ° UrSe > 
Some^obscure precedence that hath tofore been 
I will example it : 

The fox the ape and the humble-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but three 
There's the moral. Now the l'envov 
agato * Wl11 add the l'envoy. Say the moral 

Arm. The fox the ape, the humble-bee, qo 

Moth U , r f f 11 at odds > bein S b "t three. 
Moth. Until the goose came out of door 

w „, .„^ r i d sta y' d the odds by adding four. 

2* SiiJSK your,nora1 ' aad do you fo,w 

The fox the ape and the humble-bee 
A™ ^ere still at odds, being but three. ' 
Arm. Until the goose came out of door 
nr *i ^p m S the odds by adding four. 

JrJ - 00d ^yoy, ending in the goose: 

wo^icl you desire more ? 

C 7thJs jfej? hath S0M hIm a bargain ' ag0 ° Is ° e ' 

To'sell 1 ! P w"r° rth n is - SOod ' an your S oose *>*&*■ 
loose 1S aS ° Unning as fast aild 

LC i^ S£ r '' a fa f r f nVOy : ay > that ' s a fa t goose. 
Arm. Come hither, come hither. Hot did 
this argument begin? ' 

M °in a shin ^"^ ^ ^ ^^ WaS broken 
Then call'd you for the l'envoy. 

Cost. True, and I for a plantain: thus came 
your argument in; 

bought?' 5 fat renvoy ' the goose that y° u 

And he ended the market. 

brl^in a E sniiS n ""'' ^ "" *« a C °^ d 
Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 

spe^lhaUWy: D ° **»*«'*• Moth: * will 
I Costard, running out, that was safelv within, 
Fell over the threshold, and broke my' shin 
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
Lost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee 
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances: I smell 
some 1 envoy, some goose, in this 

Arm By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee 
at liberty, enfreedom.ng thy person : thou wert 
immured, restrained, captivated, bound 

Cost True, true; and now you will be my 

purgation and let me loose. y 

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from 

durance; and in lieu thereof, impose on thee 

nothing but this: bear this significant [giving a 

letter\ to the country maid Jaquenetta : there is 

remuneration; for the best ward of mine honour 

is reward.ngmy dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 

Moth Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, 

adieu. ' 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



i43 



Cost. My s\Teet ounce of mans flesh I m} 
incony Jew ! . &*** Moth - 

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera- 
tion 1 O, that's the Latin word for three farthings : 
hree faAhings-remuneration -'What s the price 
of this inkier'-' One penny.'-' No, I'U give you 
a remuneration:' why, it carries it. Remunera- 
tion ' wh ; it is a fairer name than French crown. 
I will never buy and sell out of this word. 



Enter Biron. 

Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceed- 
nelv well met. . ... 

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon 
Lay a man buy for a remuneration? 

Biron What is a remuneration ? 

Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. *49 

Biron Why, then, three-farthin ; w< trth of silk. 

Cost. I thank your worship : God be wi you . 

Biron. Stav, slave ; I must employ thee : 
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, 
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. _ 

Cost. When would you have it done, sir r 

Biron. This afternoon. 

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well. 

Biron. Thau knowest not what it is. 

Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. 

Biron Why, villain, thou must know first. 1O0 

Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow 

m °Bi™on. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, 

slave, it is but this: . 

The princess comes to hunt here m the park, 

And in her train there is a gentle lady : 

When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her 

name, , 

And Rosaline they call her: ask for her; 
And to her white hand see thou do commend 169 
This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon : go. 
{Giving kim a shilling. 
Cost Gardon, O sweet gardon ! better than 
remuneration, a 'leven-pence farthing better : most 
sweet gardon ! I will do it, sir, in print. Gardon .. 
Remuneration! \ *■*"' 

Biron. And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have 
been love's whip ; . 

A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable; 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy ; 
Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 180 

This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy ; 
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ; 
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, _ 
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, 
Sole imperator and great general 
Of trotting 'paritors :— O my little heart .— 
And I to be a corpora! of his field, 
And wear his colours like a tumbler s_hoop . 190 
What, I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! 
A woman, that is like a German clock, 
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame, 
And never going aright, being a watch, 
But being watch'd that it may still go right ! 
Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all; 
And, among three, to love the worst of all ; 
A wightly wanton with a velvet brow, 
With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 



Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed 200 

Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard : 

And L to sigh for her! to watch for her! 

To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 

That Cupid will impose for my neglect 

Of his almighty dreadful liuic might. 

Well, 1 will luve, write, sigh, pray, sue and 

groan : 
Some men must love my lady and some J oan. 

\_Lxit. 

ACT IV. 



Scene I. The same. 

Enter the Princess, and her train, a Forester, 
. Rosaline, Maria, «>^Katha 
Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his 
horse so hard 
A-ainst the steep uprising of the hill. 

Boyet 1 know not ; but I think it was not he. 
Prin. Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting 
mind. , 

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch : 
On Saturday we will return to France. 
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush 
That we must stand ami play the murder 1 

For. Hereby, upon tiie edge ot yonder cop- 

A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. 10 
Prin I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, 
And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. 
For Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 
Prin. What, what? first praise me and again 
sav no r ' 
O short-lived pride ! Not fair? alack for woe ! 
For. Yes, madam, fair. 

Pritt, Nay, never paint me now : 

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
Here, good mv glass, take this for telling true : 
Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
For Nothing but fair is that which you in- 
herit. .„ . , ?° 
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be saved by 
merit ! 
O heresy in fair, fit for these days ! 
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. 
But come, the bow : now mercy goes to kill, 
And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
Thus will I save my credit in the si 
Not woundinsr, pity would not let me do t ; 
If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. 
And out of question so it is sometimes, 
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, 
When, for fame's sake, for pra.se, an outward 

We bend 'to that the working of the heart ; 

As I for praise alone now seek to spill 

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no 

Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self- 
sovereignty . 
Only for praise sake, when they strive to be 
Lords o'er their lords? 
Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may 
afford 
To anv lady th?t subdues a lord. 40 
Boyet. Here comes a member of the common- 
wealth. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act iv. 



Enter Costard. 

Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Pray you, which 
is the head lady? 

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the 
rest that have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? 

Prin. The thickest and the tallest. 

Cost. The thickest and the tallest ! it is so ; 
truth is truth. 
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my 

wit, 
One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should 
be fit. 50 

Are not you the chief woman? you are the 
thickest here. 

Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your 
will? 

Cost. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to 
one Lady Rosaline. 

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter! he's a good 
friend of mine : 
.Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve ; 
Break up this capon. 

Boyet. I am bound to serve. 

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ; 
It is writ to Jaquenetta. 

Prin. We will read it, I swear. 

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give 

ear. 59- 

Boyet [reads], 'By heaven, that thou art fair, 
is most infallible ; true, that thou art beauteous ; 
truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer 
than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than 
truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical 
vassal ! The magnanimous and most illustrate 
king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and 
indubitate beggar Zenelophon ; and he it was 
that might rightly say, Veni, vidi, vici ; which to 
annothanize in the vulgar, — O base and obscure 
vulgar ! — videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame : 
he came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who 
came? the king: why did he come? to see: why 
did he see? to overcome: to whom came he? to 
the beggar : what saw he ? the beggar : who over- 
came he? the beggar. The conclusion is victory: 
on whose side? the king's. The captive is en- 
riched: on whose side? the beggar's. The cata- 
strophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the king's: 
no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the 
king ; for so stands the comparison : thou the 
beggar ; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I 
command thy love? I may: shall I enforce thy 
love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I will. 
What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for 
tittles? titles; for thyself ? me. Thus, expecting 
thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes 
on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. 
Thine, in the dearest design of industry, 

Don Adriano de Armado.' 
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 90 

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his 
prey. 
Submissive fall his princely feet before, 

And he from forage will incline to play: 
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? 
Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 

Prin. What plume of feathers is he that in- 
dited this letter? 



What vane? what weathercock? did you ever 
hear better? 
Boyet. I am much deceived but I remember 

the style. 
Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er 

it erewhile. 
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps 
here in court ; 100 

A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes 

sport 
To the prince and his bookmates. 

Prin. Thou fellow, a word : 

Who gave thee this letter? 

Cost. I told you ; my lord. 

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? 
Cost. From my lord to my lady. 

Prin. From which lord to which lady? 
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of 
mine, 
To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. 
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, 
lords, away. 
[To Bos.] Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be 
thine another day. 

[Exeunt Princess and train. 
Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor ? 
Ros. Shall I teach you to know? no 

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. 

Finely put off! 
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if 
thou marry, 
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year mis- 
carry. 
Finely put on ! 
Ros. Well, then, I am the shooter. 
Boyet. And who is your deer ? 

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself 
come not near. 
Finely put on, indeed ! 
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and 

she strikes at the brow. 
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : have I 
hit her now? 120 

Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old say- 
ing, that was a man when King Pepin of France 
was a little boy, as touching the hit it? 

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as 
old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of 
Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. 
Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, 

Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 

An I cannot, another can. 130 

[Exezint Ros. and Kath. 

Cost. By my troth, most pleasant : how both 

did fit it ! ' 
Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they 

both did hit it. 
Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ! A 
mark, says my lady ! 
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it 
may be. 
Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! i' faith, your 

hand is out. 
Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll 

ne'er hit the clout. 
Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike 
your hand is in. 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



i45 



Cost. Then will she get the upshoot by cleav- 
ing the pin. 
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily; your 

lips grow foul. 

Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: 

challenge her to bowl. 140 

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, 

my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. 

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple 

clown ! 

Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him 

down ! 
O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vul- 
gar wit ! 
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as 

it were, so fit. 
Armado o' th' one side, — O, a most dainty man ! 
To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan ! 
To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly 

a' will swear ! 

And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit ! 

Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 150 

Sola, sola 1 {Shout within. 

[Exit Costard, running. 

Scene II. The same. 

-C«/ t '?"HOLOFERNES, SlR NATHANIEL, <7«rfDuLL. 

Nath. Very reverend sport, truly ; and done 
in the testimony of a good conscience. 

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in 
blood ; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth 
like a jewel in the ear of caelo, the sky, the wel- 
kin, the heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab on 
the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth. 

Nath. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets 
are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: 
but. sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 11 

Dull. 'Twas not a haud'credo ; 'twas a pricket. 

Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind 
of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of expli- 
cation; facere, as it were, replication, or rather, 
ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, 
after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, 
unpruned, untrained, or rather, unlettered, or 
ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to insert again 
my haud credo for a deer. 20 

Dull. I said the deer was not a haud credo ; 
'twas a pricket. 

Hoi. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coc~tus ! 
O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost 
thou look ! 

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties 
that are bred in a book ; 
he hath not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not 
drunk ink : his intellect is not replenished ; he is 
only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts : 
And such barren plants are set before us, that we 

thankful should be, 
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts 
that do fructify in us more than he. 30 

For as it would ill become me to be vain, indis- 
creet, or a fool, 
So were there a patch set on learning, to see 

him in a school : 
But omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's 

mind, 
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind. 



Dull. You two are book-men : can you tell me 
by your wit 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that 's not 
five weeks old as yet? 

Hoi. Dictynna, goodman Dull ; Diclynna, 
good man Dull. 

Dull. What is Ditfynna ? 

Nath, A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 

Hoi. The moon was a month old when Adam 

was no more, 40 

And raught not to five weeks when he came to 

five-score. 
The allusion holds in the exchange. 

Dull. 'Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds in 
the exchange. 

Hoi. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the 
allusion holds in the exchange. 

Dull. And I say, the pollusion holds in the 
exchange ; for the moon is never but a month 
old : and I say beside that, 'twas a pricket that 
the princess killed. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extem- 
poral epitaph on the death of the deer? And, to 
humour the ignorant, call I the deer the princess 
killed a pricket. 

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge ; 
so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 

Hoi. I will something affect the letter, for it 
argues facility. 

The preyful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty 
pleasing pricket ; 

Some say a sore ; but not a sore, till now made 
sore with shooting. 
The dogs did yell : put l to sore, then sorel jumps 
from thicket ; 60 

Or pricket sore, or else sorel ; the people fall 
a-hooting. 
If sore be sore, then l to sore makes fifty sores 

one sorel. 
Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but 
one more l. 

Nath. A rare talent ! 

Dull. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how 
he claws him with a talent. 

Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; 
a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, 
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, 
revolutions : these are begot in the ventricle of 
memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, 
and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. 
But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, 
and I am thankful for it. 

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you : and so 
may my parishioners ; for their sons are well 
tutored'by you, and their daughters profit very 
greatly under you : you are a good member of 
the commonwealth. 

Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, 
they shall want no instruction ; if their daughters 
be capable, I will put it to them : but vir sapit 
qui pauca loquitur ; a soul feminine saluteth us. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 

7aq. God give you good morrow, master Parson. 

Hoi. Master Parson, quasi person. An if 
one should be pierced, which is the one? 

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is 
Iikest to a hogshead. 



10 



i + 6 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act iv. 



Hoi. Piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of 
conceit in a tuft of earth ; fire enough for a flint, 
pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it is well. 

Jaq. Good master Parson, be so good as read 
me this letter : it was given me by Costard, and 
sent me from Don Armado : I beseech you, read it. 
Hoi. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne 
sub umbra Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good 
old Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as the tra- 
veller doth of Venice ; 

Venetia, Venetia, 

Chi non ti vede non ti pretia. ioo 

Old Mantuan, old Mantuan ! who understandeth 
thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. 
Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or 
rather, as Horace says in his — What, my soul, 
verses ? 

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 
Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse ; 
lege, domine. 

Nath. [reads] 
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 
love ? 
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty 
vow'd ! no 

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 faithful 
prove ; 
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like 
osiers bow'd. 
Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine 
eyes, 
Where all those pleasures live that art would 
comprehend : 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall 
suffice ; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
commend, 
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without 
wonder ; 
Which is to me some praise that I thy parts 
admire : 
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his 
dreadful thunder, 
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet 
fire. 120 

Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong, 
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 
Hoi. You find not the apostraphas, and so 
miss the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. 
Here are only numbers ratified ; but, for the 
elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, 
caret. Ovidius Naso was the man : and why, 
indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous 
flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari 
is nothing : so doth the hound his master, the 
ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, 
damosella virgin, was this directed to you ? 

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one 
of the strange queen's lords. 

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript : ' To 
the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady 
Rosaline.' I will look again on the intellect of 
the letter, for the nomination of the party writing 
to the person written unto : ' Your ladyship's in 
all desired employment, Biron.' Sir Nathaniel, 
this Biron is one of the votaries with the king ; 
and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of 
the stranger queen's, which accidentally, or by 



the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip 
and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the 
royal hand of the king : it may concern much. 
Stay not thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty : 
adieu. 

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save 
your life ! 150 

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 

[Exeunt Cost, and, yaq. 

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of 
God, very religiously ; and, as a certain father 
saith, — 

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear 
colourable colours. But to return to the verses : 
did they please you, Sir Nathaniel 1 

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a cer- 
tain pupil of mine ; where, if, before repast, it 
shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, 
I will, on my privilege I have with the parents 
of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your 
ben venuto ; where I will prove those verses to be 
very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, 
nor invention : I beseech your society. 

Nath. And thank you too ; for society, saith 
the text, is the happiness of life. 

Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly 
concludes it. [To Dull] Sir, I do invite you 
too ; you shall not say me nay : pauca verba. 
Away ! the gentles are at their game, and we 
will to our recreation. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. 
Etiter Biron, •with a paper. 
Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am 
coursing myself : they have pitched a toil ; I am 
toiling in a pitch, — pitch that defiles : defile ! a 
foul word. Well, set jhee down, sorrow ! for so 
they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the 
fool: well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love 
is as mad as Ajax : it kills sheep ; it kills me, I a 
sheep : well proved again o' my side ! I will not 
love : if I do, hang me ; i' faith, I will not, O, 
but her eye, — by this light, but for her eye, I 
would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, 
I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my 
throat. By heaven, I do love : and it hath taught 
me to rhyme and to be melancholy ; and here is 
part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. 
Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already : the 
clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath 
it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady ! 
By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other 
three were in. Here comes one with a paper : 
God give him grace to groan ! [Stands aside. 20 

E7iter the King, with a paper. 

King. Ay me ! 

Biron. [Aside] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, 
sweet Cupid : thou hast thumped him with thy 
bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets ! 

King [reads]. 
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have 
smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows : 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 30 



Scene hi.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light ; 

Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep : 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; 

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 

And they thy glory through my grief will show : 
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 40 
O queen of queens ! how far dost thou excel, 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. 
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the 

paper : 
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here ? 
[Steps aside. 
What, Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. 

Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool 
appear ! 

Enter Longaville, with a paper. 

Long. Ay me, I am forsworn ! 
Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, 
wearing papers. 

King. In love, I hope : sweet fellowship in 

shame ! 
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the 
name. 50 

Long. Am I the first that have been per- 
jured so? 
Biron. I could put thee in comfort. Not by 
two that I know : 
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of 

society, 
The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up sim- 
plicity. 
Lou*. I fear these stubborn lines lack power 
to move. 
O sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. 
Biron. O, rhymes are guards on wanton 
Cupid's hose : 
Disfigure not his slop. 

Long. This same shall go. [Reads. 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 60 
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 

Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 
Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost 
shine, 
Exhalest this vapour-vow; in thee it is: 70 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine : 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To lose an oath to win a paradise? 

Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes 
flesh a deity, 
A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. 
God amend us, God amend ! we are much out o' 
the way. 
Long. By whom shall I send this?— Com- 
pany ! stay. [Steps aside. 
Biron. All hid, all hid; an old infant play. 
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, 
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 80 



More sacks to the mill ! O heavens, I have my 
wish ! 

Enter Dr. ma ix, with a paper. 
Dumain transform'd ! four woodcocks in a dish ! 
Dum. O most divine Kate ! 
Biron. O most profane coxcomb ! 
Dum. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye ! 
Biron. By earth, she is not, corporal, there 

you lie. 
Dum. Her amber hair for foul hath amber 

quoted. 
Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well 

noted. 
Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
Biron. Stoop, I say ; 

Her shoulder is with child. 
Dum. As fair as day. 90 

Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun 

must shine. 
Dum. O that I had my wish ! 
Long. And I had mine ! 

King. And I mine too, good Lord ! 
Biron. Amen, so I had mine: is not that a 

good word ? 
Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
Reigns in my blood and will remember'd be. 
Biron. A fever in your blood! why, then 
incision 
Would let her out in saucers : sweet misprision ! 
Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I 

have writ. 
Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can 
vary wit. 100 

Dum. [reads] 

On a day — alack the day ! — 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 
Playing in the wanton air: 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, can passage find ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
Air, would I might triumph so! no 

But, alack, my hand is sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn ; 
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet ! 
Do not call it sin in me, 
That I am forsworn for thee ; 
Thou for whom Jjve would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 120 

This will I send and something else more plain, 
That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville, 
Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill, 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note ; 
For none offend where all alike do dote. 
Long, [advancing]. Dumain, thy love is far 
from charity, 
That in love's grief desirest society : 
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, 
To be o'erheard and taken napping so. 130 

King [advancing]. Come, sir, you blush ; as 
his your case is such; 
You chide at him, offending twice as much; 



IO — 2 



148 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



You do not love Maria ; Longaville 

Did never sonnet for her sake compile, 

Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 

His loving bosom to keep down his heart. 

I have been closely shrouded in this bush 

And mark'd you both and for you both did blush : 

I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion, 
baw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion ■ 
Ay me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries; 141 
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : 

II o Long.] \ou would for paradise break faith 

and troth ; 

[To Than.] And Jove, for your love, would in- 
fringe an oath. 

What will Biron say when that he shall hear 

Haif-h eft m A-."«~«,4 _..U* L. i_ l-i-i 



[Act iv. 



Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear? 

How will he scorn ! how will he spend his wit ' 

How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it ' 

For all the wealth that ever I did see, 

I would not have him know so much by me ico 
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. 

ai_ , ,. -r [Advancing. 

An, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me 1 

Oood heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 

1 hese worms for loving, that art most in love ? 

Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears 

I here is no certain princess that appears; 

You 11 not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing; 

lush, none but minstrels like of sonneting ' 

But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not, 
All three of you, lo be thus much o'ershot? 160 

You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; 

cut 1 a beam do find in each of three. 
O, what a scene of foolery have I seen, 
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen ' 
O me, with what stria patience have I sat 
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
To see great Hercules whipping a gig, 
And profound Solomon to tune a jig, 
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys 
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! T70 

Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain? 
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain' 
And where my liege's? all about the breast: 
A caudle, ho ! 

King. Too bitter is thy jest. 

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? 

Biron. Not you to me, but I betray'd by you ■ 
L that am honest; I, that hold it sin 
To break the vow I am engaged in ; 
I am betray'd, by keeping company 
{With men like men of inconstancy. j8o 

When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme' 
Or groan for love ? or spend a minute's time 
In pruning me ? When shall you hear that I 
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist ' 
A leg, a limb? 

King. Soft ! whither away so fast? 

A true man or a thief that gallops so? 

Biron. I post from love : good lover, let.me go. 
Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 

Jag. God bless the king ! 

King. What present hast thou there? 

Lost, borne certain treason. 

King. . What makes treason here? 100 

Lost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 

Kln S- If it mar nothing neither, 



The treason and you go in pe?ce away together 
Jaq 1 beseech your grace, let this lettei 
be read: 

Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said 
King. Biron, read it over. 

w < , , , . [Giving him the pater. 

Where hadst thou it? 
Jaq. Of Costard. 
King. Where hadst thou it? 
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 
tr . u [Biron tears the letter. 

King. How now! what is in you? why dost 
thou tear it? ' 2QQ 

Biron A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace 

needs not fear it. 
Long. Tt did move him to passion, and there- 
fore let's hear it. 
Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his 
name [Gathering up the pieces. 

Biron [To Costard} Ah, you whoreson log- 
gerhead ! you were born to do me shame. 
Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess. 
King. What? 

Biron That you three fools lack'd me fool to 
make up the mess : 
He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I, 
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to 'die 
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more 
Own. Now the number is even. 

wmw£"' . , , True, true; we are four. 

WiH these turtles be gone? 

^ in §' nr ,, • , Hence, sirs ; away ! 

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the 
traitors stay. 

• [Exewit Costard and Jaquenetta. 
Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us 

embrace ! 
As true we are as flesh and blood can be • 
I he sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face ; 

Young blood doth not obey an old decree- 
We cannot cross the cause why we were born ■ 
1 nerefore of all hands must we be forsworn ' 
King. What, did these rent lines show some 
love of thine? 22Q 

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the 
heavenly Rosaline, 
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde 

At the first opening of the gorgeous east, 
cows not his vassal head and strucken blind 

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast' 
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
I hat is not blinded by her majesty' 
King. ^What zeal, wh £ - 1 fury hath inspired thee 

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; 2 , 
bhe an attending star, scarce seen a light. 

Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron : 
O but for my love, day would turn to night I 

Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty ' 

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, 
wu 6 several worthies make one dignity 
Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek 

Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues — ' 
Fie, painted rhetoric ! O, she need! it not : 

J. o things of sale a seller's praise belongs, 240 

bhe passes praise ; then praise too short doth 

blot. 

A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn 



Scene hi.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



149 



Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: 
Beauty doth varnish age. as if new-born, 

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy: 
O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine. 

King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine ! 

A wife of such wood were felicity. 
O, who can give an oath? where is a book? 250 

That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, 
If that she learn not of her eye to look : 

No face is fair that is not full so black. 
King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell, 

The hue of dungeons and the suit of night ; 
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 
Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits 
* of light. 
O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd, 

It mourns that painting and usurping hair 
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 260 

And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
Her favour turns the fashion of the days, 

For native blood is counted painting now; 
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 

Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
Dum. To look like her are chimney-sweepers 
black. 
Long. And since her time are colliers counted 
bright. 
King. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion 
crack. 
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is 
light. ; . . 

Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in ram, 

For fear tfceir colours should be wash'd away. 
King. 'Twere good, yours did'; for, sir, to tell 
you plain, 
I '11 find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. 
Biron. I '11 prove her fair, or talk till doomsday 
here. 
King. No devil will fright thee then so much 
as she. 
Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. 
Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her 
face see. 
Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine 
eyes, 
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
Dum. O vile ! then, as she goes, what upward 
lies 280 

The street should see as she walk'd overhead. 
King. But what of this? are we not all in luve? 
Biron. Nothing so sure; and thereby all for- 
sworn. 
King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Biron, 
now prove 
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 
Dum. Ay, marry, there ; some flattery for this 
evil. 
Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. 
Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
Biron. Tis more than need. 

Have at you, then, affections men at arms. 290 
Consider what you first did swear unto, 
To fast, to study, and to see no woman ; 
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young; 
And abstinence engenders maladies. 
And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 



In that each of you have forsworn his book, 
Can you still dream and pore and thereon look? 
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, 
Have found the ground of study's excellence 300 
Without the beauty of a woman's face? 
[From women's eyes this doctrine I derive; 
They are the ground, the books, the academes 
From whence doth spring the true Promethean 

fire.] 
Why, universal plodding poisons up 
The nimble spirits in the arteries, 
As motion and long-during action tires 
The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
You have in that forsworn the use of eyes 310 
And study too, the causer of your vow; 
For where is any author in the world 
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? 
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself 
And where we are our learning likewise is: 
Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, 
Do we not likewise see our learning there? 
O, we have made a vow to study, lords, 
And in that vow we have forsworn our books. 
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
In leaden contemplation have found out 321 

Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes 
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with? 
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; 
And therefore, finding barren practisers, 
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil : 
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
But, with the motion of all elements, 
Courses as swift as thought in every power, 330 
And gives to every power a double power, 
Above their functions and their offices. 
It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd : 
Love's feeling is more soft and sensible 
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in 

taste : 
For valour, is not Love a Hercules, 340 

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 
Subtle as Sphinx ; as sweet and musical 
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair: 
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the 

gods 
Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
Never durst poet touch a pen to write 
Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs ; 
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears 
And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 350 
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
They are the books, the arts, the academes, 
That show, contain and nourish all the world : 
Else none at all in ought proves excellent. 
Then fools you were these women to forswear, 
Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love, 
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men, 
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women, 
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, 360 
Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, 
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



It is religion to be thus forsworn, 

For charity itself fulfils the law, 

And who can sever love from charity ? 

King Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the 

field ! 
Biron. Advance your standards, and upon 
, them, lords ; 

! Pell-mell, down with them ! but be first advised 
In conflict that you get the sun of them. 
c , L ™ S- Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by : 
bhall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 
A tng. And win them too : therefore let us 
devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. 
Biron. First, from the park let us conduit 
them thither ; 
Then homeward every man attach the hand 
Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon 
We will with some strange pastime solace them 
buch as the shortness of the time can shape • 
* or revels, dances, masks and merry hours ' 
forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers 
A*»£ Away, away! no time shall be omitted 
Ihat will betime, and may by us be fitted 
Biron. Allons ! allons ! Sow'd cockle reap'd no 
corn ; 
And justice always whirls in equal measure • 
Ajgnt wenches may prove plagues to men for- 
sworn ; 
If so, our copper buys no better treasure. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 
Scene I. The same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and 

Dull. 
Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 

Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons 
at dinner have been sharp and sententious- 
pleasant without scurrility, witty withoutaffeftion 
audacious without impudency, learned without 
opinion, and strange without heresy. I did con- 
verse this quondam day with a companion of the 
king s who is intituled, nominated, or called 
JJon Adnano de Armado. 

• Ho c l - ^. ovi hominem tanquam te : his humour 
is lolty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue 
hied, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and 
his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and 
thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too 
anected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as 
1 may call it. 
Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 
„ . TT , , Wraws out his table-book. 

Hoi He draweth out the thread of his ver- 
bosity finer than the staple of his argument I 
abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such insociable 
and point-devise companions ; such rackers of 
orthography as to speak dout, fine, when he 
should say doubt; det, when he should pro- 
nounce debt,-d e, b, t, not d, e, t : he clepeth a 
calf cauf ; half, hauf ; neighbour vocatur nebour ■ 
neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable,- 
which he would call abbominable : it insinuated 
tme of insanie: anne intelligis, domine? to make 
irantic, lunatic. 

Nath. Laus Deo, bene intelligo. so 



[Act v. 

Hoi Bon, bon, fort bon, Priscian ! a little 
scratched, 'twill serve. 

Nath. Videsne quis venit? 
Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 

E7iter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 

ifn? ' n Chirm t- ! u [To Moth. 

Hoi. Quare chirrah, not sirrah ? 

Ar7n. Men of peace, well encountered. 

Hoi Most military sir, salutation. 

Moth. [Aside to Costard} They have been 

rfJ n aS l° f ,a 1 n - ua g es - and ^\L the scraps 
baskeJ of ' A* 7 T aVe Jiv , ed lon S °n the alms- 
eSr fthi f • I , ma 7 el l h y mas ^r hath not 
hi X, if S° r a Y ° rd ; f0r thou art not so !ohg 
by the_ head as hononficabilitudinitatibus ; thou 
art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. 
Moth. Peace ! the peal begins. 

letfered? ^ "^ Monsieur > ^ you not 
booW^Ww 5 -' yCS i he t ? 3C . heS b °y s the h orn- 

I horn n V L '"l^' b ' Spdt back ^rd, with the 

norn on his head ? 

Hoi Ba, pueritia, with a horn added 5I 

Moth. Ba most silly sheep with a horn. You 
hear his learning. 

Hoi. Quis, quis, thou consonant? 

Moth The third of the five vowels, if you 
repeat them ; or the fifth, if I. ' y ° U 

Hoi. I will repeat them.— a, e i — 
it,— ofu ThS SheCP: theother ^ vo concludes 
Arm. Now, by the salt wave of fhe Medite^ 
raneum, a sweet touch, a quick venue of wit ' 

fnrenV^' qU1 - k , and h ° me ! il re Joiceth my 
intellect : true wit ! * 

is wk-o1'd° ffered ^ a Child t0 an ° Id man ; whlch 
Hoi What is the figure ? what is the figure ? 
Moth. Horns. 

tii H °W Th ° U disputest like ^ infant = So, whip 

t M -u\- Le I ld me your horn t0 ma ke one, and 
1 will whip about your infamy circum circa,— a 
gig of a cuckold's horn. 

^ C ° St l fi 1 J ^ ad b - ut one P enn y in the world, 
thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold 
there is the very remuneration I had of thy 
master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon- 
egg of discretion. O, an the heavens were so 
pleased that thou wert but my bastard, what a 
joyful father wouldst thou make me ! Go to ■ 
thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends as 
they say. 

Hoi. O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for 
unguem. s 

Arm Arts-man preambulate, we will be sin- 
gled from the barbarous. Do you not educate 
youth at the charge-house on the top of the 
mountain? v 

Hoi. Or mons, the hill. 

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. 

Hoi. 1 do, sans question. qi 

»d Z%'^ SiT ' k is the kin - s most sweet pleasure 
and affection to congratulate the princess at her 
pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the 
rude multitude call the afternoon. 
Ho1 - The posterior of the day, most generous 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



sir, is liable, congruent and measurable for the 
afternoon : the word is well culled, chose, sweet 
and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and 
my familiar, I do assure ye, very good friend: 
for what is inward between us, let it pass. I do 
beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ; I beseech 
thee, apparel thy head : and among other im- 
portant and most serious designs, and of great 
import indeed, too, but let that pass : for I must 
tell thee, it will please his grace, by the world, 
sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and 
with his royal finger, thus, dally with my excre- 
ment, with my mustachio ; but, sweet heart, let 
that pass. By the world, I recount no fable : 
some certain special honours it pleaseth his 
greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man 
of travel, that hath seen the world ; but let that 
pass. The very all of all is, — but, sweet heart, I 
do implore secrecy, — that the king would have 
me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some 
delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or 
antique, or firework. Now, understanding that 
the curate and your sweet self are good at such 
eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth, as 
it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end 
to crave your assistance. 

Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine 
Worthies. Sir, as concerning some entertainment 
of time, some show in the posterior of this day, 
to be rendered by our assistants, at the king's 
command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and 
learned gentleman, before the princess ; I say 
none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies. 130 

Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough 
to present them ? 

Hoi. t Joshua, yourself ; myself and this gal- 
lant gentleman, Judas Maccabseus ; this swain, 
because of his great limb or joint, shall pass 
Pompey the Great ; the page, Hercules, — 

Arm. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity 
enough for that Worthy's thumb : he is not so big 
as the end of his club. 

Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall present 
Hercules in minority : his enter and exit shall be 
strangling a snake ; and I will have an apology 
for that purpose. 

Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the 
audience hiss, you may cry 'Well done, Hercu- 
les ! now thou crushest the snake !' that is the 
way to make an offence gracious, though few 
have the grace to do it. 

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies? — 

Hoi. I will play three myself. 150 

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman ! 

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? 

Hoi. We attend. 
. Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an an- 
tique. I beseech you, follow. 

Hoi. Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken 
no word all this while. 

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 

Hoi. Allons ! we will employ thee. 

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I 
will play 160 

On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them 
dance the hay. 

Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull ! To our sport, 
away ! [Exeunt. 



Scene II. The sa me. 

Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, 
and Maria. 
Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we 
depart, 
If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! 
Look you what I have from the loving king. 
Ros. Madame, came nothing else along with 

that ? 
Prin. Nothing but this ! yes, as much love in 
rhyme 
As w<mld be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all, 
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 

Ros. That was the way to make his godhead 

wax, 10 

For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 

Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 

Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him ; a' kill'd 

your sister. 
Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and 
heavy ; 
And so she died : had she been light, like you, 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 
She might ha' been a grandam ere she died : 
And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. 
Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this 

light word ? 
Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 20 
Ros. We need more light to find your meaning 

out. 
Kath. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff; 
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument. 
Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the 

dark. 
Kath. So do not you, for you are a light wench. 
Ros. Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore 

^ light. 
Kath. You weigh me not? O, that's you care 

not for me/ 
Ros. Great reason ; for 'past cure is still past 

care.' 
Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well 
play'd. 
But, Rosaline, you have a favour too : 30 

Who sent it ? and what is it ? 

Ros. I would you knew : ■ 

An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
My favour were as great ; be witness this. 
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron : 
The numbers true ; and, were the numbering too, 
I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. 
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! 
Prin. Any thing like ? 

Ros. Much in the letters ; nothing in the praise. 
Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 41 
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
Ros. 'Ware pencils, ho ! let me not die your 
debtor, 
My red dominical, my golden letter: 
O that your face were not so full of O's ! 
' Kath. A pox of that jest ! and I beshrew alL 

shrows. 
Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you 

from fair Dumain? 
Kath. Madam, this glove. 



152 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act v. 



Prin. Did he not send you twain ? 

Kath. Yes, madam, and moreover 
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover, 50 

A huge translation of hypocrisy, 
Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. 

Mar. This and these pearls to me sent Lon- 
gaville : 
The letter is too long by half a mile. 

Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in 
heart 
The chain were longer and the letter short ? 
Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never 

part. 
Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. 
Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mock- 
ing so. 
That same Biron I '11 torture ere I go : 60 

that I knew he were but in by the week ! 
How I would make him fawn and beg and seek 
And wait the season and observe the times 
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes 
And shape his service wholly to my hests 

And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! 
tSo perttaunt-like would I o'ersway his state 
That he should be my fool and I his fate. 

Prin. None are so surely caught, when they 
are catch'd, 
As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 70 
Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such 
excess 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note 
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; 
Since all the power thereof it doth apply 
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his 
face. 

Enter Boyet. 
Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ! Where's 
her grace ? 80 

Prin. Thy news, Boyet? 
Boyet, Prepare, madam, prepare ! 

Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
Against your peace : Love doth approach dis- 
guised, 
Armed in arguments; you'll be surprised: 
Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 
Prin. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid ! What are 
they 
That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, 
say. 
Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sysamore 

1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour ; 
When, lo ! to interrupt my purposed rest, 91 
Toward that shade I might behold addrest 

The king and his companions : warily 
I stole into a neighbour thicket by, 
And overheard what you shall overhear ; 
That, by and by, disguised they will be here. 
Their herald is a pretty knavish page, „ 

That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage : 
Action and accent did they teach him there ; 
'Thus must thou speak,' and 'thus thy body bear :' 
And ever and anon they made a doubt 101 

Presence majestical would put him out ; 



'For,' quoth the king, 'an angel shalt thou see; 
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' 
The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil; 
I should have fear'd her had she been a devil. ' 
With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the 

shoulder, 
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder : 
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fieer'd and swore 
A better speech was never spoke before; no 

Another, with his finger and his thumb, 
Cried, 'Via! we will do't, come what will come;' 
The third he caper'd, and cried, 'AH goes well ;' 
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
With that, they all did tumble on the ground, 
With such a zealous laughter, so profound, 
That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. 

Prin. . But what, but what, come they to visit 
us? 

Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparell'd 
thus, 120 

Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess. 
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance ; 
And every one his love-feat will advance 
Unto his several mistress, which they'll know 
By favours several which they did bestow. 

Prin. And will they so ? the gallants shall be 
task'd ; 
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; 
And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. 
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, 130 
And then the king will court thee for his dear ; 
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, 
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. 
And change you favours too ; so shall your loves 
Woo contrary, deceived by these removes. 

Ros. Come on, then ; wear the favours most 
in sight. 

Kath. »But in this changing whatis your intent? 

Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs : 
They do it but in mocking merriment ; 
And mock for mock is only my intent. 140 

Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal 
Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
With visages display'd, to talk and greet. 

Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? 

Prin. No, to the death, we will not move a foot ; 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace, 
But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face. 

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speak- 
er's heart, 
And quite divorce his memory from his part. 150 

Prin. Therefore I do it ; and I make no doubt 
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown, 
To make theirs ours and ours none but our own : 
So shall we stay, mocking intended game, 
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
[ Trumpets sound within. 

Boyet. The trumpet sounds : be mask'd ; the 
maskers come. [ The Ladies mask. 

Enter Blackamoors with mttsic ; Moth; the 
King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in 
Rzissian habits, a?id masked. 
Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the 
earth ! — 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



153 



Boyct. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. 
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames. 160 
[The Ladies turn their backs to him. 
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views ! 
Biron. [Aside to Moth] Their eyes, villain, 

their eyes. 
Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal 
views ! — 
Out— 
Boyet. True ; out indeed. 
Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, 
vouchsafe 
Not to behold — 
Biron. [Aside to Moth] Once to behold, rogue. 
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed 
eyes, 

with your sun-beamed eyes — 

I Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; 
You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.' 171 
Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings 

me out. 
Biron. Is this your perfeclness ? be gone, you 
rogue ! [Exit Moth. 

Ros. What would these strangers? know their 
minds, Boyet : 
If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
I That some plain man recount their purposes : 
Know what they would. 
Boyet. What would you with the princess? 
Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. 
Ros. What would they, say they? 1S0 

Boyet. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. 
Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so 

be gone. 
Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be 

gone. 
King. Say to her, we have measured many 
miles 
To tread a measure with her on this grass. 

Boyet. They say, that they have measured 
many a mile 
To tread a measure with you on this grass. 

Ros. It is not so. Ask them how many inches 
Is in one mile : if they have measured many, 
The measure then of one is easily told. 190 

Boyet. If to come hither you have measured 
miles, 
And many miles, the princess bids you tell 
How many inches doth fill up one mile. 
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by wear}' 

steps. 
Boyet. She hears herself. 
Ros. How many weary steps, 

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
Are number'd in the travel of one mile? 

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for 
you : 
Our duty is so rich, so infinite, 
That we may do it still without accompt. 200 

Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, 
That we, like savages, may worship it. 

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds 
do! 
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to 

shine, 
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne. 

Ros. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. 



King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe 

one change. 

Thou bid'st me beg : this begging is not strange. 

Ros. Play, music, then! Nay, you must do 

it soon. [Music plays. 211 

Not yet ! no dance ! Thus change 1 like the 

moon. 

King. Will you not dance? How come you 

thus estranged f 
Ros. You took the moon at full, but now she's 

changed. 
King. Vet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 
Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
King. But your legs should do it. 

Ros. Since you are strangers and come here 
by chance, 
We'll not be nice: take hands. We will not 
dance. 
King. Why take we hands, then ? 
Eos. Only to part friends : 220 

Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. 
King. More measure of this measure ; be not 
nice. 
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
King. Prize you yourselves : what buys your 

company? 
Ros. Your absence only. 
King. That can never be. 

Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so, 
adieu ; 
Twice to your visor, and half once to you. 

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more 

chat. 
Ros. In private, then. 

King. I am best pleased with that 

[ They converse apart. 
Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word 



with thee. 



230 



Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there 

three. 
Biron. Nay then, two treys, and if you grow 
so nice, 
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey : well run, dice ! 
There's half-a-dozen sweets. 

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu: 

Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. 
Biron. One word in secret. 
Prin. Let it not be sweet. 

Biron. Thou grievest my gall. 
Prin. Gall ! bitter. 

Biron. Therefore meet. 

[ They converse apart. 
Du7tt. Will you vouchsafe with me to change 

a word? 
Mar. Name it. 
Dum. Fair lady, — 

Mar. Say you so? Fair lord,— 

Take that for your fair lady. 

Dum. Please it you, 240 

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. 

[They converse apart. 
Kath. What, was your vizard made without 

a tongue? 
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 
Kath, O for your reason ! quickly, sir; I long. 
Long. You have a double tongue within your 
mask, 
And would afford my speechless vizard half. 



154 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act v. 



Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 

'veal' a calf? 
Long, A calf, fair lady ! 
Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let's part the word. 
Kath. No, I'll not be your half: 

Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. 250 
Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these 
sharp mocks ! 
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. 
Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do 

grow. 

Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. 

Kath. Bleat softly then ; the butcher hears 

you cry. [ They converse apart. 

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are 

as keen 
As is the razor's edge invisible, 
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, 

Above the sense of sense ; so sensible 
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have 
wings 260 

Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swift- 
er things. 
Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break 

off, break off. 
Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure 

scoff! 
King. Farewell, mad wenches ; you have 

simple wits. 
Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. 
{Exeunt King, Lords, and Blackamoors. 
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? 
Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet 

breaths puff'd out. 
Ros. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, gross ; 

fat, fat. 
Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout ! 
I Will they not, think you, hang themselves to- 
night ? 270 
Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces ? 
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
Ros. O, they were all in lamentable cases! 
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 

Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : 
No point, quoth I ; my servant straight was 

mute. 
Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his 

heart ; 
And trow you what he called me? 
Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 

Kath. Yes, in good faith. 

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art ! 280 

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain sta- 
tute-caps. 
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. 
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith 

to me. 
Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. 
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give 
ear: 
Immediately they will again be here 
In their own shapes ; for it can never be 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 
Prin. Will they return ? 

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows, 290 
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 



Therefore change favours ; and, when theyrepair, 
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. 
Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be 

understood. 
Boyet. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their 
bud; 
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture 

shown, 
fAre angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 

Priii. A vaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do, 
If they return in their own shapes to woo? 

Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advised, 
Let's mock them still, as well known as disguised: 
Let us complain to them what fools were here, 
Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; 
And wonder what they were and to what end 
Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd 
And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are at 

hand. 
Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land. 
{Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine, and 
Maria. 

Re-enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 

Dumain, in their proper habits. 
King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where's the 
princess? 310 

Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your 
majesty 
Command me any service to her thither ? 
King. That she vouchsafe me audience for 

one word. 
Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my 
lord. {Exit. 

Biron. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons 
pease, 
And utters it again when God doth please : 
He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares 
At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs ; 
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, 
Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; 321 
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve ; 
A' can carve too, and lisp : why, this is he 
That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy ; 
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honourable terms: nay, he can sing 
A mean most meanly ; and in ushering 
Mend him who can : the ladies call him sweet ; 
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet : 
This is the flower that smiles on every one, 331 
To show his teeth as white as whale's bone ; 
And consciences, that will not die in debt, 
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 
King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my 
heart, 
That put Armado's page out of his part ! 
Biron. See where it comes ! Behaviour, what 
wert thou 
Till this madman show'd thee? and what art thou 
now? 

Re-enter the Princess, -ushered by Boyet ; Rosa- 
line, Maria, and Katharine. 
King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair 'time of 
day ! 



1 



■CENE II.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



i55 



J rin. ' Fair' in ' all hail' is foul, as I conceive. 
ting. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 
Prin. Then wish me better ; I will give you 
leave. 
Xing. We came to visit you, and purpose now 
To lead you to our court ; vouchsafe it then. 
y rin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold your 
vow: 
Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men. 
Ting. Rebuke me not for that which you pro- 
voke : 
' The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 
u rin. You nickname virtue ; vice you should 
have spoke ; 
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure 351 

1 As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
\\ world of torments though I should endure, 
I would not yield to be your house's guest ; 
'So much I hate a breaking cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
King. O, you have lived in desolation here, 

Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 
Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear; 

We have had pastimes here and pleasant game : 
A mess of Russians left us but of late. 361 

King. How, madam ! Russians ! 
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; 

Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. 
Ros. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my 
lord: 
My lady, to the manner of the days, 
In courtesy gives undeserving praise. 
We four indeed confronted were with four 
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour, 
And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, 
I They did not bless us with one happy word. 370 
I dare not call them fools; but this I think, 
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have 
drink. 
Biron. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle 
sweet, 
Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we 

greet, 
With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, 
1 'By light we lose light : your capacity 
J Is of that nature that to your huge store 
Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor. 
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my 

eye, — 
Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 380 
Ros. But that you take what doth to you 
belong, 
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess ! 
Ros. All the fool mine ? 

Biron. I cannot give you less. 

Ros. Which of the vizards was it that you 

wore ? 
Biron. Where? when? what vizard? why de- 
mand you this? 
Ros. There, then, that vizard ; that super- 
fluous case 
That hid the worse and show'd the better face. 
King. We are descried; they'll mock us now- 
downright. 
Dinn. Let us confess and turn it to a jest. 
Prin. Amazed, my lord? why looks your high- 
ness sad? 391 



Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! 
Why look you pale ? 
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 
Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for 

perjury. 
Can any face of brass hold longer out? 
Here stand I : lady, dart thy skiil at me ; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a 
flout; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my igno- 
rance ; 
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; 
And I will wish thee never more to dance, 400 

Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, 
Nor never come in vizard to my friend, 

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song ! 
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: 
I do forswear them; and I here protest, 410 

By this white glove, — how white the hand, 
God knows ! — 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 

In russet yeas and honest kersey noes: 
And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack, or flaw. 
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. 
Biron. Yet I have a trick 

Of the old rage : bear with me, I am sick ; 
I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see : 
Write, ' Lord have mercy on us' on those three ; 
They are infected ; in their hearts it lies; 420 
They have the plague, and caught it of your 

eyes; 
These lords are visited; you are not free, 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 
Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens 

to us. 
Biron. Our states are forfeit: seek not to 

undo us. 
Ros. It is not so; for how can this be true, 
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? 
Biron. Peace ! for I will not have to do with 

you. 
R os. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
Biron. Speak for yourselves ; my wit is at an 
end. 430 

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude 
transgression 
Some fair excuse. 

Prin. The fairest is confession. 

Were not you here but even now disguised? 
King. Madam, I was. 

Prin. And were you well advised? 

King. I was, fair madam. 
Prin. When you then were here, 

What did you whisper in your lady's ear? 
King. That more than all the world I did 

respect her. 
Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will 

rejedl her. 

King. Upon mine honour, no. 

Prin. Peace, peace! forbear: 

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. 

King. Despise me, when I break this oath of 

mine. 441 



156 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act v. 



Prin. I will : and therefore keep it. Rosaline, 
What did the Russian whisper in your ear? 

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me 
dear 
As precious eyesight, and did value me 
Above this world ; adding thereto moreover 
That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 

Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble 
lord 
Most honourably doth uphold his word. 

King. What mean you, madam? by my life, 
my troth, 450 

I never swore this lady such an oath. 

Ros. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm it 
plain, 
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 

King. My faith and this the princess I did 
give: 
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 

Pri7i. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear ; 
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. 
What, will you have me, or your pearl again? 

Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. 
I see the trick on't : here was a consent, 460 

Knowing aforehand of our merriment, 
To dash it like a Christmas comedy: 
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight 

zany, 
Some inumble-news, some trencher-knight, some 

Dick, 
That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick 
To make my lady laugh when she's disposed, 
Told our intents before ; which once disclosed, 
The ladies did change favours : and then we, 
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
Now, to our perjury to add more terror, 470 

We are again forsworn, in will and error. 
Much upon this it is : and might not you 

[To Boyet. 
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? 
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squier, 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye? 
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? 
You put our page out : go, you are allow'd ; 
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye 480 
Wounds like a leaden sword. 

Boyet. Full merrily 

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 

Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I 
have done. 

Enter Costard. 
Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know 
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no. 

Biron. What, are there but three? 

Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 

For every one pursents three. 

Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 

Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope 
it is not so. 
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we 
know what we know : 490 

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — 

Biron. Is not nine. 

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know where- 
until it doth amount. 



Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes 
for nine. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get 
your living by reckoning, sir. 

Biron. How much is it? 

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the 
actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : 
for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to 
parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the 
Great, sir. 

Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies? 

Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of 
Pompion the Great : for mine own part, I know 
not the degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand 
for him. 

Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 510 

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will 
take some care. [Exit. 

King. Biron, they will shame us : let them 
not approach. 

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord : and 
'tis some policy 
To have one show worse than the king's and his 
company. 

King. I say they shall not come. 

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule 
you now : 
That sport best pleases that doth least know how : 
t Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents : 
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, 
When great things labouring perish in their birth. 

Biron. A right description of our sport, my 
lord. 

Enter Armado. 

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense 
of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace 
of words. 

[Converses apart with the King., and 
delivers him a paper. 

Prin. Doth this man serve God? 

Biron. Why ask you ? 

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's 
making. 

Arm. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey 
monarch ; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is ex- 
ceeding fantastical; too too vain, too too vain: 
but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la 
guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most 
royal couplement ! [Exit. 

King. Here is like to be a good presence of 
Worthies. He presents Hector of Troy; the 
swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, 
Alexander ; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, 
Judas Maccabseus : 540 

And if these four Worthies in their first show 

thrive, 
These four will change habits, and present the 
other five. 

Biron. There is five in the first show. 

King. You are deceived ; 'tis not so. 

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- 
priest, the fool and the boy : — 
t Abate throw at novum, and the whole world 

again 
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in 
his vein. 



Scene ir.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



*57 



King. The ship is under sail, and here she 
comes amain. 

Enter Costard, for Pompey. 
Cost. I Pompey am, — 

Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 550 

Cost. I Pompey am, — 

Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker : I must needs 

be friends with thee. 
Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the 

Big,— 
Dum. The Great. 
Cost. It is, ' Great,' sir: — 

Pompey surnamed the Great : 
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did 

make my foe to sweat : 
And travelling along this coast, I here am 

come by chance, 
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet 

lass of France. 
If your ladyship would say, 'Thanks, Pompey,' 

I had done. 
Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 560 

Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but I hope I 
was perfect: I made a little fault in 'Great.' 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves 
the best Worthy. 

Enter Sir Nathaniel, yi>r A lexander. 

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the 
world's commander; 
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my 

conquering might : 
My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander, — 
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it 

stands too right. 
Biron. Your nose smells 'no' in this, most 

tender-smelling knight. 
Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, 
good Alexander. 570 

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the 

world's commander, — 
Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, 

Alisander. 
Biron. Pompey the Great, — 
Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 
Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away 
Alisander. 

Cost. [To Sir Nath.~\ O, sir, you have over- 
thrown Alisander the conqueror ! You will be 
scraped out of the painted cloth for this : your 
lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close- 
stool, will be given to Ajax : he will be the ninth 
Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak ! run 
away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. retires.] 
There, an't shall please you ; a foolish mild man ; 
an honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He 
is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very 
good bowler : but, for Alisander, — alas, you see 
now 'tis, — a little o'erparted. But there are Wor- 
thies a-coming will speak their mind in some 
other sort. 590 

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 

Enter Holofernes,^?- Judas; a?id Moth, 

for Hercules. 
Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, 



Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed 

canis ; 
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. 
Quoniam he seemeth in minority, 
Ergo I come with this apology. 
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 

[Moth retires. 

Judas I am, — 
Dum. A Judas ! 600 

Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. 

Judas I am, ycliped Maccabseus. 
Pmn. Judas Maccabseus dipt is plain Judas. 
Biron. A kissing traitor. How art thou proved 

Judas? 
Hoi. Judas I am, — 
Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. 
Hoi: What mean you, sir? 
Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 
Hoi. Begin, sir ; you arc my elder. 
Biron. Well followed : Judas was hanged on 

an elder. 610 

IIol. I will not be put out of countenance. 
Biron. Because thou hast no face. 
Hoi. What is this ? 
Boyet. A cittern-head. 
Dum. The head of a bodkin. 
Biron. A Death's face in a ring. 
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce 

seen. 
Boyet. The pommel of Cscsar's falchion. 
Dum. The carved-bone face on a flask. 
Biron. Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch. 
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 621 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth- 
drawer. 
And now forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
tenance. 
Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 
Biron. False ; we have given thee faces. 
Hoi. But you have out-faced them all. 
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 
Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou 

stay? 
Dum. For the latter end of his name. 630 
Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; give it him : — 

Jud-as, away ! 
Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not 

humble. 
Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas ! it grows 

dark, he may stumble. [Hoi. retires. 

Prin. Alas, poor Maccabseus, how hath he 

been baited ! 

Enter Armado, for Heflor. 

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles : here comes 
Hector in arms. 

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, 
I will now be merry. 

King. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of 
this. 640 

Boyet. But is this Hector? 

King. I think Hector was not so clean-tim- 
bered. 

Long. His leg is too big for Hector's. 

Dum. More calf, certain. 

Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hector. 



, 5 8 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act v. 



Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes 
faces. 

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the 
almighty, 650 

Gave Hector a gift, — 

Dum. A gilt nutmeg. 

Biron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves. 

Dum. No, cloven. 

Arm. Peace ! — 
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, 

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ; 
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight ; 
yea 
From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 660 
I am that flower, — 

Dum. That mint. 

Long. That columbine. 

Arm. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 

Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it 
runs against Hector. 

Dtim. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 

A rm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten ; 
sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : 
when he breathed, he was a man. But I will 
forward with my device. [ To the Princess] Sweet 
royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing. 670 

Prin. Speak, brave Hector : we are much 
delighted. 

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 

Boyet. [Aside to Dum.} Loves her by the 
foot. 

Dum. [Aside to Boyet] He may not by the 
yard. 

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, — 

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Heclor, she 
is gone ; she is two months on her way. 

A rm. What meanest thou ? 6S0 

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, 
the poor wench is cast away : she 's quick ; the 
child brags in her belly already : 'tis yours. 

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten- 
tates ? thou shalt die. 

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped for Ja- 
quenetta that is quick by him and hanged for 
Pompey that is dead by him. 

Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 

Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 690 

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
Pompey ! Pompey the Huge ! 

Dum. Hector trembles. 

Biron. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more 
Ates ! stir them on ! stir them on ! 

Dum. Hector will challenge him. 

Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood in's 
belly than will sup a flea. 

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a 
northern man : I '11 slash ; I '11 do it by the sword. 
I bepray you, let me borrow my arms again. 

Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies ! 

Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. 

Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole 
lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for 
the combat ? What mean you ? You will lose 
your reputation. 

Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; 
I will not combat in my shirt. 711 



Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath 
made the challenge. 

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 

Biron. What reason have you for't? 

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no 
shirt ; I go woolward for penance. 

Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in 
Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be 
sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of Jaque- 
netta's, and that a' wears next his heart for a 
favour. 

Enter Mercade. 

Mcr. God save you, madam ! 

Prin. Welcome, Mercade; 
But that thou interrupt 'st our merriment. 

Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring 
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father — 

Prin. Dead, for my life ! 

Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. 

Biron. Worthies, away ! the scene begins to 
cloud. 731 

Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free 
breath. I have seen the day of wrong through 
the little hole of discretion, and I will right my- 
self like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. 

King. How fares your majesty ? 

Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-night. 

King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 

Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious 
lords, 
For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat, 740 
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide 
The liberal opposition of our spirits, 
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
In the converse of breath : your gentleness 
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord ! 
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue : 
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks 
For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 

King. |The extreme parts of time extremely 
forms 750 

All causes to the purpose of his speed, 
And often at his very loose decides 
That which long process could not arbitrate : 
And though the mourning brow of progeny 
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love 
The holy suit which fain it would convince, 
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, 
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
From what it purposed ; since, to wail friends lost 
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable 760 

As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 

Prin. I understand you not : my griefs are 
double. 

Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the 
ear of grief; 
And by these badges understand the king. 
For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
Play'd foul play with our oaths : your beauty, 

ladies, 
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours 
Even to the opposed end of our intents : 
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strains, 770 

All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, 
Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, 
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST, 



*59 



Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
To every varied object in his glance : 
Which parti-coated presence of loose love 
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, 
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities, 
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, 780 
Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
Is likewise yours:, we to ourselves prove false, 
By being once false for ever to be true 
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you : 
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, 
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace. 

Prln. We have received your letters full of 
love; 
Your favours, the ambassadors of love ; 
And, in our maiden council, rated them 
At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy, 790 

As bombast and as lining to the time : 
But more devout than this in our respects 
Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 
In their own fashion, like a merriment. 

Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much 
more than jest. 

Long. So did our looks. 

Ros. We did not quote them so. 

King: Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short 

To make a world-without-end bargain in. 
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much, 
Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this : 801 
If for my love, as there is no such cause, -• 
You will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 
To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 
Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 
There stay until the twelve celestial signs 
Have brought about the annual reckoning. 
If this austere insociable life 
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds 
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 
But that it bear this trial and last love; 
Then, at the expiration of the year, 
Come challenge me, challenge me by these de- 
serts. 
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, 
I will be thine ; and till that instant shut 
My woeful self up in a mourning house, 
Raining the tears of lamentation 
For the remembrance of my father's death. 820 
If this thou do deny, let our hands part, 
Neither intitled in the other's heart. 
King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, 
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 

[Biron. And what ^o me, my love ? and what 
to me? 

Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are 
rack'd, 
You are attaint with faults and perjury : 
Therefore if you my favour mean to get, 830 

A twelve month shall you spend, and never rest, 
But seek the weary beds of people sick.] 

Dum. But what to me, my love ? but what to 
me? 
A wife ? 



Katk. A beard, fair health, and honesty ; 

With three-fold love I wish you all these three. 

Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife ? 

Katk. Not so, my lord ; a twelvemonth and 
a day 
I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers 

say : 
Come when the king doth to my lady come ; 
Then, if I have much love, I '11 give you some. 840 

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till 
then. 

Ka t/i. Yetswear not, lest ye be forsworn again. 

Long. What says Maria V 

Mar. At the twelvemonth's end 

I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. 

Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is 
long. 

Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 

Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me ; 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
What humble suit attends thy answer there : 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 850 

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron, 
Before I saw you ; and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
Which you on all estates will execute 
That lie within the mercy of your wit. 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, 
And therewithal to win me, if you please, 
Without the which I am not to be won, 1 

You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
Visit the speechless sick and still converse 861 
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be, 
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit 
To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of 
death ? 
It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing 
spirit, 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools : 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 871 

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, 
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear 

groans,^ 
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then. 
And I will have you and that fault withal ; 
But if they will not, throw away that spirit, 
And I shall find you empty of that fault, 
Right joyful of your reformation. 

Biron. A twelvemonth ! well ; befall what will 
, befall, 8S0 

I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 

Prin. [To the King] Ay, sweet my lord; and 
so I take my leave. 

King. No, madam ; we will bring you on 
your way. 

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old 
play ; 
Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
Might well have made our sport a comedy. 

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and 
a day, 
And then 'twill end. 

Biron. That's too long for a play. 



i6o 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act v. 



Arm. 
Prin. 
Dum. 

A rm. 



Re-enter Armauo. 
Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,— 
Was not that Hector? 
The worthy knight of Troy. 890 

I will kiss thy royal finger, and take 
leave. I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaque- 
netta to hold the plough for her sweet love three 
years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you 
hear the dialogue that the two learned men have 
compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it 
should have followed in the end of our show. 
King. Call them forth quickly ; we will do so 
Arm. Holla ! approach. QOO 

Re-e7iter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, 

Costard, and others. 

This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring ; 

the one maintained by the owl, the other by the 

cuckoo. Ver, begin. 

The Song. 

Spring. 
When daisies pied and violets blue 
And lady-smocks all silver-white 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 

Do paint the meadows with delight, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 

Cuckoo ; o 

* Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear 1 



920 



a 6 j she P herds Pipe on oaten straws 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
And maidens- bleach their summer smocks, 

1 he cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 
Cuckoo ; 

Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear 1 

. Winter. 

Vv hen icicles hang by the wall 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail 
And Tom bears logs into the hall 

And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, 
lhen nightly sings the staring owl, 

Tu-whit ; 
Tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot 
When all aloud the wind doth blow 
a A , n 5l coughing drowns the parson's saw 
And birds sit brooding in the snow 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, ' 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

Tu-whit ; 
Tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after 
the songs or Apollo. You that way : we this 

[Exetmi, 



93° 



vay. 



1 

J 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Theseus, Duke of Athens. 
Egeus, father to Hermia. 
Lysander, i ■ ! with Hermia . 
Demetrius, J 

Philostrate, master of the revels to The- 
seus. 
Quince, a carpenter. 
Snug, a joiner. 
Bottom, a weaver. 
Flute, a bellows-mender. 
.Snout, a tinker. 
Starveling, a tailor. 

Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, be- 
trothed to Theseus. 



Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with 

Lysander. 
Helena, in love with Demetrius. 

Oberon, king of the fairies. 

Titania, queen of the fairies. 

Puck, or Robin Goodfellow. 

Peaseblossom, 

Cobweb, 

Moth, 

Mustardseed, 

Other fairies attending their King and Queen. 

Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyui. 

Scene : Athens, and a wood near it. 



fairies. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
and Attendants. 

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
Another moon : but, O, methinks, how slow 
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
Like to a step-dame or a dowager 
Long withering out a young man's revenue. 

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves 
in night; 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 10 

New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth : 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals ; 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. 

[Exit Philostrate. 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
And won thy love, doing thee injuries; 
But I will wed thee in another key, 
With pomp, with triumph and with revelling. 

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and 

Demetrius. 
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 
The. Thanks, good Egeus : what 's the news 
with thee? 21 

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. 
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, 
This man hath my consent to marry her. 
Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious duke, 
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her 
rhvmes 



And interchanged love-tokens with my child : 
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung 30 
With feigning voice verses of feigning iove, 
And stolen the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messen- 
gers 
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth: 
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's 

heart, 
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
To stubborn harshness : and, my gracious duke, 
Be it so she will not here before your grace 
Consent to marry with Demetrius, 40 

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 
As she is mine, I may dispose of her : 
Which shall be either to this gentleman 
Or to her death, according to our law 
Immediately provided in that case. 

The. What say you, Hermia? be advised, 
fair maid: 
To you your father should be as a god ; 
One that composed your beauties, yea, and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax 
By him imprinted and within his power 50 

To leave the figure or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
Her. So is Lysander. 
The. In himself he is; 

But in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
The other must be held the worthier. 
Her. I would my father look'd but with my 

eyes. 
The. Rather your eyes must with his judge- 
ment look. 
Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold, 
Nor how it may concern my modesty, 60 

In such a presence hereto plead my thoughts ; 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 
The worst that may befall me in this case, 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 



I I 



162 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act 



The. Either to die the death or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
You can endure the livery of a nun, 70 

For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
To live a barren sister all your life, 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood, 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ; 
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn 
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 80 

Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 

The. Take time to pause ; and. by the next 
new moon — 
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
For everlasting bond of fellowship — 
Upon that day either prepare to die 
For disobedience to your father's will, 
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would ; 
Or on Diana's altar to protest 
For aye austerity and single life. 90 

De7ii. Relent, sweet Hermia : and, Lysander, 
yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my 
love, 
And what is mine my love shall render him. 
And she is mine, and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he, 
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; xoo 
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ; 
And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia: 
Why should not I then prosecute my right? 
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. no 

The. I must confess that I have heard so 
much, 
And with Demetrius thonght to have spoke 

thereof; 
But, being over-full of self-affairs, 
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come; 
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, 
I have some private schooling for you both. 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you up — 
Which by no means we may extenuate — 120 
To death, or to a vow of single life. 
Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love? 
Demetrius and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. 

[Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia. 



130 



Lys. How now, my love ! why is your cheek 
so pale ? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast? 

Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could 
well 
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. 

Lys. Ay me ! for aught that I could ever read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history, 
The course of true love never did run smooth; 
But, either it was different in blood, — 

Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low. 

Lys. Or else misgraffed in respecl of years, — 

Her. O spite ! too old to be engaged to young. 

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends, — 

Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eyes. 

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 
Making it momentany as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say ' Behold !' 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If then true lovers have been evercross'd, 
It stands as an edidl in destiny: 151 

Then let us teach our trial patience, 
Because it is a customary cross, 
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, 
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. 

Lys. A good persuasion : therefore, hear me, 
Hermia. . 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
And she respecls me as her only son. 160 

There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
And in the wood, a league without the town, 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
To do observance to a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 

Her. My good Lysander ! 

I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow, 
By his best arrow with the golden head, 170 

By the simplicity of Venus' doves, 
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, 
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, 
When the false Troyan under sail was seen, 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more than ever women spoke, 
In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes 
Helena. 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! whither away? 

Hel. Call yoa me fair? that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves your fair : O happy fair ! 
Your eyes are lode-stars ; and your tongue's sweet 

air 
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is catching : O, were favour so, 
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 



Scene i. ] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



163 



My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet me- 
lody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
The rest I 'Id give to be to you translated. 191 
O, teach me how you look, and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
.Hel. O that your frowns would teach my 
smiles such skill ! 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

Hcl. O that my prayers could such affection 
move! 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 

Hel. None, but your beauty : would that fault 
were mine ! 201 

Her. Take comfort: he no more shall see my 
face ; 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me : 
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
That hejiath turn'd a heaven unto a hell ! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: 
To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the watery glass, 210 

Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, 
Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; 
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow : pray thou for us; 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 221 
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. [Exit Herm. 

Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit. 

Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be ! 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; 
He will not know what all but he do know ; 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 230 

So I, admiring of his qualities : 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
Love can transpose to form and dignity : 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind: 
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste; 
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste : 
And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled. 
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 240 
So the boy Love is perjured every where : 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 
He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ; 
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. 
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night 
Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 
But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 250 

To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit. 



Scene II. Athens. Quince's house. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, 
and Starveling. 

Quin. Is all our company here ? 

B >/. You were best to call them generally, 
man by man, according to the scrip. 

Quia. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play 
in our interlude before the duke and the duchess, 
on his wedding-day at night. 

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the 
play treats on, then read the names of the actors, 
and so grow to a point. 10 

Quin. Marry, our play is, The most lament- 
able comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus 
and Thisby. 

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, 
and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call 
forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread 
yourselves. 

Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, 
the weaver. 

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and 
proceed. 21 

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for 
Pyramus. 

Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? 

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant 
for love. 

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
forming of it : if I do it, let the audience look to 
their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in 
some measure. To the rest : yet my chief humour 
is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a 
part to tear a cat in, to make all split. 
The raging rocks 
And shivering shocks 
Shall break the locks 
Of prison gates ; 
And Phibbus' car 
Shall shine from far 
And make and mar 

The foolish Fates. 40 

This was lofty ! Now name the rest of the 
players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a 
lover is more condoling. 

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. 

Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 

Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman ; I 
have a beard coming. 50 

Quin. That's all one : you shall play it in a 
mask, and you may speak as small as you will. 

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play 
Thisby too, T '11 speak in a monstrous little voice, 
' Thisne, Thisne ;' 'Ah Pyramus, my lover dear ! 
thy Thisby dear, and lady dear !' 

Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus : and, 
Flute, you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. _ 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 60 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus' father : myself, Thisby's 



11 2 



i6 4 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 



father Snug, the joiner; you, the lion's part: 
and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray 
you, if lt be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Qutn. You may do it extempore, for it is 
nothing but roaring. 

♦w"t* -n e i me Pky the lion t0 ° : I will roar, 
that I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; 
I will roar, that I will make the duke say 'Let 
rum roar again, let him roar again.' 

Qmn An you should do it too terribly, you 
would fright the duchess and the ladies, that 
they would shriek ; and that were enough to 
hang us all. 

All That would hang us, every mother's son. 
£>ot. I grant you, friends, if that you should 
fright the ladies out of their wits, they would 
nave no more discretion but to hang us : but I 
will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you 
as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you 
an twere any nightingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ■ 
tor pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man' 
as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely 
gentleman-like man ! therefore you must needs 
play Pyramus. 

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard 
were I best to play it in ? 

Quin. Why, what you will. 
Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
purpie-in-gram beard, or your French-crown- 
colour beard, your perfect yellow. 

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no 
hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. 
But, masters, here are your parts : and I am to 
entreat you, request you and desire you, to con 
them by to-morrow night ; and meet me in the 
palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon- 
light; there will we rehearse, for if we meet in 
the city, we shall be dogged with company, and 
our devices known. In the meantime I will draw 
a bill of properties, such as our play wants I 
pray you, fail me not. 

Bot. We will meet ; and there we may re- 
hearse most obscenely and courageously. Take 
pains ; be perfect : adieu 

Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
hot. Enough ; hold or cut bow-strings. 

[Exeunt. 



[Act ii. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. A wood near Athens. 
Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and Puck. 

Puck. How_now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 

Bat. Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
1 do wander every where, 
Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
And I serve the fairy queen, 
To dew her orbs upon the green. 
1 he cowslips tall her pensioners be : 10 
In their gold coats spots you see; 
1 hose be rubies, fairy favours 
In those freckles live their savours : 



I must go seek some dewdrops here 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell,, thou lob of spirits ; I'll be gone • 

PucT Vh ld t a11 *? I'T C ° me here »on. 
nigh?. g keCP his r£Ve!s here t0 

F^nt eed t} ? e ^en come not within his sight- 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, * ' 

Because that she as her attendant hath 
A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king • 
She never had so sweet a changeling ; ' 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; 
But she perforce withholds the loved boy 
Crowns him with flowers and makes him' all her 

And now they never meet in grove or green, 
Ly fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 
But they do square, that all their elves for fear 3 o 
Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there. 3 
quite mistak e your shape and making 

Calplfl&W a r th fr f, hrewd and knavish s P"te 
Call d Robin Goodfellow : are not you he 
lhat frights the maidens of the villagery • 
hk,m milk, and sometimes labour in the quern 
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ■ 
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm 
Mislead n.ght-wanderers, laughing at their ha"m? 
fe that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck ," 

I" nt yoTh^f' ^ ^ ShSl1 W ^°° d luck : 
Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night 

Uu St '? 0beron and make him smile 

When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 

Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 

And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl 

in very likeness of a roasted crab, 

And when she drinks, against her lips I bob 

And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. r c 

ihe wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; 
1 hen slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; ' 
And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh, 
fe7 their mirth a *d neeze and swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there 
But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon 

were gone? " "* miStreSS> W ° uW that he 

Enter from one side, Oberon, with his train; 
from the other, Titania, -with hers. 

TV* i ^ metb 7 nio0nlight 'P roudTitani 'a. 6o 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairies, skip 

hence : ' v 

1 ™ VC forsworn his bed and company 

Obe Tarry, rash wanton : am not I thy lord » 

\v5 ,'k t Sn l m , USt be thy lad y ; but I k now 
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land, 
And m the shape of Corin sat all day 
.Flaying on pipes of corn and versing love ' 
1 o amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, 
Come from the farthest steppe of India ? 
But that forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 7Q 

Your buskin d mistress and your warrior love, 
lo Iheseus must be wedded, and you come 
lo give their bed joy and prosperity. 



Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? 
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering 

night 
From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? 
And make him with fair y£gle break his faith, 
With Ariadne and Antiopa V 80 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: 
And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead, 
By paved fountain or by rushy brook, 
Or in the beached margent of the sea, 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain. 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land 90 
Have every pelting river made so proud 
That they have overborne their continents : 
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn 
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard ; 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock ; 
The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud, 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green 
For lack of tread are undistinguishable : 100 

The human mortals want their winter here ; 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest : 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
And thorough this distemperature we see 
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, 
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds no 
Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the summer, 
The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, 
By their increase, now knows not which is which : 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension ; 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you : 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy, 120 

To be my henchman. 

Tita. Set your heart at rest : 

The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a votaress of my order : 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side, 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
Marking the embarked traders on the flood, 
When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive 
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind: 
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait 
Following, — her womb then rich with my young 
squire, — 131 

Would imitate, and sail upon the land, 
To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 
And for her sake do I rear up her boy, 
And for her sake I will not part with him. 

Obe. How long within this wood intend you 
stay? 



Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding- 
day. 
If you will patiently dance in our round 140 

And see our moonlight revels, go with us: 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, 
away ! 
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 

\Exit Tita?iia with her train. 

Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from 
this grove 
Till I torment thee for this injury. 
My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest 
Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 150 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song 
And certain stars shot madryfrom their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw, but thou couldst 
not, 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal throned by the west, 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
Asit shouldpierceahundredthousandhearts; 160 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'dinthe chaste beams of the watery moon, 
And the imperial votaress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: 
It fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound. 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew'd thee once : 
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid 170 

Will make or man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I '11 put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. \Exit. 

Obe. Having once this juiGe, 

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 180 

On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love : 
And ere I take this charm from off her sight, 
As I can take it with another herb, 
I '11 make her render up her page to me. 
But who comes here? I am invisible; 
And I will overhear their conference. 

Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. 

Devi. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? 
The one I '11 slay, the other slayeth me. 190 

Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood ; 
And here am I, and wode within this wood, 
Because I cannot meet my Hermia. 
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 

Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant : 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
Is true as steel : leave you your power to draw. 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 



i66 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act ii. 



Dem. Do I entice you? do I speak you fair? 
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 200 

Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you? 

Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, — ■ 
And yet a place of high respect with me, — 
Than to be used as you use your dog? 210 

Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my 
spirit, 
For I am sick when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 

Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much. 
To leave the city and commit yourself 
Into the hands of one that loves you not; 
To trust the opportunity of night 
And the ill counsel of a desert place 
With the rich worth of your virginity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege : for that 220 
It is not night when I do see your face, 
Therefore I think I am not in the night ; 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, 
For you in my respect are all the world : 
Then how can it be said I am alone, 
When all the world is here to look on me ? 

Dem. I '11 run from thee and hide me in the 
brakes, 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
Run when you will, the story shall be changed : 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; 231 
The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
Makes speed to catch the tiger ; bootless speed, 
When cowardice pursues and valour flies. 

Dem. I will not stay thy questions ; let me go : 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 240 

We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
We should be woo'd and were not made to woo. 
[Exit Dem. 
I '11 follow thee and make a heaven of hell, 
To die upon the hand I love so well. [Exit. 

Ode. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave 
this grove, 
Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love. 

Re-enter Puck. 
Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer. 

Ptick. Ay, there it is. 

Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, 250 
f Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine : 
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : 
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this 
grove : 



A sweet Athenian lady is in love 260 

With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; 
But do it when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady : thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care that he may prove 
More fond on her than she upon her love : 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall 
do so. [Exeunt. 



Scene II. Another part of the wood. 
Enter Titania, with her train. 

Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song ; 

Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 

Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, 

Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings, 

To make my small elves coats, and some keep 
back 

The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and won- 
ders 

At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 

Then to your offices and let me rest. 

The Fairies sing. 
You spotted snakes with double tongue, 

Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 10 

Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, 
Come not near our fairy queen. 
Philomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby: 
Never harm, 
Nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 
Weaving spiders, come not here ; 20 

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence ! 
Beetles black, approach not near; 
Worm nor snail, do no offence. 
Philomel, with melody, &c. 

A Fairy. Hence, away ! now all is well : 
One aloof stand sentinel. 

[Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. 



Enter Oberon, and sqticezes the flower on 
Titania's eyelids. 

Obe. What thou seest when thou dost wake, 
Do it for thy true-love take, 
Love and languish for his sake : 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 30 

Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wakest, it is thy dear: 
Wake when some vile thing is near. 

[Exit. 

Enter Lysander and Hermia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the 
wood; 

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way : 
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 

And tarry for the comfort of the day. 



Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



167 



Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed ; 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 40 

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us 
both; 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 

Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my 
dear, 
Lie further off yet, do not he so near. 

Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my inno- 
cence ! _ • 
Love takes the meaning m love s conierence. 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit 
So that but one heart we can make of it ; 
Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
So then two bosoms and a single troth. 50 
Then by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : 
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, 
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
Lie further off ; in human modesty, 
Such separation as may well be said 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, 
So far be distant ; and, good night, sweet friend : 
Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! 61 

Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say 1 ; 
And then end life when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! 

Her. With half that wish the wisher s eyes 
bepress'd! [They sleep. 

Enter Puck. 

Puck. Through the forest have I gone, 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence.— Who is here? 7c 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
This is he, my master said. 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound, 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe. 
When thou wakest, let love forbid 80 
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid : 
So awake when I am gone ; 
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. 

Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Deme- 
trius. 
Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt 

me thus. 
Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. 
Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go. 

[Exit. 
Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
i The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
j Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 90 

I For she hath blessed and attraftive eyes. 
• How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt 

tears : 
1 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 



No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
For beasts that meet me run away for fear : 
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? 
But who is here ? Lysander ! on the ground ! 100 
Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound. 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Lys. [Awaking] And run through fire I will 
for thy sweet sake. 
Transparent Helena ! Nature shows art, 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so. 
What though he love your Hermia ? Lord, what 

though? 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content, no 
Lys. Content with Hermia! No; I do repent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia but Helena I love : 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd ; 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season : 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason; 
And touching now the point of human skill, 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will 120 

And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook 
Love's stories written in love's richest book. 
Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery 
born ? 
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? 
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, 
That I did never, no, nor never can, 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
But you must flout my insufficiency? 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, 

In such disdainful manner me to woo. 130 

But fare you well : perforce I must confess 

I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 

O, that a lady, of one man refused, 

Should of another therefore be abused ! [Exit. 
Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep 
thou there : 

And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! 

For as a surfeit of the sweetest things 

The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, 

Or as the heresies that men do leave 

Are hated most of those they did deceive, 140 

So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, 

Of all be hated, but the most of me ! 

And, all my powers, address your love and might 

To honour Helen and to be her knight ! [Exit. 
Her. [Awaking'] Help me, Lysander, help 
me ! do thy best 

To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 

Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! 

Lysander, look how I do quake with fear : 

Methought a serpent eat my heart away, 

And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. 150 

Lysander ! what, removed? Lysander ! lord ! 

What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no 
word ? 

Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 

Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear. 

No ? then I well perceive you arc not nigh : 

Either death or you I '11 find immediately. [Exit. 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act hi. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. The wood. Titania lying asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, 
and Starveling. 

Bot. Are we all met ? 

Quin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous con- 
venient place for our rehearsal. This green plot 
shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring- 
house ; and we will do it in action as we will do 
it before the duke. 

Bot. Peter Quince,— 

Quin. What sayest thou, bully Bottom ? 

Bot. There are things in this comedy of 
Pyramus and Thisby that will never please. 
First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself ; 
which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you 
that? 

Snout. By'r lakin, a parlous fear. 

Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, 
when all is done. 

Bot. Not a whit : I have a device to make all 
well. Write me a prologue ; and let the prologue 
seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords 
and that Pyramus is not killed indeed ; and, for 
the more better assurance, tell them that I 
Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the 
weaver : this will put them out of fear. 

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; 
and it shall be written in eight and six. 

Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written 
in eight and eight. 

S flout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? 

Star. I fear it, I promise you. 

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with 
yourselves : to bring in — God shield us ! — a lion 
among ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; for there 
is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion 
living ; and we ought to look to 't. 

Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell 
he is not a lion. 

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half 
his face must be seen through the lion's- neck : 
and he himself must speak through, saying thus, 
or to the same defect, — ' Ladies,' — or ' Fair 
ladies, — I would wish you,' — or 'I would request 
you,' — or 'I would entreat you, — not to fear, not 
to tremble: my life for yours. If you think I 
come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life : no, 
I am no such thing ; I am a man as other men 
are ;' and there indeed let him name his name, 
and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner. 

Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two 
hard things ; that is, to bring the moonlight into 
a chamber ; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby 
meet by moonlight. 51 

Snout. Doth the moon shine that night we 
play our play? 

Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the al- 
manac ; find out moonshine, find out moonshine. 

Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 

Bot. Why, then may you leave a casement of 
the great chamber window, where we play, open, 
and the moon may shine in at the casement. 

Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a 
bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say he comes to 
disfigure, or to present, the person of" Moonshine. 
Then, there is another thing: we must have a 



wall in the great chamber; for Pyramus and 
Thisby, says. the. story, did talk through the 
chink of a wall. 

• Snout. You can never bring in a wall. What 
say you, Bottom? 

Bot. Some man or other must present Wall : 
and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or 
some rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; and 
let him hold his fingers thus, and through that 
cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, 
sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your 
parts. Pyramus, you begin : when you have 
spoken your speech, enter into that brake: and 
so every one according to his cue. 

Enter Puck behind. 
Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we 
swaggering here, 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen? 80 

What, a play toward ! I '11 be an auditor ; 
An actor too perhaps, if I see cause. 
I Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. 
J Bot. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours 
sweet, — 
Quin. Odours, odours. 

Bot. odours savours sweet : 

So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. 
But hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile, 
And by and by I will to thee appear. [Exit. 
Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played 
here. [Exit. 90 

Flu. Must I speak now? 

Quin. Ay, marry, must you; for you must 
understand he goes but to see a noise that he 
heard, and is to come again. 

Flu. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of 
hue, 
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
Most brisky Juvenal and eke most lovely Jew, 
As true as truest horse that yet would never 
tire, 
I '11 meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. 

Quin. 'Ninus' tomb,' man: why, you must 
not speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : 
you speak all your part at once, cues and all. 
Pyramus enter: your cue is past; it is, 'never 
tire.' 
Flu. O, — As true as truest horse, that yet 
would never tire. 

Re-e?iter Puck, and Bottom -with an ass's head. 
Bot. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine. 
Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are 
haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! Help ! 
[Exeunt Qui?ice, Snug, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 
Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a 
round, 
Through bog, through bush, through brake, 
through brier : no 

Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and 

burn, 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 

[Exit. 
Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery 
of them to make me afeard. 



Scene i.] 



MIDSUMMER-BIGHT'S . DREAM. 



169 



Re-enter Snout. 

Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! what 
do I see on thee ? 

Bot. What do you see? you see an ass-head 
of your own, do you? [Exit Snout. 120 

Re-enter Quince. 

Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou 

art translated. , , [Exit. 

Bot. 1 see their knavery : this is to make an 

ass of me; to fright me, if they could. But 1 

will not stir from this place, do what they can : I 

will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that 

they shall hear I am not afraid. [Sings. 

The ousel cock so black of hue, 

With orange-tawny bill, 
The throstle with his note so true, 130 
The wren with little quill,— 
Tita. [A waking] What angel wakes me from 

my flowery bed? 
Bot. [Sings] 
The finch, the sparrow and the lark. 

The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
Whose note full many a man doth mark, 
And dares not answer nay; — 
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he 
cry ' cuckoo ' never so ? 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
Mine ear is much enamour d of thy note ; 141 

So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me 
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have 
little reason for that : and yet, to say the truth, 
reason and love keep little company together 
now-a-days ; the more the pity that some honest 
neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I 
can gleek upon occasion. -,- 1 , 50 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough 
to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve 
mine own turn. 

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go : 
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
I am a snirit of no common rate r 
The surnmer still doth tend upon my state ; 
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me; 
I '11 give thee fairies to attend on thee, 160 

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost 

sleep : 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so 
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. 
Peaseblossom ! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard- 
seed ! 
Enter Peaseblossom, Cobwep,.Moth. and 

MUSTARDSEED. 

Peas. Ready. 

Cob. And I. 

Moth. And I. 

Mus. And I. 

A II. Where shall we go S 

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes ; 
. Feed him with apricocks and dewberries. 

With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 
1 The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, 171 



And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs 
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
To have my love to bed and to arise ; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies 
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 

Peas. Hail, mortal ! 

Cob. Hail ! 

Moth: Hail ! 180 

Mus. Hail ! 

Bot. I cry your worships mercy, heartily : I 
beseech your worship's name. 

Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
good Master Cobweb : if I cut my finger, I shall 
make bold with you. Your name, honest gentle- 
man ? 

Peas. Peaseblossom. 

Bot. I pray you, commend me to Mistress 
Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, 
your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall 
desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, 
I beseech you, sir ? 

Mus. Mustardseed. 

Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your 
patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
house : I promise you your kindred hath made 
my eyes water ere now. I desire, your more ac- 
quaintance, good Master Mustardseed. 201 
Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my 
bower. 

The moon methinks looks with a watery eye ; 
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 

Lamenting some enforced chastity. 

Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A nother part of the wood. 
Enter Oberon. 
Obe. I wonder if Titania be awaked ; 
Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 

Enter Puck. 
Here comes my messenger. 

How now, mad spirit ! 
What night-rule now about this haunted grove ? 

Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
Near to her close and consecrated bower, 
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
That work far bread upon Athenian stalls, 10 

Were met together to rehearse a play 
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day. 
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, 
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake : 
When I did him at this advantage take, 
An ass's nole I fixed on his head : 
Anon his Thishe must be answered, 
And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, 
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 20 
Or ru-set-pated choughs, many in sort, 
Rising and cawing at the gun's report, 
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, 
So, :;t his sight, away his fellows fly ; 
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 



i 7 o 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act in. 



He murder cries and help from Athens calls. 
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus 

strong', 
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong ; 
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; 
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things 
catch. 30 

I led them on in this distracted fear, 
And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 
When in that moment, so it came to pass, 
Titania waked and straightway loved an ass. 

Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? 

Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd 
too, — 
And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
That, when he waked, of force she must be 
eyed. 40 

Enter Hermia and Demetrius. 

Obe. Stand close : this is the same Athenian. 

Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 

De?n. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so ? 
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 

Her. Now I but chide ; but I should use thee 
worse, 
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day 50 

As he to me : would he have stolen away 
From sleeping Hermia ? I '11 believe as soon 
This whole earth may be bored and that the moon 
May through the centre creep and so displease 
Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes. 
It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ; 
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. 

Dem. So should the murder'd look, and so 
should I, 
Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty : 
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, 60 
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 

Her. What's this to my Lysander ? where is 
he? 
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 

Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my 
hounds. 

Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou drivest me 
past the bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then ? 
Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 
O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ! 
Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake, 
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave 
touch ! 70 

Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 

Dem. You spend your passion on a misprised 
mood: 
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood; 
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 

Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. 

Dem. An if I could, what should I get there- 
fore? 

Pier. A privilege never to see me more. 
And from thy hated presence part I so : 80 



See me no more, whether he be dead or no. 

; [Exit. 

Dem. There is no following her in this fierce 
vein: 
Here therefore for a while I will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
Fordebt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; 
Which now in some slight measure it will pay, 
If for his tender here I make some stay. 

\_Lies dozvn mid sleeps. 
Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mis- 
taken quite 
And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight: 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 90 

Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd true. 
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man 
holding troth, 
A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 

Obe. About the wood go swifter than the 
wind, 
And Helena of Athens look thou find : 
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, 
With sighs of love, that -costs the fresh blood dear : 
By some illusion see thou bring her here : 
I'll charm. his eyes against she do appear. ' 

Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go, 100 

Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. 
Obe. Flower of this purple dye, 
Hit with Cupid's archery, 
Sink in apple of his eye. 
When his love he doth espy, 
Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the sky. 
When thou wakest, if she be by, 
Beg of her for remedy. 

Re-enter Puck. 
Puck. Captain of our fairy band, no 

Helena is here at hand ; 

And the youth, mistook by me, 

Pleading for a lover's fee. 

Shall we their fond pageant see? 

Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 
Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make 

Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
Puck. Then will two at once woo one ; 

That must needs be sport alone ; 

And those things do best please me 120 

That befal preposterously. 

Enter Lysander and Helena. 
Lys. Why should you think that I should woo 
in scorn ? 
Scorn and derision never come in tears : 
Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? 
Het. You do advance your cunning more and 
more. 
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! 
These vows are Hermia's : will you give her o'er? 
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing 
weigh: 131 

Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, 
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. 
Lys. I had no judgement when to her I swore. 
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give 
her o'er. 



iCENE II.] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not 

you. 
Dem. [Awaking] O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
perfect, divine ! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? 
Jrystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
"ann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow 
Yhen thou hold'st up thy hand: O, let me kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss 1 

Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me for your merriment : 
f yi >u were civil and knew courtesy, 
iow would not do me thus much injury. 
Jan you not hate me, as I know you do, 
But you must join in souls to mock me too? 150 
if you were men, as men you are in show, 

You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 

|vV'hen I am sure you hate me with your hearts. 

You both are rivals, and love Hermia; 

;And now both rivals, to mock Helena: 
A. trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 

1 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
With your derision ! none of noble sort 

Would so offend a virgin and extort 160 

A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

I Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so ; 

'For you love Hermia; this you know I know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 

'In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; 

! And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 

!Whom I do love and will do till my death. 

1 Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

' Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none : 

If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 170 

My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, 

And now to Helen is it home return'd, 

1 There to remain. 

Lys. Helen, it is not so. 

1 Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not 
know, 

Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 

Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 

Re-enter Hermia. 
I Her. Dark night, that from the eye his func- 
tion takes, 
The ear more quick of apprehension makes; 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
It pays the hearing double recompense. 180 

Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? 
Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth 

press to go? 
Her. What love could press Lysander from 

my side? 
Lys. Lvsander's love, that would not let him 
bide, ' 
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee 

know, 
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so? 190 
Her. You speak not as you think : it cannot be. 
Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three 



To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspired, have you with these con- 
trived 
To bait me with this foul derision? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shared, 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
When we have chid the hasty- footed time 200 
For parting us, — O, is it all forgot? 
All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ? 
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
Have with our needles created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key, 
As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds, 
Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 
But yet an union in partition; 210 

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem ; 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
Due but to one and crowned with one crest. 
And will you rent our ancient love asunder, 
To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly: 
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, 
Though I alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. 
I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me. 221 

Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, 
To follow me and praise my eyes and face? 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, 
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this 
To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander 
Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
And tender me, forsooth, affection, 230 

But by your setting on, by your consent? 
What though I be not so in grace as you, 
So hung upon with love, so fortunate, 
But miserable most, to love unloved? 
This you should pity rather than despise. 

Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 

Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, 
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back ; 
Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up : 
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 240 
If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 
You would not make me such an argument. 
But fare ye well : 'tis partly my own fault; 
Which death or absence soon shall remedy. 

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse : 
Mv love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! 

Hel O excellent ! 

Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 

Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 

Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she 
entreat : 
Thy threats have no more strength than her 
weak prayers. 250 

Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do : 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
To prove him false that says I love thee not. 

Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do. 

Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove 
it too. 

Don. Quick, come ! 

Her. nder, whereto tends all this? 



t 7 2 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act hi. 



Lys. Away, you Ethiope ! 

Dem. fNo, no; he'll . . . 

Seem to break loose; take on as you would 

follow, 
But yet come not : you are a tame man, go ! 

Lys. , Hang- off, thou cat, thou bUrr ! vile 
thing, let loose, 260 

Or I will- shake thee from me like a serpent ! 

Her. Why are you grown so rude? what 
change is this? 
Sweet love, — 

Lys. Thy love ! out, tawny Tartar, out ! 

Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! 

Her. Do you not jest? 

Hel. Yes, sooth ; and so do you. 

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 

Dem. I would I had your bond, for I perceive 
A weak bond holds you: I'll not trust your word. 

Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, 
kill her dead? 
Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. 270 

Her. What, can you do me greater harm 
than hate? 
Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what news, my love ! 
Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander? 
I am as fair now as I was erewhile. 
Since night you loved me ; yet since- night you 

left me : 
Why, then you left me — O, the gods forbid! — 
In earnest, shall I say? 

Lys. Ay, by my life-; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt; 
Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest 280 

That I do hate thee and love Helena. 

Her. O me ! you juggler ! you canker-blossom ! 
You thief of love ! what, have you come by night 
And stolen my love's heart from him? 

Hel. Fine, i 'faith! 

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear 
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! 

Her. Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes 
the game. 
Now I perceive that she hath made compare 290 
Between our statures ; she hath urged her height ; 
And with her personage, her tall personage, 
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. 
And are you grown so high in his esteem, 
Because I am so dwarfish and so low ? 
How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; 
How low am I ? I am not yet so low 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, 
gentlemen, 
Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; 300 

I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
I am a right maid for my cowardice : 
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, 
Because she is something lower than myself, 
That I can match her. 

Her. Lower! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
I told him of your stealth unto this wood. 310 
He follow'd you ; for love I follow'd him ; 



But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
To Athens will I bear my folly back 
And follow you no further : let me go : 
You see how simple and how fond I am. 

Her. Why, get you gone : who is't that hinders 
you? 

Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. 

Her'. What, with Lysander? 

Hel. With Demetrius. 320 

Lys. Be not afraid ; she shall not harm thee, 
Helena. 

Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though you take 
her part. 

Hel. O, when she's angry, she is- keen and 
shrewd ! 
She was a vixen when she went to school ; 
And though she be but little, she is fierce. 

Her. 'Little' again! nothing but 'low' and 
' little ' ! 
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? 
Let me come to her. 

Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; 

You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made ; 
You bead, you acorn. 

Dem. You are too officious 330 

In her behalf that scorns your services. 
Let her alone : speak not of Helena; 
Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend 
Never so little show of love to her, 
Thou shalt aby it. 

Lys. Now she holds me not ; 

Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right, 
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. 

De?n. Follow! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek 
by j ole. [Exeunt Lysander a.7id Demeti -his. 

Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you: 
Nay, go not back. 

Hel. I will not trust you, I, 340 

Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, 
My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. 

Her. I am amazed, and know not what to say. 

{Exit. 

Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou mistakest, 
Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully. 

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistosk. 
Did not you tell me I should know the man 
By the Athenian garment he had on? 
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 350 
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes ; 
And so far am I glad it so did sort 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Obe. Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to 
fight: 
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 
The starry welkin cover thou anon 
With drooping fog as black as Acheron, 
And lead these testy rivals so astray 
As one come not within another's way. 
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 361 
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
And from each other look thou lead them thus, 
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : 
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 



Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 



To take from thence all error with his might, 
\nd make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. 
vVhen they next wake, all this derision 370 

Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision, 
\nd back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
*Vith league whose date till death shall never end. 
vVhiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
"11 to my queen and beg her Indian boy; 
And then I will her charmed eye release 
?rom monsters view, and all things shall be peace. 
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with 
> haste, 
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; 380 

At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and 

there, 
Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all, 
That in crossways and floods have burial, 
\lready to their wormy beds are gone ; 
For fear lest day should look their shames upon, 
They wilfully themselves exile from light _ 
4nd must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 

Obe. But we are spirits of another sort : 
[ with the morning's love have oft made sport, 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 390 
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, 
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
1 Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams. 
(But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: 
We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit. 
Puck. Up and down, up and down, 
I will lead them up and down: 
I am fear'd in field and town : 
Goblin, lead them up and down. 
Here comes one. 4°° 

Re-enter Lysander. 
j Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak 
thou now. 
Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where 

art thou? 
Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
Puck. 
To plainer ground. 

[Exit Lysander, as following the voice. 

Re-enter Demetrius. 
Dem. Lysander ! speak again : 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? 
Speak ! In some bush? Where dost thou hide 
thy head? , 

Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the 
stars, 
relling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou 

child ; 
1 11 whip thee with a rod : he is defiled 410 

That draws a sword on thee. 
Dem. - Yea, art thou there? 

Puck. Follow my voice : we'll try no manhood 
here. {Exeunt. 

Re-enter Lysander. 
Lys. He goes before me and still dares me on: 
When I come where he calls^ then he is gone. 
I The villain is much lighter-heel'd than I : 
! followed fast, but faster he did fly; 
1 'hut fallen am I in dark uneven way, 
And here will rest me. [Lies down.'] Come, 
thou gentle day ! 



Follow me, then, 



For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
I'll find Demetrius and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. 

Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 
Puck. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why comest 
thou not? 4 21 

Dem. Abide me, if thou darest ; for well I wot 
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place, 
And darest not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou now ? 

Puck. Come hither: I am here. 

Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou 
shalt buy this dear, 
If ever 1 thy face by daylight see : 
Now, go thy way. Faintness constrained! me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
By day's approach look to be visited. 430 

[Lies down aiid sleeps. 

Re-enter Helena. 
Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 

Abate thy hours ! Shine comforts from the east, 
That I may back to Athens by daylight, 

From these that my poor company detest : 
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
Steal me awhile from mine own company. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; 
Two of both kinds makes up four. 
Here she comes, curst and sad : 
Cupid is a knavish lad, 440 

Thus to make poor females mad. 

Re-enter Hermia. 
Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 

Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers, 
I can no further crawl, no further go ; 

My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 
[Lies dawn and sleeps. 
Puck. On the ground 

Sleep sound : 

I'll apply 4So 

To your eye, 
Gentle lover, remedy. 
[Squeezing the juice on Ly scolder's eyes. 
When thou wakest, 
Thou takest 
True delight 
In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye : 
And the country proverb known, 
That every man should take his own, 
In your waking shall be shown : 460 

Jack shall have Jill; 
Nought shall go ill ; ' 
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall 
be well. [Exit. 

ACT IV. - 

Scene T. The savie^ Lysander, Demetrius, 

Helena, and Hermia lying asleep. 

Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, 

Cobweb, Moth, Mustardsf.ed, and other 

Fairies attending; OberON behind unseen. 

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 

While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 



*74 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act iv. 



And stick mufek-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 

Bot. Where's Peaseblossom ? 
■ Peas. Ready. 

Bot. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where's 
Mounsieur Cobweb ? 

Cob. Ready. 
♦ Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get 
you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a 
red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; 
and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. 
Do not fret yourself too much in the action, 
mounsieur ; and, good mounsieur, have a care the 
honey-bag break not ; I would be loath to have you 
overflown with a honey-bag, signior. Where's 
Mounsieur Mustardseed? 

Mus. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustard- 
seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good moun- 
sieur. 

Mus. What's your will ? 

Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help 
Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the bar- 
ber's, mounsieur ; for methinks I am marvellous 
hairy about the face ; and I am such a tender ass, 
if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my 
sweet love ? 30 

Bot, I have a reasonable good ear in music. 
Let's have the tongs and the bones. 

Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest 
to eat. 

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could 
munch your good dry oats. Methinks I have a 
great desire to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet 
hay, hath no fellow. 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 40 

Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of 
dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your 
people stir me : I have an exposition of sleep 
come upon me. 

Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my 
arms. 
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 

[Exeunt fairies. 
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
Gently entwist; the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 50 

{They sleep. 

Enter Puck. 
Obe. [Advancing^ Welcome, good Robin. 
See' st thou this sweet sight? 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity : 
For, meeting her of late behind the wood, 
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, 
I did upbraid her and fall out with her ; 
For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, 
Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes 60 
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
When I had at my pleasure taunted her 
And she in mild terms begg'd my patience, 
I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 



To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
And now I have the boy, I will undo 
This hateful imperfection of her eyes : 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
From off the head of this Athenian swain; 70 
That, he awaking when the other do, 
May all to Athens back again repair 
And think no more of this night's accidents 
But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
But first I will release the fairy queen. 
Be as thou wast wont to be ; 
See as thou wast wont to see: 
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hath such force and blessed power. 
Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 

Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 
Obe. There lies your love. 
Tita. How came these things to pass? 

O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 

Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. 

Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 

Than common sleep of all these five the sense. 

Tita. Music, ho ! music, such as charmeth 

sleep ! ■ [Music, still. 

Puck. Now, when thou wakest, with thine 

own fool's eyes peep. 
Obe. Sound, music ! Come, my queen, take 
hands with me, 90 

And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity 
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly 
And bless it to all fair prosperity : 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark : 

I do hear the morning lark. 
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 100 

Trip we after the night's shade : 
We the globe can compass soon, 
Swifter than the wandering moon. 
Tita. Come, my lord, and in our flight 
Tell me how it came this night 
That I sleeping here was found 
With these mortals on the ground. 

[Exeunt. 
[Horns winded within. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, andtrai.\. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; 
For now our observation is perform'd ; . 
And since we have the vaward of the day, no 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. 
Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go : 
Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. 

[Exit an Attendant. 
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. . 

Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 120 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan 
kind, 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



175 



So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian 

bulls; 
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
Each under each. A cry more tuneable 121 

Was never holla'd to, nor cheered with horn, 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
Judge when you hear. But, soft ! what nymphs 
are these ? 
Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here 
asleep ; 
And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
, I wonder of their being here together. 

The. No doubt they rose up early to observe 
The rite of May, and, hearing our intent, 130 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
But speak, Egeus; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice? 
Ege. It is, my lord. 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with 
their horns. {Hornsandskoutivithin. Lys., 
Don., He/., and Her., wake and start up. 
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past : 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? 
Lys. Pardon, my lord. 

77?,?. I pray you all, stand up. 

) I know you two are rival enemies : 
How comes this gentle concord in the world, 140 
That hatred is so far from jealousy, 
; To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? 
1 Lys. Mj T lord, I shall reply amazedly, 
Half sleep, half waking : but as yet, I swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here ; 
But, as I think, — for truly would I speak, 
And now do I bethink me, so it is, — 
j I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might, 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 150 

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have 
enough : 
I beg the law, the law, upon his head. 
They would have stolen away; they would, 
Demetrius, 
! Thereby to have defeated you and me, 
I You of your wife and me of my consent, 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
De?n. My lord, fair Helen told me of their 
stealth, 
Of this their purpose hither to this wood ; 
And I in fury hither follow'd them, 
Fair Helena in fancy following me. 160 

But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, — 
But by some power it is, — my love to Hermia, 
Melted as the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gaud 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon ; 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
The object and the pleasure of mine eye, 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food ; 170 
But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met: 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. 
Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 



For in the temple, by and by, with us 
These couples shall eternally be knit : , 
And, for the morning now is something worn, 
Our purposed hunting shall be set aside. 1S0 

Away with us to Athens ; three and three, 
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt The., Hip., Ege., and train. 

Dan. These things seem small and undis- 
tinguishable, 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. <, 

Her. Methinks I see these things with parted 
eye, 
When every thing seems double. 

Hrl. So methinks : 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Don. Are you sure 

That we are awake? It seems to me 190 

That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Don. Why, then, we are awake: let's follow 
him ; 
And by the way let us recount out dreams. 

[Exeunt. 

Dot. [Atvafcing] When my cue comes, call me, 
and I will answer : my next is, ' Most fair Pyra- 
mus.' Heigh-ho ! Peter Quince ! Flute, the bel- 
lows-mender ! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! 
God's my life, stolen hence, and left me asleep ! 
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a 
dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it 
was : man is but an ass, if he go about to expound 
this dream. Methought 1 was — there is no man 
can tell what. Methought I was, — and methought 
I had, — but man is but a patched fool, if he will 
offer to say what methought I had. The eye of 
man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not 
seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue 
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my 
dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a 
ballad of this dream : it shall be called Bottom's 
Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and I will 
sing it in the latter end of a play, before the 
duke: peradventure, to make k the more gra- 
fcious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. 



Scene II. Athens. Quince's house. 

Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? is 
he come home yet? 

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt 
he is transported. 

Fin. If he come not, then the play is marred : 
it goes not forward, doth it? 

Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man 
in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. 

Fin. No, he hath simply the best wit of any 
handicraft man in Athens. 10 

Quin. Yea, and the best person too ; and he 
is a very paramour for a sweet voice. 

Flu. You must say ' paragon : ' a paramour is, 
God bless us, a thing of naught. 



i 7 6 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.. 



[Act v. 



Enter Snug. 

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the 
temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies 
more married : if our sport had gone forward, we 
had all been made men. 

Flu. O sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath he 
lost sixpence a day during his life ; he could not 
have 'scaped sixpence a day : an the duke had 
not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyra- 
mus, I '11 be hanged ; he would have deserved it : 
sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing. 

Enter Bottom. 

Bot. Where are these lads? where are these 
hearts ? 

Quin. Bottom ! O most courageous day ! O 
most happy hour ! 

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but 
ask me not what ; for if I tell you, I am no true 
Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as 
it fell out. 

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell 
you is, that the duke hath dined. Get your 
apparel together, good strings to your beards, 
new ribbons to your pumps ; meet presently at 
the palace; every man look o'er his part; for 
the short and the long is, our play is preferred. 
In any case, let Thisby have clean linen ; and let 
not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for 
they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, 
most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we 
are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt 
but to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No 
more words : away ! go, away ! {Exeunt. 

ACT Y. 

Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
Lords, and Attendants. 

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these 

• .lovers speak of. 
The. _ More strange than true : I never may 
believe 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover and the poet 
Are of imagination all compact; 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, 
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic, 10 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 

heaven; 
And as imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination, 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy; 20 

Or in the night, imagining some fear, 
How easy is a bush supposed a bear ! 

Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigured so together, 



More witnesseth than fancy's images 

And grows to something of great constancy ; 

But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and 
mirth. 

Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and 
Helena. 
Joy, gentle friends ! joy and fresh days of love 
Accompany your hearts ! 

Lys* More than to us 30 

Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed ! 
The. Come now ; what masques, what dances 
shall we have, 
To wear away this long age of three hours 
Between our after-supper and bed-time? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, 
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? 
Call Philostrate. 
Phil. Here, mighty Theseus. 

The. Say, what abridgement have you for this 
evening ? 
What masque? what music? How shall we be- 
guile 40 
The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
Phil. There is a brief how many sports are 
ripe : 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 
{Giving a paper. 
The. [Reads'] 'The battle with the Centaurs, to 
be sung 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' 
We'll none of that : that have I told my love, 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
[Reads] ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.' 
That is an old device ; and it was play'd 50 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
[Reads] 'The thrice three Muses mourning for 

the death 
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.' 
That is some satire, keen and critical, 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
[Reads] 'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus 
And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth.' 
Merry and tragical ! tedious and brief! 
t That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. 
How shall we find the concord of this discord ? 60 
Phil. A play there is, my lord, some ten words 

Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
Butby ten words, my lord, it is too long, 
Which makes it tedious ; for in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted : 
And tragical, my noble lord, it is ; 
ForPyramus therein doth kill himself. 
Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess, 
Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
The passion of loud laughter never shed. 70 

The. What are they that do play it ? 

Phil. Hard-handed men that work in Athens 
here, 
Which never labour'd in their minds till now, 
And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories 
With this same play, against your nuptial. 

The. And we will hear it. 

Phil- No, my noble lord ; 

It is not for you : I have heard it over, 



Scene i.] 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 



177 



And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; 
Unless vou can rind sport in their intents, _ 
Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain, 80 
To do you service. 

The. I will hear that play ; 

For never anything can be amiss, 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Go, bring them in : and take your places, ladies. 
[Exit Plulostrate. 



Hip. I love not to see 



wretchedness o'ercharged 



And duty in his service perishing. 

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no 

Isuch thing. 
Hip. He says they can do nothing in this 
The™ The kinder we, to give them thanks for 
nothing. , . , 

Our sport shall be to take what they mistake : 90 

j And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect 
t Takes it in might, not merit. 
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 

' To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
Make periods in the midst of sentences 
Throttle their pra&ised accent in their iears 
And in conclusion dumbly have broke on. 
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet. 
Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome ; 100 

] And in the modesty of fearful duty 

' I read as much as from the rattling tongue 
Of saucy and audacious eloquence. _ 

Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity 

I In least speak most, to my capacity. 

Re-enter Philostrate. 
Phil. So please your grace, the Prologue is 

address'd. _, . , ., , , 

TJie. Let him approach. {Flourish of trumpets. 

Enter Quince/^ the Prologue. 

Pro If we offend, it is with our good will. 

That you should think, we come not to offend, 
But with good will. To show our simple skill, no 
That is the true beginning of our end. 
! Consider then we come but in despite. 

We do not come as minding to content you, 
' Our true intent is. All for your delight 

We are not here. That you should here repent 
you 



The actors are at hand and by their show 
You shall know all that you are like to know. 
The This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
Lys He hath rid his prologue like a rough 
colt • he knows not the stop. A good moral, my 
lord : it is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 
Hip Indeed he hath played on his prologue 
like a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in 
governmen^ ch w&g ^ & tangled chain; 

nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is 
I next? 

Enter Pyramus and TmsnE, Wall, 
Moonshine, and Lion. 
Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this 
show ; , . , . 

! But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 130 



This beauteous lady Thisby is certain. 
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers 
sunder ; 
And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
content 
To whisper. At the which let no man wonder. 
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn, 

Presenteth Moonshine ; for, if you will know, 
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 

To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name, 140 
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
Did scare away, or rather did affright ■ 
And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall, 

Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. 
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, 

And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : 
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; 
And Thisbv, tarrying in mulberry shade, 

His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain 151 
At large discourse, while here they do remain. 

{Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and 
Moonshine. 
The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 
Dent. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, 
when many asses do. _ 

Wall. In this same interlude it doth befall 
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ; 
And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
That had in it a crannied hole or chink, 
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 
Did whisper often very secretly. 161 

This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth 

show 
That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. 
The. W T ould you desire lime and hair to speak 
better? . 

Don. It is the wittiest partition that ever 1 
heard discourse, my lord. 

Enter Pyramus. 

The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 

Fyr O grim-look'd night! O night with hue 

so black ! . l 7* 

night, which ever art when day is not ! 
O night , O night! alack, alack, alack, 

1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! 
And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall. 

That stand'st between her father's ground and 

mine! , , 11 

Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, 

Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine 

eyne 1 [ // 'all holds up his fingers. 

Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for 

But what see I? No Thisby do I see. 180 

O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ! 

Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me! 

The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
curse again. t ITI 

Pyr No, in truth, sir, he should not. Ue- 
ceiving me' is Thisby's cue: she is to enter no-w- 
and I am to spy her through the wall. \ ou shall 



1 2 



i 7 8 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act v. 



see, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she 
comes. 

Enter Thisbe. 

This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my 
moans, 190 

For parting my fair Pyramus and me ! 
My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, 

Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. 

Pyr. I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 

To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
Thisby ! 

This. My love thou art, my love I think. 

Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
grace ; 
And, like Limander, am I trusty still. 

This. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. 

Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 

This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. 

Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile 
wall ! 

This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all. 

Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 
straightway ? 

This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without 
delay. [Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe. 

Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged 
so; 
And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. [Exit. 

The. Now is the mural down between the two 
neighbours. 

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 
wilful to hear without warning. 211 

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 

The. The best in this kind are but shadows ; 
and the. worst are no worse, if imagination amend 
them. 

Hip. It must be your imagination then, and 
not theirs. 

The. If we imagine no worse of them than 
they of themselves, they may pass for excellent 
men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a 
lion. 221 

Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do 
fear 

The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
floor, 
May now perchance both quake and tremble here, 

When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam ; 
For, if I should as lion come in strife 
Into this place, 'twere pity on my life. 

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- 
science. 231 

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that 
e'er I saw. 

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 

The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 

Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot 
carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the 
goose. 

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry 
his valour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is 
well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen. to 
the moon. 



Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon 
present ; — 

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his 
head. 

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are in- 
visible within the circumference. 

Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon 
present ; 
Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be. 

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : 
the man should be put into the lanthorn. How is 
it else the man i' the moon? 

Don. He dares not come there for the candle ; 
for, you see, it is already in snuff. 

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : would he 
would change ! 

The. It appears, by his small light of discre- 
tion, that he is in the wane ; but yet, in courtesy, 
in all reason, we must stay the time. 

Lys. Proceed, Moon. 260 

Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you 
that the lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the 
moon ; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this 
dog, my dog. 

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn ; 
for all these are in the moon. But, silence ! here 
comes Thisbe. 

Enter Thisbe. 
This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is 
my love ? 

Lion. [Roaring] Oh [Thisbe runs off. 

Dem. Well roared, Lion. 270 

The. Well run, Thisbe. 

Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon 
shines with a good grace. 

[The Lion shakes Thisbe 's mantle, and exit. 
The. Well moused, Lion. 
Lys. And so the lion vanished. 
Dem. And then came Pyramus. 

Enter Pyramus. 

Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
beams ; 
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright ; 
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, 
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. 280 

But stay, O spite ! 
But mark, poor knight, 
What dreadful dole is here ! 
Eyes, do you see? 
How can it be? 
O dainty duck ! O dear ! 
Thy mantle good, 
What, stain'd with blood ! 
Approach, ye Furies fell ! 

O Fates, come, come, 290 

Cut thread and thrum ; 
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! 
The. This passion, and the death of a dear 
friend, would go near to make a man look sad. 

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
Pyr. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions 
frame ? 
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear : 
Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame 
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd 
with cheer. 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



179 



Come, tears, confound ; 300 

Out, sword, and wound 
The pap of Pyramus ; 
Ay, that left pap, 

Where heart doth hop : [Studs himself. 
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
Now am I dead, 
Now am I fled ; 
My soul is in the sky : 
Tongue, lose thy light ; 
Moon, take thy flight : {Exit Moonshine. 
Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies. 

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is 
but one. . 

Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; 
he is nothing. 

The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet 
recover, and prove an ass. 

Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before 
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? 

The. She will find him by starlight. Here 
she comes; and her passion ends the play. 321 

Re-enter Thisbe. 

Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one 

for such a Pyramus : I hope she will be brief. 

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which 

' Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for a 

man , God warrant us; she for a woman, God 

bless us. . 

Lys. She hath spied him already with those 
sweet eyes. 

Dem. And thus she means, videlicet :— 330 
This. Asleep, my love ? 

What, dead, my dove ? 
O Pyramus, arise ! 

Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 
Dead, dead ? A tomb 
Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
These lily lips, 
This cherry nose, 
These yellow cowslip cheeks, 

Are gone, are gone : 34° 

Lovers, make moan : 
His eves were green as leeks. 
O Sisters Three, 
Come, come to me, 
With hands as pale as milk ; 
Lay them in gore, 
Since you have shore 
With shears his thread of silk. 
Tongue, not a word : 
Come, trusty sword ; 350 

Come, blade, my breast imbrue : 

[Stabs herself. 
And, farewell, friends ; 
Thus Thisby ends : 
Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies. 

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury 
the dead. 

Dem. Ay, and Wall too. 

Bot. [Starting up~\ No, I assure you ; the wall 
is down that parted their fathers. Will it please 
you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask 
dance between two of our company? 361 

Tlte. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play 
needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the 
players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. 



Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus and 
hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have 
been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very 
notably discharged. But, come, your Bergo- 
mask : let your epilogue alone. [A dance. 
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : 
Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. 371 
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn 
As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled 
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. 
A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
In nightly revels and new jollity. [Exeunt. 

Enter Puck. 

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, 

And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 380 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted brands do glow, 

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 
Puts the wretch that lies in woe 

In remembrance of a shroud. 
Now it is the time of night 

That the graves all gaping wide, 
Every one lets forth his sprite, 

In the church-way paths to glide : 
And we fairies, that do run 390 

By the triple Hecate's team, 
From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 
Now are frolic : not a mouse 
Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 
I am sent with broom before, 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 

Enter Oberon and Titania -with their train. 



Obe. Through the house give glimmering light, I 
By the dead and drowsy fire : 

Every elf and fairy sprite 400 j 

Hop as light as bird from brier; 

And this ditty, after me, 

Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote, 

To each word a warbling note : 

Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 

Will we sing, and bless this place. 

[Song and dance. 
Obe. Now, until the break of day, 

Through this house each fairy stray. 

To the best bride-bed will we, 410 

Which by us shall blessed be; 

And the issue there create 

Ever shall be fortunate. 

So shall all the couples three 

Ever true in loving be ; 

And the blots of Nature's hand 

Shall not in their issue stand; 

Never mole, hare lip, nor scar, 

Nor mark prodigious, such as are 

Despised in nativity, 4=0 

Shall upon their children be. 

With this field-dew consecrate, 

Every fairy take his gait ; 

And each several chamber bless, 

Through this palace, with sweet peace ; 

And the owner of it blest 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 



Ever shall in safety rest. 
Trip away ; make no stay ; 
Meet me all by break of day. 

[Exeunt Oberon, Tiiania, and train, 
ruck. If we shadows have offended, 430 

Think but this, and all is mended, 
That you have but slumber'd here 
While these visions did appear. 
And this weak and idle theme, 
No more yielding but a dream, 



[Act v. 



Gentles, do not reprehend : 

If you pardon, we will mend : 

And, as I am an honest Puck, 

If we have unearned luck 

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, 

We will make amends ere long ; 

Else the Puck a liar call : 

So, good night unto you all. 

Give me your hands, if we be friends, 

And Robin shall restore amends [Exit 



440 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



The Duke of Venice. 

The Prince of Morocco, i su ; tors t0 Portia. 

The Prince of Arragon,) 

Antonio, a merchant of Venice. _ 

Bassanio, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia. 

Salanio, A 

Salarino, ( f r j en( j s to Antonio and Bassanio. 

Gratiano, I 

Salerio, / 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 

Shylock, a rich Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcelot Gobbo, the clown, servant to bnylocc. 



Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. 
Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. 
Balthasar,| servants to Portia. 
Stephano, J 
Portia, a rich heiress. 
Nerissa, her waiting-maid. 
Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 
Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of 
Justice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and 
other Attendants. 
Scene : Partly at Venice, and partly at Bel- 
mont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Venice. A street. 
Enter Antonio, Salarino, ««</ Salanio. 
A nt. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad : 
It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; _ 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; , 

And such a want-wit sadness makes ot me, 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
There where your argosies with portly sail. 
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, 10 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
That curtsy to them, do them reverence, 
A s they fly by them with their woven wings 

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
The better part of my affeaions would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still _ 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind, 
Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads ; 
And every object that might make me fear 2c 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind cooling my broth 

Would blow me to an ague, when I t n .°"ght 
What harm a wind too great at sea might do. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, 
But I should think of shallows and of flats, 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock d in sand, 
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church 
And see the holy edifice of stone, 3° 

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, 
Which touching but my gentle vessel s side, 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream, 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, 
i And in a word, but even now worth this, 
I And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought 
I To think on this, and shall I lack the thought 
! That such a thing bechanced would make me sad t 
\ But tell not me ; I know, Antonio 

Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 4<=> 



Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore mv merchandise makes me not sad. 
Salar. Why, then you are in love. 
Ant Fie > fie ! 

Salar. Not in love neither ? Then let us say 
you are sad, 
Because you are not merry : and twere as easy 
For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, 
Because vou are not sad. Now, by two-headed 
Janus, r „ .... 5 ° 

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes 
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper, 
And other of such vinegar aspect < 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
kinsman, 
Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : 
We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made 
you merry, 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you 
\nd you embrace the occasion to depart. 
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords 
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we 
laugh ? say, when ? . 

You grow exceeding strange : must it be so? 
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on 

[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 
Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found 
Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but at dinner-time, 7° 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet 
Bass. I will not fail you. 
Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio ; 
You have too' much respect upon the world : 



They lose it that do buy it with much care : 
Believe me, you are marvellously changed. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, 
Gratiano ; 
A stage where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 
And let my liver rather heat with wine 81 

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks — 
There are a sort of men whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, 
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 90 

With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, 
As who should say ' I am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark !' 

my Antonio, I do know of these 
That therefore only are reputed wise 

For saying nothing, when, I am very sure, 
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears 
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers 
fools. 

1 '11 tell thee more of this another time : 100 
But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 

For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. 

Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile : 

I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- 
time : 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
I For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moe, 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. 

Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only com- 
mendable 
In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible. 
[Exeunt Gratiano a?id Lorenzo. 

Ant. Is that any thing now? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of no- 
thing, more than any man in all Venice. His 
reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two 
bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you 
find them, and when you have them, they are 
not worth the search. 

Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the same 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 120 

That you to-day promised to tell me of? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate, 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance : 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is to come fairly off from the great debts 
Wherein my time something too prodigal 
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, 130 

I owe the most, in money and in love, 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburden all my plots and purposes 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 



Within the eye of honour, be assured, 

My purse, my person, my extremest means, 

Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one 
shaft, 140 

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way with more advised watch, 
To find the other forth, and by adventuring both 
I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth, 
That which I owe is lost ; but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both 150 

Or bring your latter hazard back again 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

A fit. You know me well, and herein spend 
but time 
To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong 
In making question of my uttermost 
Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
Then do but say to me what I should do 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest unto it : therefore, speak. 160 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left ; 
And she is fair and, fairer than that word, 
Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages : 
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia : 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 170 
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 
That I should questionless be fortunate ! 

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are 
at sea ; 
Neither have I money nor commodity 
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth ; 
Try what my credit can in Venice do : 180 

That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is, and I no question make 
To have it of my trust or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 
Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 
aweary of this great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your 
miseries were in the same abundance as your good 
fortunes are : and yet, for aught I see, they are 
as sick that surfeit with too much as they that 
starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness 
therefore, to be seated in the mean : superfluity 
comes sooner by white hairs, but competency 
lives longer. 10 

Por. Good sentences and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what I 



Scene ii.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



183 



were good to do, chapels had been churches and 
poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good 
divine that follows his own instructions : I can 
easier teach twenty what were good to be done, 
than be one of the twenty to follow mine own 
teaching. The brain may devise laws for the 
Mood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree : 
such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the 
meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this 
reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a 
husband. O me, the word 'choose !' I may nei- 
ther choose whom I would nor refuse whom I 
dislike ; so is the will of a living daughter curbed 
by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, 
Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse 
none ? 29 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy 
men at their death have good inspirations : 
therefore the lottery, that he hath devised in 
these three chests of gold, silver and lead, 
whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, 
will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly 
but one who shall rightly love. But what warmth 
is there in your affeclion towards any of these 
princely suitors that are already come? 

For. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as 
thou namest them, I will describe them ; and, 
according to my description, level at my affec- 
tion. 

Ner. "First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

For. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth 
nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a 
great appropriation to his own good parts, that he 
can shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady 
his mother played false with a smith. 

Ner. Then there is the County Palatine. 

For. He doth nothing but frown, as who 
should say ' If you will not have me, choose : ' he 
hears merry tales and smiles not : I fear he will 
prove the weeping philosopher when he grows 
old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his 
youth. I had rather be married to a death's- 
head with a bone in his mouth than to either of 
these. God defend me from these two ! 

Ner. How say you by the French lord, Mon- 
sieur Le Bon? 

For. God made him, and therefore let him 
pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be 
a mocker: but, he ! why, he hath a horse better 
than the Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of 
frowning than the Count Palatine ; he is every 
man in no man ; if a throstle sing, he falls straight 
a capering : he will fence with his own shadow : 
if I should marry him, I should marry twenty 
husbands. If he would despise me, I would for- 
give him, for if he love me to madness, I shall 
never requite him. 70 

Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, 
the young baron of England ? 

Por. You know I say nothing to him, for he 
understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither 
Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come 
into the court and swear that I have a poor 
pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's 
picture, but, alas, who can converse with a dumb- 
show? How oddly he is suited! I think he 
bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in 
France, his bonnet in Germany and his beha- 
viour every where. 



Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
neighbour? 

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in 
him, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the 
Englishman and swore he would pay him again 
when he was able : I think the Frenchman be- 
came his surety and sealed under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the 
Duke of Saxony's nephew? 91 

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is 
sober, and most vilely in the afternoon, when he 
is drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse 
than a man, and when he is worst, he is little 
better than a beast: an the worst fall that ever 
fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without 
him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose 
the right casket, you should refuse to perform 
your father's will, if you should refuse to accept 
him. 

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray 
thee, set a deep glass of rhenish wine on the 
contrary casket, for if the devil be within and 
that temptation without, I know he will choose it. 
I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I '11 be married 
to a sponge. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any 
of these lords: they have acquainted me with 
their determinations; which is, indeed, to return 
to their home and to trouble you with no more 
suit, unless you may be won by some other sort 
than your father's imposition depending on the 
caskets. 

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will 
die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by 
the manner of my father's will. I am glad this 
parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is 
not one among them but I dote on his very 
absence, and I pray God grant them a fair de- 
parture. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your 
father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, 
that came hither in company of the Marquis of 
Montferrat? 

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, he 
was so called. 

Ner. True, madam : he, of all the men that 

ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best 

deserving a fair lady. 131 

Por. I remember him well, and I remember 

him worthy of thy praise. 

Enter a Serving-man. 

How now! what news? 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
to take their leave : and there is a forerunner 
come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who 
brings word the prince his master will be here 
to-night. 139 

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so 
good a heart as I can bid the other four farewell, 
I should be glad of his approach : if he have the 
condition of a saint and the complexion of a 
devil, I had rather he should shrive me than 
wive me. 

Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another 
knocks at the door. [Exeunt. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act 



Scene III. Venice. A public place. 
Enter Bassanio and Shylock. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats ; well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months ; well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio 
shall be bound. 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound ; well. 

Bass. May you stead me? will you pleasure 
me? shall I know your answer? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months 
and Antonio bound. 10 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the 
contrary? 

Shy. Oh, no, no, no, no: my meaning in 
saying he is a good man is to have you under- 
stand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are 
in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tri- 
polis, another to the Indies ; I understand, more- 
over, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, 
a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, 
squandered abroad. But ships are but boards, 
sailors but men : there be land-rats and water- 
rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I mean 
pirates, and then there is the peril of waters, 
winds and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, 
sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I 
may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I 
may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak 
with Antonio? 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habi- 
tation which your prophet the Nazarite conjured 
the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with 
you, talk with you, walk with you, and so follow- 
ing, but I will not eat with you, drink with you, 
nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? 
Who is he comes here? 40 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 

Shy. [Aside] How like a fawning publican he 
looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian, 
But more for that in low simplicity 
He lends out money gratis and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift, 51 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store, 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months 
Do you desire? [To Ant.] Rest you fair, good 
signior ; 60 

Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 



Ant. Shylock, although I neither lend nor 
borrow 
By taking nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I '11 break a custom. Is he yet possess'd 
How much ye would? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot ; three months ; you told 
me so. 
Well then, your bond ; and let me see ; but 

hear you ; 
Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow 
Upon advantage. 

A tit. I do never use it. 71 

Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's 
sheep — 
This Jacob from our holy Abram was, 
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, 
The third possessor ; ay, he was the third — 

Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 

Shy. No, not take interest, not, as you would 
say, 
Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromised 
That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied 
Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank, 
In the end of autumn turned to the rams, 
And, when the work of generation was 
Between these woolly breeders in the act, 
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certaui wands 
And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, 
Who then conceiving did in eaning time 
Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest : 90 
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob 
served for; 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. 
Was this inserted to make interest good? 
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? 

Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : 
But note me, signior. 

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul producing holy witness 100 

Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 

Shy. Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good 
round sum. 
Three months from twelve ; then, let me see ; 
the rate — 

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding 
to you ? 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, no 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears you need my help : 
Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say 
' Shylock, we would have moneys :' you say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard 



Scene hi.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 

Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. 120 

What should I say to you? Should I not say 

I Hath a dog money? is it possible 

A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or 

Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key, 

With bated breath and whispering humbleness, 

Say this ; 

' Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 

You spurn'd me such a day; another time 

You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies 

I'll lend you thus much moneys'? 130 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends; for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend? 
But lend it rather to thine enemy, 
Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, 
Supply your present wants and take no doit 141 
Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me : 
This is kind I offer. 

Bass. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
If you repay me not on such a day, 
In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 150 

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

A tit. Content, i' faith : I '11 seal to such a bond 
And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 

A ut. Why, fear not, man ; 1 will not forfeit it : 
Within these two months, that's a month before 
This bond expires, 1 do expect return 160 

Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shy. O father Abram, what these Chris* 
tians are, 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture? 
A pound of man's flesh taken from a man 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship : 
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; 170 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Atit. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; 
Give him direction for this merry bond, 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight, 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
I will be with you. 

A ut. Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Exit Shylock. 
The Hebrew will turn Christian : he growskind. 

Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay ; 
My ships come home a month before the day. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of 

Mokocco and his train; Portia, Nerissa, 

and o titers attending. 

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred. 
Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
And let us make incision for your love, 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
Hath fear'd the valiant : by my love, I swear 
The best-regarded virgins of our clime 10 

Have loved it too : I would not change this hue, 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

For. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes; 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
But if my father had not scanted me 
And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself 
His wife who wins me by that means I told you, 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 20 
As any comer I have look'd on yet 
For my affection. 

Mor. Even for that I thank you : 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar 
That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince 
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, 
I would outstare the sternest eyes that look, 
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, 
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 30 
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while 1 
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice 
Which is the better man, the greater throw 
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 
And die with grieving. 

For. You must take your chance, 

And either not attempt to choose at all 
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong 
Never to speak to lady afterward 41 

In way of marriage : therefore be advised. 

Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto 
my chance. 

For. First, forward to the temple : after dinner 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then ! 

To make me blest or cursed'st among men. 

[Cornets, and exeunt. 

Scene II. Venice. A street. 
Enter Launcelot. 
Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me 
to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at 
mine elbow and tempts me saying to me 
' Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,' or 
'good Gobbo,' or 'good Launcelot Gobbo, use 
your legs, take the start, run away.' My con- 
science says 'No; take heed, honest Launcelot; 



1 86 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act ii. 



take heed, honest Gobbo,' or, as aforesaid, 'honest 
Launcelot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running with 
thy heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids 
me pack : ' Via ! ' says the fiend ; ' away ! ' says 
the fiend ; ' for the heavens, rouse up a brave 
mind,' says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my con- 
science, hanging about the neck of my heart, 
says very wisely to me ' My honest friend Laun- 
celot, being an honest man's son,' or rather an 
honest woman's son ; for, indeed, my father did 
something smack, something grow to, he had a 
kind of taste; well, my conscience says 'Launce- 
lot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the fiend. 
'Budge not,' says my conscience. 'Conscience,' 
say I, 'you counsel well ;' 'Fiend,' say I, 'you 
counsel well:' to be ruled by my conscience, 
I should stay with the Jew my master, who, 
God bless the mark, is a kind of devil ; and, to 
run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the 
fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil 
himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil 
incarnal ; and, in my conscience, my conscience 
is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to coun- 
sel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives 
the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my 
heels are at your command; I will run. 

Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, 
which is the way to master Jew's? 

Laun. [Aside] O heavens, this is my true- 
begotten father ! who, being more than sand- 
blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not : I will 
try confusions with him. 

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, 
which is the way to master Jew's ? 41 

Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the 
next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on 
jrour left ; marry, at the very next turning, turn 
of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's 
house. 

Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way 
to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, 
that dwells with him, dwell with him or no ? 

Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
[Aside] Mark me now; now will I raise the 
waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot ? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : 
his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding 
poor man and, God be thanked, well to live. 

Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, 
we talk of young Master Launcelot. 

Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir. 

Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I 
beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot ? 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your master- 
ship. 

Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of 
Master Launcelot, father ; for the young gentle/ 
man, according to Fates and Destinies and such 
odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches 
of learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would 
say in plain terms, gone to heaven. 

Gob. Marry, Good forbid ! the boy was the 
very staff of my age, my very prop. 70 

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel- 
post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father? 

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young 



gentleman : but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, 
God rest his soul, alive or dead ? 

Laun. Do you not know me, father? 

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know 
you not. 

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, 
you might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise 
father that knows his own child. Well, old man, 
I will tell you news of your son : give me your 
blessing : truth will come to light ; murder cannot 
be hid long ; a man's son may, but at the 
length truth will out. 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up : I am sure you 
are not Launcelot, my boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling 
about it, but give me your blessing : I am Launce- 
lot, your boy that was, your son that is, your 
child that shall be. 91 

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 

Laun. I know not what I shall think of that : 
but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am 
sure Margery your wife is my mother. 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be 
sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own 
flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be ! 
what a beard hast thou got ! thou hast got more 
hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on 
his tail. 101 

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's 
tail grows backward : I am sure he had more 
hair of his tail than I have of my face when I 
last saw him. 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How 
dost thou and thy master agree ? I have brought 
him a present. How 'gree you now ? 

Laun. Well, well : but, for mine own part, 
as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will 
not rest till I have run some ground. My master's 
a very Jew : give him a present ! give him a 
halter : I am famished in his service ; you may 
tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I 
am glad you are come : give me your present to 
one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare 
new liveries : if I serve not him, I will run as far 
as God has any ground. O rare fortune ! here 
comes the man : to him, father ; for I am a Jew, 
if I serve the Jew any longer. 120 

Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo and other 
followers. 

Bass. You may do so ; but let it be so hasted 
that supper be ready at the farthest by five of 
the clock. See these letters delivered ; put the 
liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come 
anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant. 

Laun. To him, father. 

Gob. God bless your worship ! 

Bass. Gramercy ! wouldst thou aught with me ? 

Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
man ; that would, sir, as my father shall spe- 
cify — ■ 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one 
would say, to serve, — 

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I 
serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father 
shall specify — 

Gob. His master and he, saving your worship's 
reverence, are scarce cater-cousins — 



Scene ii.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



1S7 



Laun. To be brief, the very truth is that the 
Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as 
my father, being, I hope, an old man, shall fru- 
tify unto you — 

Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would 
bestow upon your worship, and my suit is — 

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
myself, as your worship shall know by this honest 
old man ; and, though I say it, though old man, 
yet poor man, my father. 
■ Bass. One speak for both. What would you ? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 151 

Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bass. 1 know thee well ; thou hast obtain'd 
thy suit : 
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day, 
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted 
between my master Shylock and you, sir : you 
have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with 
thy son. 
Take leave of thy old master and inquire 
My lodging out. Give him a livery 
More guarded than his fellows' : see it done. 

Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no ; 
I have ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any 
man in Italy have t a fairer table which doth offer 
to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune. 
Go to, here's a simple line of life : here's a small 
trifle of wives : alas, fifteen wives is nothing ! 
eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming- 
in for one man : and then to 'scape drowning 
thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge 
of a feather-bed ; here are simple scapes. Well, 
if Fortune be a woman, she 's a good wench for 
this gear. Father, come ; I '11 take my leave of 
the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 

[Exeunt La7(ncelot and Old Gobbo. 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on 
this: 
These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 180 

My best-esteem'd acquaintance : hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master ? 

Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. {Exit. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio ! 

Bass. Gratiano ! 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gra. You must not deny me : I must go with 
you to Belmont. 

Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, 
Gratiano ; 
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice ; 
Parts that become thee happily enough 191 

And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
But where thou art not known, why, there they 

show 
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild be- 
haviour 



I be misconstrued in the place I go to 
And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 199 

Talk with respect and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely, 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine 

eyes 
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,' 
Use all the observance of civility, 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
To please his grandam, never trust me more. 

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night : you shall not 
gauge me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that were pity : 

I would entreat you rather to put on 210 

Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment. But fare you well : 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest : 
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. A room in Shylock's 
house. 

Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 

yes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee : 
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
Give him this letter; do it secretly; 
And so farewell : I would not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. g 

Laun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue. Most 
beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian 
did not play the knave and get thee, I am much 
deceived. But, adieu : these foolish drops do 
something drown my manly spirit : adieu. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 

[Exit Launcelot. 
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
To be ashamed to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, 20 
Become a Christian and thy loving wife. [Exit. 

Scene IV. The same. A street. 

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and 
Salanio. 
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 
Disguise us at my lodging and return, 
All in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch- 
bearers. 
Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly 
order'd, 
And better in my mind not undertook. 

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock : we have two 
hours 
To furnish us. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act ii. 



Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 

Latin. An it shall please you to break up this, 
it shall seem to signify. n 

Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 
And whiter than the paper it writ on 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. * Love-news, in faith. 

Latin. By your leave, sir. 

Lor. Whither goest thou? 

Latin. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the 
Jew to sup to-night with my new master the 
Christian. 

Lor. Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica 
I will not fail her; speak it privately. 21 

Go, gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot. 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
I am provided of a torch-bearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, I '1! be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 

[Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath 
directed 30 

How I shall take her from her father's house, 
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with, 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, 
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 
Unless she do it under this excuse, 
That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
Come, go with me ; peruse this as thou goest: 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. Before Shylock's house. 
Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be 
thy judge, 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandise, 
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee 
call. 

Latin. Your worship was wont to tell me that 
I could do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

yes. Call you? what is your will? 10 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : 
There are my keys. But wherefore should I go ? 
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, 
Look to my house. I am right loath to go : 
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Latin. I beseech you, sir, go: my young 
master doth expect your reproach. 20 

Shy. So do I his. 



Latin. An they have conspired together, I 
will not say you shall see a masque ; but if you 
do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell 
a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at six o'clock i' 
the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wed- 
nesday was four year, in the afternoon. 

Shy. What, are there masques? Hear you 
me, Jessica: 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum 
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife, 30 
Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
Nor thrust your head into the public street 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces, 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements: 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say I will come. 

Latin. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look 
out at window, for all this ; 41 

There will come a Christian by, 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 
ha? 

yes. His words were 'Farewell mistress;' 
nothing else. 

Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge 
feeder ; 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him, and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 50 
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in: 
Perhaps I will return immediately : 
Do as I bid you ; shut doors after you : 
Fast bind, fast find ; 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 

yes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 

Scene VI. The same. 
Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued. 

Gra. This is the pent-house under which 
Lorenzo 
Desired us to make stand. 

Salar. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are 

wont 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 

Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast 
With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
Where is the horse that doth untread again 10 
His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
That he did pace them first? All things that are, 
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
How like a younker or a prodigal 
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
How like the prodigal doth she return, 
With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, 
Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo: more of this 
hereafter. 20 



Scene vi. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Eater Lorenzo. 
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my 
long abode ; 
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait : 
When you shall please to play the thieves for 

wives, 
I '11 watch as long for you then. Approach ; 
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho ! who 's within ? 

Eiiter Jessica, above, in boy's clothes. 

yes. Who are you? Tell me, for more cer- 
tainty, 
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
Jes. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed, 
For who love I so much ? And now who knows 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 31 

Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness 

that thou art. 
yes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth 
the pains. 
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
For I am much ashamed of my exchange : 
But love is blind and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit ; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
1 To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch- 
bearer. 40 
yes. What, must I hold a candle to my 
shames ? 
! They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
And I should be obscured. 

Lor. So are you, sweet, 

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
But come at once ; 

For the close night doth play the runaway, 
And we are stayed for at Bassanio's feast. 

yes. I will make fast the doors, and gild my- 
self 
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
[Exit above. 50 
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no 

Jew. 
Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily ; 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her, 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, 
And true she is, as she hath proved herself, 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, below. 
What, art thou come? On, gentlemen ; away! 
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

[Exit with yessica and Salarino. 

Enter Antonio. 

A tit. Who's there? 60 

Gra. Signior Antonio ! 

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the 
rest? 
'Tis nine o'clock : our friends all stay for you. 
No masque to-night : the wind is come about ; 
Bassanio presently will go aboard : 
I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 

Gra. I am glad on't: I desire no more delight 
Than to be under sail and gone to-night. \_Exeunt. 



Scene. VII. Belmont. A room in 
Portia's house. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the 
Prince of Morocco, and their trains. 

For. Go draw aside the curtains and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince. 
Now make your choice. 
Mot: The lirst, of gold, who this inscription 
bears, 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 

desire ;' 
The second, silver, which this promise carries, 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves ;' 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, 
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 

hath.' 
How shall I know if I do choose the right? 10 
For. The one of them contains my picture, 
prince : 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
Mor. Some god direct my judgement ! Let me 
see; 
I will survey the inscriptions back again. 
What says this leaden casket ? 
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 

hath.' 
Must give : for what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ? 
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all 
Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; 20 
I '11 then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 
What says the silver with her virgin hue? 
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves.' 
As much as he deserves ! Pause there, Morocco, 
And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady : 
And yet to be afeard of my deserving 
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 30 

As much as I deserve ! Why, that's the lady: 
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, 
In graces and in qualities of breeding ; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here? 
Let's see once more this saying graved in gold; 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 

desire.' 
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her; 
From the four corners of the earth they come, 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint :4o 
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds 
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now 
For princes to come view fair Portia : 
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come, 
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
Is 't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation 
To think so base a thought : it were too gross 50 
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
Or shall I think in silver she's immured. 
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? 
O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 



190 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act 11. 



Was set in worse than gold. They have in Eng- 
land 
A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon; 
But here an angel in a golden bed 
Lies all within. Deliver me the key : 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 60 

For. There, take it, prince ; and if my form 
lie there, 
Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. 

Mor. O hell ! what have we here ? 

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
There is a written scroll ! I '11 read the writing. 
[Reads\ All that glisters is not gold ; 

Often have you heard that told : 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 70 

Young in limbs, in judgement old, 
Your answer had not been inscroll'd : 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 
Cold, indeed ; and labour lost: 
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost ! 
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart 
To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. 

[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets. 

For. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. 

Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. Venice. A street. 

Enter Salarino and Salanio. 

Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail : 
With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries raised 
the duke, 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under 
sail : 
But there the duke was given to understand 
That in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica: 
Besides, Antonio certified the duke 10 

They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 

Salan. I never heard a passion so confused, 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
' My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian ! O my Christian ducats ! 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 
Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter ! 
And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious 
stones, 20 

Stolen by my daughter ! Justice ! find the girl ; 
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.' 

Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow 
him, 
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 

Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this. 

Salar. Marry, well remember'd. 

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, 
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country richly fraught : 30 



I thought upon Antonio when he told me ; 
And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what 

you hear; 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the 

earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: 
Bassanio told him he would make some speed 
Of his return : he answer'd, ' Do not so ; 
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very riping of the time ; 40 

And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me, 
+ Let it not enter in your mind of love : 
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts 
To courtship and such fair ostents of love 
As shall conveniently become you there :' 
And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
And with affection wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand ; and so they parted. 
Salan. I think he only loves the world for 



him. 



50 



I pray thee, let us go and find him out 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia's 
house. 

Enter Nerissa with a Servitor. 
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the 
curtain straight : 
The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 
And comes to his election presently. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of 

Arragon, Portia, and their trains. 
For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble 

prince : 
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized: 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
You must be gone from hence immediately. 

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three 

things : 
First, never to unfold to any one 10 

Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail 
Of the right casket, never in my life 
To woo a maid in way of marriage : 
Lastly, 

If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 
Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
For. To these injunctions every one doth 

swear 
That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
Ar. And so have I address' d me. Fortune 

now 
To my heart's hope ! Gold ; silver ; and base lead. 
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 

hath.' 21 

You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard. 
What says the golden chest? ha ! let me see : 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 

desire.' 
What many men desire! that 'many' may be 

meant 
By the fool multitude, that choose by show, 



Scene ix.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



191 



Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; 
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the 

martlet, 
Builds in the weather on the outward wall, 
Even in the force and road of casualty. 30 

I will not choose what many men desire, 
Because I will not jump with common spirits 
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house ; 
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
1 Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves :' 
And well said too ; for who shall go about 
To cozen fortune and be honourable 
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume 
To wear an undeserved dignity. 40 

O, that estates, degrees and offices 
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour 
I Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! 
I How many then should cover that stand bare! 
|How many be commanded that command ! 
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
From the true seed of honour! and how much 

honour 
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times 
To be new-varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice : 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves.' 50 
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, 
And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 

[He ope7is tJie silver casket. 
Por. Too long a pause for that which you find 

there. 
Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking 
idiot, 
Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
How much unlike art thou to Portia! 
jHow much unlike my hopes and my deservings ! 
1 Who chooseth me shall have as much as he de- 
serves.' 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? 
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? 60 
Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices 
And of opposed natures. 
Ar. What is here? 

[Reads] The fire seven times tried this : 

Seven times tried that judgement is, 

That did never choose amiss. 

Some there be that shadows kiss ; 

Such have but a shadow's bliss : 

There be fools alive, I wis, 

Silver'd o'er ; and so was this. 

Take what wife you will to bed, 70 

I will ever be your head : 

So be gone : you are sped. 

Still more fool I shall appear 

By the time I linger here: 

With one fool's head I came to woo, 

But I go away with two. 

Sweet, adieu. I '11 keep my oath, 

Patiently to bear my wroth. 

[Exeunt A rragon and train. 
' Por. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. 
J D, these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 81 

Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy, 
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 



Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Where is my lady? 

Por. Here : what would my lord ? 

Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify the approaching of his lord ; 
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets, 
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath. 
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 91 

So likely an ambassador of love : 
A day in April never came so sweet, 
To show how costly summer was at hand, 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 

Por. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard 
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, 
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him. 
Come, come, Nerissa : for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 100 

Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be ! 

[Exeunt. 



Scene 



ACT III. 

Venice. A street. 



Enter Salanio and Salarino. 

Sa/an. Now, what news on the Rialto? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked 
that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wrecked 
on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they 
call the place ; a very dangerous flat and fatal, 
where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, 
as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest 
woman of her word. 

Satan. I would she were as lying a gossip in 
that as ever knapped ginger or made her neigh- 
bours believe she wept for the death of a third 
husband. But it is true, without any slips of 
prolixity or crossing the plain highway of talk, 

that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio, 

O that I had a title good enough to keep his 
name company ! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the 
end is, he hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his 
losses. 21 

Salan. Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the 
devil cross my prayer, for here he comes in the 
likeness of a Jew. 

Enter Shylock. 
How now, Shylock ! what news among the 
merchants? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
you, of my daughter's flight. 

Salar. That's certain: I, for my part, knew 
the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 30 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew 
the bird was fledged ; and then it is the complexion 
of them all to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damned for it. 

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her 
judge. 

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 

Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at 
these years V ^q 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. There is more difference between thy 



ICj2 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act in. 



flesh and hers than between jet and ivory; more 
between your bloods than there is between red 
wine and rhenish. But tell us, do you hear 
whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a 
bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his 
head on the Rialto ; a beggar, that was used to 
come so smug upon the mart ; let him look to his 
bond: he was wont to call me usurer; let him 
look to his bond : he was wont to lend money for 
a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou 
wilt not take his flesh : what's that good for? 

Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing 
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced 
me, and hindered me half a million ; laughed at 
my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my 
nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, 
heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I 
am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a 
Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, 
passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the 
same weapons, subject to the same diseases, 
healed by the same means, warmed and cooled 
by the same winter and summer, as a Christian 
is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you 
tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we 
not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? 
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble 
you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what 
is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong 
a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian 
example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach 
me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will 
better the instruction. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at 
his house and desires to speak with you both. 
Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 

Enter Tubal. 

Satan. Here comes another of the tribe : a 
third cannot be matched, unless the devil himself 
turn Jew. [Exeunt Satan., Salar., and Servant. 

Shy. How now, Tubal ! what news from 
Genoa? hast thou found my daughter? 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, 
but cannot find her. 

Shy. Why, there, there, there, there ! a dia- 
mond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in 
Frankfort ! The curse never fell upon our nation 
till now ; I never felt it till now : two thousand 
ducats in that; andotherprecious, precious jewels. 
I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and 
the jewels in her ear ! would she were hearsed at 
my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! No news 
of them? Why, so: and I know not what's 
spent in the search : why, thou loss upon loss ! the 
thief gone with so much, and so much to find the 
thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge: nor no ill 
luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders ; no 
sighs but of my breathing ; no tears but of my 
shedding. 101 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too : Antonio, 
as I heard in Genoa, — 

Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 

Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis. 



Shy. I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, 
is't true? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that 
escaped the wreck. no 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : good news, 
good news! ha, ha ! where? in Genoa? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I 
heard, in one night fourscore ducats. 

Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me : I shall 
never see my gold again : fourscore ducats at a 
sitting ! fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors 
in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot 
choose but break. 120 

Shy. I am very glad of it : I '11 plague him ; 
I '11 torture him : I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he 
had of your daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, 
Tubal : it was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah 
when I was a bachelor : I would not have given 
it for a wilderness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, 
Tubal, fee me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight 
before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; 
for, were he out of Venice, I can make what 
merchandise I will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet 
me at our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our 
synagogue, Tubal. [Exe?uit. 

Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, 
and Attendants. 

Por. I pray you, tarry : pause a day or two 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company : therefore forbear awhile. 
There's something tells me, but it is not love, 
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
Hate counsels not in such a quality. 
But lest you should not understand me well, — 
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — 
I would detain you here some month or two 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you 
How to choose right, but I am then forsworn; 11 
So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 
But if you do, you'll make me .wish a sin, 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
They have o'erlook'd me and divided me ; 
One half of me is yours, the other half yours, 
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, 
And so all yours. O, these naughty times 
Put bars between the owners and their rights ! 
And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so, 
Let fortune go to hell for it, not I. 21 

I speak too long ; but 'tis to peize the time, 
To eke it and to draw it out in length, 
To stay you from election. 

Bass. Let me choose ; 

For as I am, I live upon the rack. 

Por. Upon the rack. Bassanio ! then confess 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
There may as well be amity and life 30 

'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, 
Where men enforced do speak anything. 



Scene ii.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



193 



Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the 

truth. 
For. Well then, confess and live. 
Bass. 'Confess' and ' love' 

Had been the very sum of my confession : 

happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

For. Away, then ! I am lock'd in one of 
them : 40 

If you do love me, you will find me out. 
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloe if. 
Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 

! Fading in music : that the comparison 
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the 

stream 
And watery death-bed for him. He may win ; 
And what is music then ? Then music is 
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned monarch : such it is 50 

As are those dulcet sounds in break of day 

I That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, 

, With no less presence, but with much more love, 

' Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
T( 1 the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice ; 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 60 

Live thou, I live: with much much more dismay 

1 view the fight than thou that makest the fray. 

Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets 

to Jiinisetf. 

Song. 

Tell me where is fancy bred, 

Or in the heart or in the head? 

How begot, how nourished ? 

Reply, reply. 
It is engender'd in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 

Let us all ring fancy's knell : 70 

I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
All. Ding, dong, bell. 

Bass. So may the outward shows be least 
themselves : 
I The world is still deceived with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt 
But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of evil? In religion, 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it and approve it with a text, 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? So 

There is no vice so simple but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts : 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, 
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ; 
And these assume but valour's excrement 
To render them redoubted ! Look on beauty, 
And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight ; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature, 90 

Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
So are tho^e crisped snaky golden locks 
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 



Upon supposed fairness, often known 

To be the dowry of a second head, 

The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. 

Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 

To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 

t Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, 99 

The seeming truth which cunning times put on 

To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 

Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee; 

Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 

'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre 

lead, 
Which rather threatcnest than dost promise aught, 
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ; 
And here choose I : joy be the consequence ! 
For. [Aside] How all the other passions fleet 
to air, 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, 
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy I 

love, 111 
Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; 

In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess. 

1 feel too much thy blessing : make it less, 
For fear I surfeit. 

Bass. What find I here? 

[Opening the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit ! What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. 
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, 
Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her 
hairs 120 

The painter plays the spider and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : but her eyes, — 
How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
Methinks it should have power to steal both his 
And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this 

shadow 
In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the 
scroll, 130 

The continent and summary of my fortune. 
[Reads] You that choose not by the view, 

Chance as fair and choose as true ! 

Since this fortune falls to you, 

Be content and seek no new. 

If you be well pleased with this 

And hold your fortune for your bliss, 

Turn you where your lady is 

And claim her with a loving kiss. 
A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave ; 140 
I come by note, to give and to receive. 
Like one of two contending in a prize, 
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
Hearing applause and universal shout, 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 
Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 
So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so ; 
As doubtful whether what I see be true. 
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you 

For. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I Stan 1, 
Such as I am : though for myself alone 151 

1 would not be ambitious in my wish. 
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you 
1 would be trebled twenty times myself: 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 



'3 



194 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act hi. 



More rich ; 

That only to stand high in your account, 

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 

Exceed account ; but the full sum of me 

t Is sum of something, which, to term in gross, 

Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised ; 161 

Happy in this, she is not yet so old 

t But she may learn ; happier than this, 

She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 

Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit 

Commits itself to yours to be direcled, 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

Myself and what is mine to you and yours 

Is now converted : but now I was the lord 

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 170 

Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 

This house, these servants and this same myself 

Are yours, my lord : I give them with this ring ; 

Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 

Let it presage the ruin of your love 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins ; 
And there is such confusion in my powers, 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 180 

By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; 
Where every something, being blent together, 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : 
O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead ! 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time, 
That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, 
To cry, good joy : good joy, my lord and lady ! 

Gra. My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
For I am sure you can wish none from me : » 
And when your honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a 
wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got me 
one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 200 
You loved, I loved for intermission. 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the casket there, 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls ; 
For wooing here until I sweat again, 
And swearing till my very roof was dry 
With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
I got a promise of this fair one here 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achieved her mistress. 

For. Is this true, Nerissa? 210 

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 

Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in 
your marriage. 

Gra. We '11 play with them the first boy for a 
thousand ducats. 

Ner. What, and stake down ? 

Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, 
and stake down. 220 

But who comes here ? Lorenzo and his infidel ? 



What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio ? 

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio, 
a Messe?iger from Venice. 

Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
If that the youth of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, 
I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 

For. So do I, my lord : 

They are entirely welcome. 

L07; I thank your honour. For my part, mv 
lord, 
My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 230 
But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
He did intreat me, past all saying nay, 
To come with him along. 

Saler. I did, my lord ; 

And I have reason for it. Signor Antonio 
Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 

Bass. Ere I ope his letter, 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 

Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
Will show you his estate. 

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her 
welcome. 240 

Your hand, Salerio : what 's the news from Venice ? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? 
I know he will be glad of our success ; 
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 

Saler. I would you had won the fleece that 
he hath lost. 

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon 
same paper, 
That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek : 
Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ! 
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, 251 
And I must freely have the half of anything 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady, 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
My state was nothing, I should then have told you 
That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, 
I have engaged myself to a dear friend, 
Engaged my friend to his mere enemy, 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; 
The paper as the body of my friend, 
And every word in it a gaping wound, 
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio ? 
Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico and England, 271 
From Lisbon, Barbary and India? 
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks ? 

Saler. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it. Never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 



Scene ii.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



i95 



So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
He plies the duke at morning and at night, 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 280 
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, 
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond. 

Jes. When I was with him I have heard him 
swear 
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, 
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh 
Than twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 290 
If law, authority and power deny not, 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in 

trouble? 
Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest 
man, 
The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies, and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
Por. What sum owes he the Jew ? 
Bass. For me three thousand ducats. 
Por. What, no more? 300 

1 Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
' Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
First go with me to church and call me wife, 
And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty debt twenty times over : 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along. 310 
I My maid Nerissa and myself meantime 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ! 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer : 
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass. [Beads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have 
1 all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my es- 
tate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; 
1 and since in paying it, it is impossible I should 
I live, all debts are cleared between you and I, if I 
might but see you at my death. Notwith- 
1 standing, use your pleasure : if your love do not 
I persuade you to come, let not my letter. 

Por. O love, dispatch all business, and be 

gone ! 
Bass. Since I have your good leave to go 
away, 
I will make haste : but, till I come again, 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 

\_E.XCH7lt. 

Scene III. Venice. A street. 

Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio, and 
Gaoler. 
Shy. Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of 
mercy ; 
This is the fool that lent out money gratis : 
Baoler, look to him. 
Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 



Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against 
my bond : 
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. 
Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause ; 
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder, 
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
To come abroad with him at his request. io 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 

Shy. I '11 have my bond ; I will not hear thee 
speak : 
I '11 have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
I '11 not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool, 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
I'll have no speaking : I will have my bond. 

{Exit. 

Salar. It is the most impenetrable cur 
That ever kept with men. 

A nt. Let him alone : 

I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 20 
He seeks my life ; his reason well I know; 
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
Many that have at times made moan to me ; 
Therefore he hates me. 

Salar. I am sure the duke 

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law : 
For the commodity that strangers have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
Will much impeach the justice of hia state : 
Since that the trade and profit of the city 30 

Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
These griefs and losses have so bated me, 
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come 
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia's 
house. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, 
and Balthasar. 

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your 
presence, 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like amity; which appears most Si 
In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
But if you knew to whom you show this honour, 
How true a gentleman you send relief, 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know you would be prouder of the work 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

Por. I never did repent for doing good, 10 
Nor shall not now: for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together, 
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
There must be needs a like proportion 
Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit; 
Which makes me think that this Antonio, 
Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, 
How little is the cost I have bestowM 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 20 

From out the state of hellish misery ! 
This comes too near the praising of myself: 



>.V 



ig6 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act hi. 



Therefore no more of it : hear other things. 

Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 

The husbandry and manage of my house 

Until my lord's return : for mine own part, 

I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow 

To live in prayer and contemplation, 

Only attended by Nerissa here, 

Until her husband and my lord's return : 30 

There is a monastery two miles off; 

And there will we abide. I do desire you 

Not to deny this imposition ; 

The which my love and some necessity 

Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 

Por. My people do already know my mind, 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. 
And so farewell, till we shall meet again. 40 

Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend 
on you ! 

yes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 

Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well 
pleased 
To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 

[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
Now, Balthasar, 

As I have ever found thee honest-true, 
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man 
In speed to Padua : see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario ; 50 

And, look, what notes and garments he doth 

give thee, 
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed 
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, 
But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee. 

Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient 
speed. [Exit. 

Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand 
That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they see us ? 

Por. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a 
habit, 60 

That they shall think we are accomplished 
With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, 
When we are both accoutred like young men, 
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace, 
And speak between the change of man and boy 
With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays 
Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies, 
How honourable ladies sought my love, 70 

Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
I could not do withal ; then I 'll repent, 
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them ; 
And twenty of these puny lies I 'll tell, 
That men shall swear I have discontinued school 
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
Which I will practise. 

Ner. Why, shall we turn to men ? 

Por. Fie, what a question's that, 
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ! 80 

But come, I 'll tell thee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 



At the park gate ; and therefore haste away, 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 

[Exetiut. 

Scene V. The same. A garden. 
Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 

Laun. Yes, truly ; for, look you, the sins of 
the father are to be laid upon the children : 
therefore, I promise ye, I fear you. I was 
always plain with you, and so now I speak my 
agitation of the matter: therefore be of good 
cheer, for truly I think you are damned. 
There is but one hope in it that can do you 
any good ; and that is but a kind of bastard 
hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? 10 

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your 
father got you not, that you are not the Jew's 
daughter. 

Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, 
indeed: so the sins of my mother should be 
visited upon me. 

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned 
both by father and mother : thus when I shun 
Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your 
mother: well, you are gone both ways. '20 

yes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath 
made me a Christian. 

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we were 
Christians enow before; e'en as many as could 
well live, one by another. This making of Chris- 
tians will raise the price of hogs : if we grow all 
to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a 
rasher on the coals for money. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

yes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what 
ycu say : here he comes. 30 

Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, 
Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 

yes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo : 
Launcelot and I are out. He tells me flatly, 
there is no mercy for me in heaven, because I 
am a Jew's daughter : and he says, you are no 
good member of the commonwealth, for in con- 
verting Jews to Christians, you raise the price 
of pork. 39 

Lor. I shall answer that better to the com- 
monwealth than you can the getting up of the 
negro's belly: the Moor is with child by you, 
Launcelot. 

Latin. It is much that the Moor should be 
more than reason: but if she be less than an 
honest woman, she is indeed more than I took 
her for. 

Lor. How every fool can play upon the word ! 
I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn 
into silence, and discourse grow commendable in 
none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah ; bid them 
prepare for dinner. 

Latin. That is done, sir; they have all 
stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are 
you ! then bid them prepare dinner. 

Lauti. That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is 
the word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir ? 

Latin. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. 



Scene v.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VEX ICE. 



Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt 
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in- 
stant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in 
his plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them 
cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will 
come in to dinner. 

LaitJi. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; 
for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your 
coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours 
and conceits shall govern. [ Exit. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are 



suited ! 

The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garmsh'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? 

Jcs. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 80 

He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; 
tAnd if on earth he do not mean it, then 
In reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match 
And on the wager lay two earthly women, 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world 
Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 

Jt-s. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that, go 

Lor. I will anon : first, let us go to dinner. 

Jcs. Nay, let me praise you while I have a 
stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk : 
j Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
1 I shall digest it. 

Jcs. Well, I'll set you forth. {Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. Venice. A cotirt 0/ justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, 

Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerio, and others. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee : thou art come to 
answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 

Ant. I have heard 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 10 

My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
The very tyranny and rage of his. ' 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Saler. He is ready at the door : he comes, my 
lord. 

Enter Shylock. 
Duke. Make room, and let him stand before 
our face. 



Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 

That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 

To the last hour of acft; and then 'tis thought 

Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse more strange 

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; 21 

And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 

Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, 

Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, 

But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 

Forgive a moiety of the principal; 

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 

That have of late so huddled on his back, 

Enow to press a royal merchant down 

And pluck commiseration of his state 30 

From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint. 

From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never trail. M 

To offices of tender courtesy. 

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I 
purpose ; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
You'll ask me, why 1 rather choose to have 40 
A weight of carrion flesh than to receive 
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that: 
But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat 
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet? 
Some men there are love not a gaping pig ; 
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat ; 
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, 
Cannot contain their urine : for affection, 50 

Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 
Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your 

answer : 
As there is no firm reason to be render' d, 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 
fWhy he, a woollen bag-pipe; but of force 
Must yield to such inevitable shame 
As to offend, himself being offended ; 
So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 
More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing 
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 61 

A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my 
answers. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not 
love? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not 
kill? 

Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting 
thee twice? 

Ant. I pray you, think you question with the 
Jew : 70 

You may as well go stand upon the beach 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops and to make no noise, 
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do any thine: most hard, 



ig8 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act iv. 



As seek to soften that — than which what's hard- 
er?— 
i His Jewish heart : therefore, I do beseech you, 80 

Make no more offers, use no farther means, 
: But with all brief and plain conveniency 
I Let me have judgement and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, render- 
ing none ? 

Shy. What judgement shall I dread, doing no 
wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchased slave, 90 
Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, 
You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
Because you bought them : shall I say to you, 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs'? 
Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands? You will answer 
' The slaves are ours :' so do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
Is dearly bought ; 'tis mine and I will have it. 100 
If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
I stand for judgement : answer; shall I have it? 

Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this 
court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. 

Saler. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters; call the messenger. 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, 
courage yet ! in 

The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all, 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me : 
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
Than to live still and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. 
Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 
Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets 
your grace. [Presenting- a letter. 120 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so 

earnestly ? 
Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 

there. 
Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh 
Jew, 
Thou niakest thy knife keen ; but no metal can, 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? 
Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to 

make. 
Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accused. 
Thou almost makest me waver in my faith 130 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, 



Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
Infused itself in thee; for thy desires 
Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my 
bond, 
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 141 j 

To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend ' 
A young and learned doctor to our court. 
Where is he? 

Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

D?ike. With all my heart. Some three or four 
of you 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. 
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

Clerk. [Reads] Your grace shall understand I 
that at the receipt of your letter I am very sick : | 
but in the instant that your messenger came, in 
loving visitation was with me a young doctor of I 
Rome ; his name is Balthasar. I acquainted him 1 
with the cause in controversy between the Jew ! 
and Antonio the merchant : we turned o'er many j 
books together : he is furnished with my opinion ; | 
which, bettered with his own learning, the great- J 
ness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes j 
with him, at my importunity, to fill up your 
grace's request in my stead. I beseech you, let 
his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack 
a reverend estimation ; for I never knew so young 
a body with so old a head. I leave him to your 
gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better pub- 
lish his commendation. 

Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he 
writes: 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario ? 

For. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 171 

That holds this present question in the court? 

For. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand 
forth. 

For, Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

For. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. 
You stand within his danger, do you not? 180 

A nt. Ay, so he says. 

For. Do you confess the bond? 

Ant. I do. 

For. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain' d, 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest ; 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 191 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 



Scene i.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



199 



But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 200 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
Which if thou follow, this stricl court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant 
there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the 
law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the 
court ; 
Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 210 
Lwill be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong, 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be; there is no power in 
Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 220 

And many an error by the same example 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgement ! yea, a 
Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how I do honour thee ! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend dodlor, here 
it is. 

Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd 
thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in 
heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; 230 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful : 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgement : by my soul I swear 240 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgement. 

Por. Why then, thus it is : 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright 
judge ! 250 



How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

J 'or. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast : 

So says the bond : doth it not, noble judge? 
' Nearest his heart:' those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here to 
weigh 
The flesh? 

Shy. I have them ready. 

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? 

Por. It is not so express'd : but what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 261 

Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. You, merchant, have you any thing to 
say ? 

Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well pre- 
pared. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this fur you ; 
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 270 
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
Of such misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honourable wife : 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent but you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 280 

I'll pay it presently with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Por. Your wife would give you little thanks 
for that, 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love : 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 291 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands. I 
have a daughter ; 
Would any of the stock of Barrabas 
Had been her husband rather than a Christian I 

[Aside. 
We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh 
is thine : 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful judge ! 301 

Por. And you must cut this flesh from off 
his breast : 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge! A sentence ! Cmnc, 
prepare ! 

Por. Tarry a little ; there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are ' a pound of flesh:' 



Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of 

flesh; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 311 

Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge ! Mark, Jew: O learned 
judge ! 

Shy. Is that the law? 

Por. Thyself shalt see the act : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

Gra. O learned judge ! Mark, Jew : a learned 
judge ! 

Shy. I take this offer, then; pay the bond 
•thrice 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

For. Soft ! 320 

The Jew shall have all justice ; soft ! no haste : 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned 
judge ! 

For. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more 
Eut just a pound of flesh : if thou cut'st more 
Or less than a just pound, be it but so much 
As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn 330 
But in the estimation of a hair, 
Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. 

For. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy for- 
feiture. 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

For. He hath refused it in the open court : 
He shall have merely justice and his bond. 339 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy. Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
I '11 stay no longer question. 

Por. Tarry, Jew: 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien 
That by direct or indirect attempts 350 

He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st ; 
For it appears, by manifest proceeding, 
That indirectly and directly too 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 360 

Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehearsed. 
Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang 
thyself : 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 



Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of 
our spirits, 
I pardon thee thy. life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 370 

The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

Por. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
You take my house when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio ? 

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else, for God's 
sake. 

Ant. So please my lord the duke and all the 
court 380 

To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 
I am content; so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter : 
Two things provided more, that, for this favour, 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do i acord a gift, 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 390 

Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou 
say? 

Shy. I am content. 

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from 
hence ; 
1 am not well : send the deed after me, 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening shalt thou have two god- 
fathers : 
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 400 
[Exit Shylock. 

Dtike. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon : 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you 
not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke and his train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 410 

Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
In love and service to you evermore. 

For. He is well paid that is well satisfied ; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied 
And therein do account myself well paid : 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me when we meet again : 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 420 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you 
further : 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, 
Not as a fee : grant me two things, I pray you, 



Scene i.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, 



Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 
For. You press me far, and therefore I will 
yield. 
[To Ant.] Give me your gloves, I'll wear them 

for your sake ; 
[To Bass.] And, for j'our love, I'll take this 

ring from you : 
Do not draw back your hand ; I '11 take no more ; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir. alas, it is a trifle ! 
I will not shame myself to give you this. 431 

For. I will have nothing else but only this ; 
And now methinks I have a mind to it. 

Fuss. There's more depends on this than on 
the value. 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
And find it out by proclamation : 
Only for this, 1 pray you, pardon me. 

For. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers : 
You taught me first to beg ; and now methinks 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 
Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my 
wife ; 441 

And when she put it on, she made me vow 
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it. 
For. That 'scuse serves many men to save 
their gifts. 
An if your wife be not a mad-woman, 
And know how well I have deserved the ring, 
She would not hold out enemy for ever, 
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 
[Exeunt Fortia and Nerissa. 
Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the 
ring : 
Let his deservings and my love withal 450 

Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 

Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him ; 
Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst, 
Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste. 

[Exit Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
And in the morning early will we both 
Fly toward Belmont : come, Antonio. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. A street. 
Enter Portia and Nekissa. 
For. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him 
this deed 
And let him sign it: we'll away to-night 
And be a day before our husbands home : 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en : 
My Lord Bassanio upon more advice 
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

For. That cannot be : 

His ring I do accept most thankfully: 
And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, 10 
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. 

Gra. That will I do. 

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you. 

[Aside to For.] I'll see if I can get my hus- 
band's ring, 
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 

For. [Aside to Ner.] Thou mayst, I warrant. 
We shall have old swearing 



That they did give the rings away to men ; 

But we'd outface them, and outswear them too. 

[A loud] Away ! make haste : thou know'st where 

J will tarry. 

Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to 

this house? [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Belmont. Avenue &? Portia's lu >use. 

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright : in such a night 
as this, 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
And they did make DO noise, in such a night 
TroUus methinks mounted the Troyan walls 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

yes. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such a night 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 10 

Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

yes. In such a night 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old iEson. 

Lor. In such a night 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
As far as Belmont. 

yes. In such a night 

Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. In such a night 20 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

yes. I would out-night you, did no body come ; 
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Stephano. 
Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ? 
Steph. A friend. 
Lor. A friend! what friend? your name, I 

pray you, friend ? 
Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring 
word 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about 30 
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 
Lor. Who comes with her? 

Steph. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 
Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from 
him. 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Enter Launcelot. 
Laun. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! 
Lor. Who calls? 4 o 

Laun. Sola! did you see Master Loxenz ■': 
Master Lorenzo, sola, sola ! 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act v. 



Lor. Leave hollaing, man : here. 

Laun. Sola ! where ? where ? 

Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him there's a post come from my 
master, with his horn full of good news : my mas- 
ter will be here ere morning. [Exit. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect 
their coming. 
And yet no matter : why should we go in ? 50 | 
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand ; 
And bring your music forth into the air. 

\_Exit Stephano. 
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold : 
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 61 

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins ; 
Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

Enter Musicians. 
Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn : 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear 
And draw her home with music. [Music. 

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet 

music. 
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are atten- 
tive : 70 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing 

loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
Or any air of music touch their ears, 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
By the sweet power of music : therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and 
floods ; 80 

Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night 
And his affections dark as Erebus : 
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams ! 90 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see 
the candle. 

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
A substitute shines brightly as a king 
Until a king be by, and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect : 
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 



Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark 
When neither is attended, and I think 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise and true perfection ! 
Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Endymion 
And would not be awaked. [Music ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice, no 

Or I am much deceived, of Portia. 

Por. He knows me as the blind man knows 
the cuckoo, 
By the bad voice. 

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

Por. We have been praying for our husbands' 
healths, 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
Are they return'd? 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before, 
To signify their coming. 

Por. Go in, Nerissa ; 

Give order to my servants that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence ; 120 
Nor you, Lorenzo ; Jessica, nor you. 

[A tucket sounds. 

Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his 
trumpet : 
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 

Por. This night methinks is but the daylight 
sick; 
It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, 
Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and 
their followers. 
Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
Por. Let me give light, but let me not 
be light; 
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 130 
And never be Bassanio so for me: 
But God sort all ! You are welcome home, my 
lord. 
Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome 
to my friend. 
This is the man, this is Antonio, 
To whom I am so infinitely bound. 

Por. You should in all sense be much bound 
to him, 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
It must appear in other ways than words, 140 
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 

Gra. [To Ner.] By yonder moon I swear 
you do me wrong ; 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
Por. A quarrel, ho, already ! what's the matter? 
Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me, whose posy was 
For all the world like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife, ' Love me, and leave me not.' 150 
Ner. What talk you of the posy or the value ? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you, 



Scene i.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



203 



That you would wear it till your hour of death 
And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, 
You should have been respective and have 

kept it. 
Gave it a judge's clerk ! no, God's my judge, 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on 's face that 
had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 160 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy, 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk, 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee : 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain 
with you, 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger 
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring and made him swear 170 
Never to part with it; and here he stands ; 
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief : 
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 

Bass. [Aside] Why, I were best to cut my 
left hand off 
And swear I lost the ring defending it. 

Gra, My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed 180 
Deserved it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine ; 
And neither man nor master would take aught 
But the two rings. 

Por. What ring gave you, my lord? 

Not that, I hope, which you received of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it ; it is gone. 

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 190 
Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I in yours 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring 
And would conceive for what I gave the ring 
And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 200 
Or your own honour to contain the ring, 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable, 
If you had pleased to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe : 
I'll die for't but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, 
No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 210 

Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me 
And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him 
And suffer'd him to go displeased away; 
Even he that did uphold the very life 



Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet 

lady? 
I was enforced to send it after him ; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy; 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady ; 
For, by these blessed candles of the night, 220 
Had you been there, I think you would have 

begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my 
house : 
Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, 
And that which you did swear to keep for mc, 
I will become as liberal as you ; 
I '11 not deny him any thing I have, 
No, not my body nor my husband's bed : 
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: 
Lie not a night from home ; watch me like 
Argus : 230 

If you do not, if I be left alone, 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well 
advised 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him, 
then ; 
For if I do, I '11 mar the young clerk's pen. 

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these 
quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you ; you are welcome 
notwithstanding. 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong : 
And, in the hearing of these many friends, 241 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
Wherein I see myself — 

Por. Mark you but that ! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 
In each eye, one : swear by your double self, 
And there's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but hear me : 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ; 
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. 

Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give him 
this 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

A tit. Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep 
this ring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the 
doctor ! 

Por. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio ; 
For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. 259 

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high- 
ways 
In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it? 

Por. Speak not so grossly. You are all 
amazed : 
Here is a letter ; read it at your leisure ; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario: 



204 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act v. 



There you shall find that Portia was the doclor, 
Nerissa there her clerk : Lorenzo here 270 

Shall witness I set forth as soon as you 
And even but now return'd; I have not yet 
Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome; 
And I have better news in store for you 
Than you expecl : unseal this letter soon ; 
There you shall find three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly : 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 
Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. Were you the doctor and I knew you 
not? . 280 

Gra. Were you the clerk that is to make me 

cuckold? 
Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to 
do it, 
Unless he live until he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet dodtor, you shall be my bed- 
fellow : 
When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and 
living ; 



For here I read for certain that my ships 
Are safely come to road. 

For. How now, Lorenzo ! 

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a" 
fee. 290 

There do I give to you and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

For. It is almost morning, 

And yet I am sure you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full. Let us go in ; 
And charge us there upon inter' gatories, 
And we will answer all things faithfully. 

Gra. Let it be so : the first inter'gatory 300 
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is, 
Whether till the next night she had rather stay, 
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day : 
But were the day come, I should wish it dark, 
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing 
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Duke, living in banishment. 

Frederick, his brother, and usurper of his 
dominions. 

Amiens,] lords attending on the banished 

Jaques,} duke. 

Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frede- 
rick. 

Charles, wrestler to Frederick. 

Oliver, \ 

Jaques, ' sons of Sir Rowland de Boys. 

Orlando, \ 

^JservamstoOliver. 

Touchstone, a clown. 



Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. 

&J shepherds. 

William, a country fellow, in love with 

Audrey. 
A person representing Hymen. 
ROSALIND, daughter to the banished duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a shepherdess. 
AUDREY, a country wench. 

Lords, pages, and attendants, &c. 
xe : Oliver's house', Duke Frederick's court; 
and the Forest of .1 rden. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Orchard of Oliver's house. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Orl. fAs T remember, Adam, it was upon this 
fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thou- 
sand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my 
brother, on his blessing, to breed me well : and 
there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques 
he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of 
his profit : for my part, he keeps me rustically at 
home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here 
at home unkept ; for call you that keeping for a 
gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the 
stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; 
for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, 
they are taught their manage, and to that end 
riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain 
nothing under him but growth ; for the which his 
animals on his dunghills are as much bound to 
him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plenti- 
fully gives me, the something that nature gave 
me his countenance seems to take from me : he 
lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of 
a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my 
gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, 
that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, 
which I think is within me, begins to mutiny 
against this servitude: I will no longer endure 
it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to 
avoid it. 

Ada))!. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear 
how he will shake me up. 30 

Enter Oliver. 

OIL Now, sir! what make you here? 

Orl. Nothing: I an not taught to make any 
thing. 

Oil. What mar you then, sir? 



Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
which God made, a poor unworthy brother of 
yours, with idleness. 

Oil. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be 
naught awhile. 39 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks 
with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, 
that I should come to such penury? 

Oli. Know you where you are, sir? 

Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 

Oil. Know you before whom, sir? 

Orl. Ay, better than him I am before knows 
me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in 
the gentle condition of blood, you should so know 
me. The courtesy of nations allows you my 
better, in that you are the first-born ; but the 
same tradition takes not away my blood, were 
there twenty brothers betwixt us: 1 have as much 
of my father in me as you ; albeit, I confess, your 
coming before me is nearer to his reverence. 

Oli. What, boy ! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too 
young in this. 

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? 

Orl. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son 
of Sir Rowland de Boys : he was my father, and 
he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot 
villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not 
take this hand from thy throat till this other had 
pulled out thy tongue for saying so : thou hast 
railed on thyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient : for your 
father's remembrance, be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I say. 

Orl. 1 will not, till I please : you shall hear 
me. My father charged you in his will to give 
me good education ; you have trained me like a 
peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gen- 
tleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father 
glows strong in me, and I will no longer endure 
it : therefore allow me such exercises as may be- 
come a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery 



my father left me by testament ; with that I will 
go buy my fortunes. 

Oli. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that 
is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long 
be troubled with you ; you shall have some part 
of your will : I pray you, leave me. 

Orl. I will no further offend you than be- 
comes me for my good. 

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, 
I have lost my teeth in your service. God be 
with my old master ! he would not have spoke 
such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon 
me ? I will physic your rankness, and yet give 
no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis ! 

Enter Dennis. 

Den. Calls your worship ? 

Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, 
here to speak with me ? 

Den. So please you, he is here at the door 
and importunes access to you. 

Oli. Call him in. {Exit Dennis.] 'Twill be 
a good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 

Enter Charles. 

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 100 

Oli. Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new 
news at the new court ? 

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but 
the old news : that is, the old duke is banished 
by his younger brother the new duke ; and three 
or four loving lords have put themselves into 
voluntary exile with him, whose lands and re- 
venues enrich the new duke ; therefore he gives 
them good leave to wander. 

Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's 
daughter, be banished with her father? in 

Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her 
cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles 
bred together, that she would have followed her 
exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at 
the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than 
his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as 
they do. 

Oli. Where will the old duke live ? 

Cha. They say he is already in the forest of 
Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and 
there they live like the old Robin Hood of 
England : they say many young gentlemen flock 
to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, 
as they did in the golden world. 

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the 
new duke ? 

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to ac- 
quaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, 
secretly to understand that your younger brother 
Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised 
against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle 
for my credit ; and he that escapes me without 
some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your 
brother is but young and tender ; and, for your 
love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for 
my own honour, if he come in : therefore, out of 
my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you 
withal, that either you might stay him from his 
intendment or brook such disgrace well as he 



shallrun into, in that it is a thing of his own 
search and altogether against my will. 

Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, 
which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. 
I had myself notice of my brother's purpose 
herein and have by underhand means laboured 
to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll 
tell thee, Charles : it is the stubbornest young 
fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious 
emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and 
villanous contriver against me his natural brother : 
therefore use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou 
didst break his neck as his finger. And thou 
wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any 
slight disgrace or if he do not mightily grace 
himself on thee, he will practise against thee by 
poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device 
and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by 
some indirect means or other ; for, I assure thee, 
and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one 
so young and so villanous this day living. I 
speak but brotherly of him ; but should I ana- 
tomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and 
weep and thou must look pale and wonder. 

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. 
If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment : 
if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for 
prize more : and so God keep your worship ! 

Oli. Farewell, good Charles. [Exit Charles.] 
Now will I stir this gamester : I hope I shall see 
an end of him ; for my soul, yet I know not why, 
hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, 
never schooled and yet learned, full of noble 
device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and 
indeed so much in the heart of the world, and 
especially of my own people, who best know him, 
that I am altogether misprised : but it shall not 
be so long ; this wrestler shall clear all : nothing 
remains but that I kindle the boy thither ; which 
now I'll go about. [Exit. 180 

Scene II. Lawn before the Duke's palace. 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be 
merry. 

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I 
am mistress of; and would you yet I were mer- 
rier? Unless you could teach me to forget a 
banished father, you must not learn me how to 
remember any extraordinary pleasure. 

Cel. Herein I see thou lovest me not with the 
full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy 
banished father, had banished thy uncle, the 
duke my father, so thou hadst been still with 
me, I could have taught my love to take thy 
father for mine : so wouldst thou, if the truth of 
thy love to me were so righteously tempered as 
mine is to thee. 

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my 
estate, to rejoice in yours. 

Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, 
nor none is like to have : and, truly, when he 
dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath 
taken away from thy father perforce, I will render 
thee again in affection ; by mine honour, I will ; 
and when I break that sath, let me turn mon- 
ster : therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, 
be merry. 



Scene 11.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



207 



Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise 
sports. Let me see ; what think you of falling 
in love ? 

Cel. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport 
withal: but love no man in good earnest ; nor no 
further in sport neither than with safety of a pure 
blush thou mayst in honour come off again. 

Ros. What shall be our sport, then? 

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife 
Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may 
henceforth be bestowed equally. 

Ros. I would we could do so, for her benefits 
are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind 
woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 

Cel. 'Tis true ; for those that she makes fair 
she scarce makes honest, and those that she 
makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. 

Ros. Nay, now thou goe?5t from Fortunes 
office to Nature's : Fortune reigns in gifts of the 
world, not in the lineaments of Nature. 

Enter Touchstone. 

Cel. No? when Nature hath made a fair crea- 
ture, may she not by Fortune fall into the tire i 
Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at b or- 
tune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off 
the argument? 5° 

Ros. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for 
Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural 
the cutter-off of Nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune s work 
neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural 
wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and 
hath sent this natural for our whetstone ; for al- 
ways the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of 
the wits. How now, wit ! whither wander you? 
Touch. Mistress, you must come away to 
your father. 6l 

Cel. Were you made the messenger? 
Touch. No, by mine honour, but I was bid to 
come for you. 

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? 
Touch. Of a certain knight that swore by 
his honour they were good pancakes and swore 
by his honour the mustard was naught : now I '11 
stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the 
mustard was good, and yet was not the knight 
forsworn. 7 1 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap 
of your knowledge? 

Ros. Ay, many, now unmuzzle your wisdom. 
Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke 
your chins, and swear by your beards that I am 
a knave. 

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou 
art. 

Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I 
were; but if you swear by that that is not, you 
are not forsworn: no more was this knight, 
swearing by his honour, for he never had any ; 
or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever 
he saw those pancakes or that mustard. 
Cel. Prithee, who is't that thou meanest? 
Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, 
loves. 

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour 
him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be 
whipped for taxation one of these days. 91 



Touch. The more pity, that fools may not 
speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. 

Cel. By my troth, thou sayest true ; for since 
the little wit that fools have was silenced, the 
little foolery that wise men have makes a great 
show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. 

Ros. With his mouth full of news. 

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
their young. IO ° 

Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. 

Cel All the better; we shall be the more 
marketable. 

Enter Le Beau. 

Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau : what's the news? 
Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much 
good sport. 

Cel. Sport! of what colour? 
Le Beau. What colour, madam ! how shall I 
answer you? 

Ros. As wit and fortune will. no 

Touch. Or as the Destinies decree. 
Cel. Well said : that was laid on with a trowel. 
Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, — 
Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 
Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would 
have told you of good wrestling, which you have 
lost the sight of. 

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning; and, 

if it please your ladyships, you may see the end ; 

for the best is yet to do; and here, where you 

are, they are coming to perform it. 

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and 
buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man and his 
three sons, — 

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old 
tale. 

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excel- 
lent growth and presence. 13° 
Ros. With bills on their necks, ' Be it known 
unto all men by these presents.' 

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled 
with Charles, the duke's wrestler ; which Charles 
in a moment threw him and broke three of his 
ribs, that there is little hope of life in him : so he 
served the second, and so the third. Yonder 
they lie ; the poor old man, their father, making 
such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders 
take his part with weeping. 14° 

Ros. Alas! 

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that 
the ladies have lost? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 
Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day : 
it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of 
ribs was sport for ladies. 
Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 
Ros. But is there any else longs to see this 
broken music in his sides? is there yet another 
dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrest- 
ling, cousin? 

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here ; for 
here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and 
they are ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us 
now stay and see it. 



Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, 
Orlando, Charles, and Attendants. 
Dtike F. Come on : since the youth will not 
be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 
Ros. Is yonder the man? 160 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. 
Cel. Alas, he is too young ! yet he looks suc- 
cessfully. 

Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin! 
are you crept hither to see the wrestling? 

Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us 
leave. 

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I 
can tell you ; there is such odds in the man. In 
pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dis- 
suade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak 
to him, ladies ; see if you can move him. 

Cel, Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 

Duke F. Do so : I '11 not be by. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the prin- 
cesses call for you. 

Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. 

Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles 
the wrestler? 179 

Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- 
lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with 
him the strength of my youth. 

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too 
bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof 
of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with 
your eyes or knew yourself with your judgement, 
the fear of your adventure would counsel you to 
a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your 
own sake, to embrace your own safety and give 
over this attempt. 190 

R os. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not 
therefore be misprised : we will make it our suit 
to the duke that the wrestling might not go for- 
ward. 

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your 
hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guilty, 
to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. 
But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with 
me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is 
but one shamed that was never gracious ; if killed, 
but one dead that is willing to be so : I shall do 
my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament 
me, the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; 
only in the world I fill up a place, which may be 
better supplied when I have made it empty. 

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would 
it were with you. 

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. 

Ros. Fare you well : pray heaven I be de- 
ceived in you ! 210 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you ! 

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant that 
is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? 

Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more 
modest working. 

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 

Cha. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not 
entreat him to a second, that have so mightily 
persuaded him from a first. 219 

Orl. An you mean to mock me after, you should 
not have mocked me before : but come your ways. 

Ros. Now Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 

Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the 
strong fellow by the leg. [They wrestle. 



Ros. O excellent young man ! 

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can 
tell who should down. [Shout. Charles is thrown. 

Duke F. No more, no more. 

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace : I am not yet 
well breathed. 230 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 

Duke F. Bear him away. What is thy name, 
young man ? 

Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of 
Sir Rowland de Boys. 

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
man else : 
The world esteem'd thy father honourable, 
But I did find him still mine enemy: 
Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this 
deed, • 240 

Hadst thou descended from another house. 
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth: 
I would thou hadst told me of another father. 
[Exeunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau. 

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 

Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, 
His youngest son; and would not change that 

calling, 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. 

Ros. My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, 
And all the world was of my father's mind : 
Had I before known this young man his son, 
I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 250 
Ere he should thus have ventured. 

Cel. Gentle cousin, 

Let us go thank him and encourage him : 
My father's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved : 
If you do keep your promises in love 
But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, 
Your mistress shall be happy. 
Ros. Gentleman, 

[Giving him a chain from her neck. 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks 

means. 
Shall we go, coz? 

Cel. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. 

Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better 

parts z r 1 

Are all thrown down, and that which here stands 

U P 
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. 

Ros. He calls us back : my pride fell with my 

fortunes ; 

I '11 ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? 

Sir, you have wrestled tvell and overthrown 

More than your enemies. 

Cel. Will you go, coz? 

Ros. Have with you. Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 

Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon 

my tongue ? 

I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. 

O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown ! 271 

Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. 

Re-enter Le Beau. 
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel 
you 
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved 



Scene ii.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



High commendation, true applause and love, 
Yet such is now the duke's condition 
That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
The duke is humorous ' what he is indeed, 
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. 

Orl. I thank you, sir : and, pray you, tell me 
this ; 280 

Which of the two was daughter of the duke 
That here was at the wrestling? 

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge 
by manners ; 
But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter : 
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
But I can tell you that of late this duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, 
Grounded upon no other argument 291 

But that the people praise her for her virtues 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well : 
Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
I shall desire more love and knovyledge of you. 

Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you 

well. [Exit Le Bean. 

Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; 

From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: 300 

But heavenly Rosalind ! [Exit. 

Scene III. A room in the palace. 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousin ! why, Rosalind ! Cupid 
have mercy ! not a word? 

Eos. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be 
cast away upon curs ; throw some of them at me ; 
come, lame me with reasons. 

Eos. Then there were two cousins laid up ; 
when the one should be lamed with reasons and 
the other mad without any. 

Cel. But is all this for your father? 10 

Eos. No, some of it is for my child's father. 
O, how full of briers is this working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon 
thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the 
trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 

Eos. I could shake them off my coat: these 
burs are in my heart. 

Cel. Hem them away. 

Eos. I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and 
have him. 20 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 

Eos. O, they take the part of a better wrestler 
than myself! 

Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try 
in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these 
jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is 
it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into 
so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest 
son? 

Eos. The duke my father loved his father 
dearly. 31 

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should 
love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I 
should hate him, for my father hated his father 
dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. 



Eos. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve 
well? 

Eos. Let me love him for that, and do you 
love him because I do. Look, here comes the 

duke. 4I 

Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke E. Mistress, dispatch you with your 
safest haste 
And get you from our court. 

Eos. Me, uncle? 

Duke F. You, cousin : 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 
Thou diest for it. 

Eos. I do beseech your grace, 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me : 
If with myself I hold intelligence 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, 50 
1 f that I do not dream or be not frantic, — 
As I do trust I am not — then, dear uncle, 
Never so much as in a thought unborn 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors : 

If their purgation did consist in words, 
They are as innocent as grace itself: 
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. 

Eos. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a 
traitor: 
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter ; 
there's enough. fo 

Eos. So was I when your highness took his 
dukedom ; 
So was I when your highness banish'd him : 
Treason is not inherited, my lord; 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
What's that to me? my father was no traitor: 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake, 
Else had she with her father ranged along. 70 

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay ; 
It was your pleasure and your own remorse : 
I was too young that time to value her; 
But now I know her: if she be a traitor, 
Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, 
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
Still we went coupled and inseparable. 

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her 
smoothness, 
Her very silence and her patience 80 

Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
And thou wilt show more bright and seem more 

virtuous 
When she is gone. Then open not thy lips : 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, 
my liege: 
I cannot live out of her company. 

Duke F. You are a fool. You, niece, provide 
yourself: 
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, 90 



'4 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act ii. 



And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

\_Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. 

Cel. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt 
thou go? 
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. 

Ros. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; 

Prithee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 

Ros. That he hath not. 

Cel. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the 
love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? 
No : let my father seek another heir. 101 

Therefore devise with me how we may fly, 
Whither to go and what to bear with us; 
And do not seek to take your change upon you, 
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out ; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with thee. 

Ros. Why, whither shall we go? 

Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. 

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, no 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I '11 put myself in poor and mean attire 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you : so shall we pass along 
And never stir assailants. 

Ros. Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That I did suit me all points like a man? 
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, 119 

A boar-spear in my hand ; and — in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will — 
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art 
a man? 

Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's 
own page ; 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede. 
But what will you be call'd? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my 
state ; 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 130 

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel? 

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world 
with me ; 
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, 
And get our jewels and our wealth together, 
Devise the fittest time and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty and not to banishment. [Exeunt. 140 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Tlie Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and two or 
three Lords, like foresters. 
Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in 
exile, 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 



Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 

More free from peril than the envious court? 

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 

The seasons' difference, as the icy fang 

And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, 

Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, 

Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 

' This is no flattery : these are counsellors 10 

That feelingly persuade me what I am.' 

Sweet are the uses of adversity, 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; 

And this our life exempt from public haunt 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running i 

brooks, 
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. 
I would not change it. 

Ami. Happy is your grace, 

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 20 j 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us I 
venison? 
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, 
Being native burghers of this desert city, 
Should in their own confines with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gored. 

First Lord. Indeed, my lord, 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him as he lay along 30 

Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, 
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, 
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears 
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool, 40 

Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke S. But what said Jaques? 

Did he not moralize this speclacle? 

First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless stream ; 
' Poor deer,' quoth he ' thou makest a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which had too much:' then, being there 

alone, 
Left and abandon' d of his velvet friends, 50 

' 'Tis right:' quoth he ' thus misery doth part 
The flux of company :' anon a careless herd, 
Full of the pasture, jumps ajong by him 
And never stays to greet him ; ' Ay,' quoth Jaques, 
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
'Tis just the fashion : wherefore do you look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' 
Thus most inveclively he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court, 
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we 60 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, 
To fright the animals and to kill them up 
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this con- 
templation ? 



Scene i.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Sec. Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and 
commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Show me the place : 

I love to cope him in these sullen Tils, 
For then he's full of matter. 
First Lord. I'll bring you to him strai 

. 

Scene II. A room in the /a/ace. 

EnterDvKE Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw 
them? 
ft cannot be : some villains of my court 
Axe of consent and sufferance in this. 

First Lord. I cannot hear of any that did 
see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early 
They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. 

Sec. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at 
whom so oft 
Vour grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 10 

Confesses that she secretly o'erheard 
Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
The parts and graces of the wrestler 
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; 
And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
That vouth is surely in their company. 
; Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that 

gallant hither; 
[f he be absent, bring his brother to mc ; 
[ '11 make him find him : do this suddenly, 
And let not search and inquisition quail 20 

To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Before Oliver's house. 
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 
Orl. Who's there? 

Adam. What, my young master? O my 
gentle master ! 
1 3 my sweet master ! O you memory 
; 3f old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
jVVhy are you virtuous? why do people love you? 
(And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? 
vVhy would you be so fond to overcome 
The bonny priser of the humorous duke? 
* r our praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
xnow you not, master, to some kind of men 10 
Their graces serve them but as enemies? 
No more do yours : your virtues, gentle master, 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
), what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 
Orl. Why, what's the matter? 
Adam. O unhappy youth ! 

Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives : 
^our brother — no, no brother; yet the son — 
>Tet not the son, I will not call him son 20 

3f him I was about to call his father — 
Hath heard your praises, and this night he means 
To burn the lodging where you use to lie 
And you within it: if he fail of that, 
rle will have other means to cut you off. 
I overheard him and his practices. 



This is no place ; this house is but a butchery : 
Abhor it, fear it. do not enter it. 

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
me go ? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not 



here. 



30 



Orl. What, wouldst thou have mc go and beg 
my food ? 
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
\ thievish living on the common road? 
This 1 must do, or know not what to do: 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can; 
1 rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. 

Adam. But do not so. 1 have five hundred 
crowns. 
The thrifty hire I saved under your father, 
Which 1 did store to he my f<>ster-nursc 40 

When service should in my old limbs He lame 
And linn in corners thrown : 

Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, 
Yea. providently caters for the sparrow, 
lie comfort to my age! Here is the gold; 
All this I give you. Let me be your servant : 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; 
For in my youth I never did applv 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 50 

The means of weakness and debility; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
"Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
I 11 do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. O good old man, how well in thee ap- 
pears 
The constant service of the antique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 60 

And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree. 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. 
But come thy ways ; we'll go along together, 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, 
We'll light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee. 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 70 

From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 
Than to die well and not my master's debtor. 

[Exeunt. 

\e IV. The Forest of A rd en. 

Enter Rosalind for Ganymede> Celia for 
Aliena, and Touchstone. 

Eos. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs 
were not weary. 

Eos. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 
man's apparel and to cry like a woman ; but I 
must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and 
hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat : 
therefore courage, good Aliena! 



U 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act ii. 



Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I cannot go 
no further. 10 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with 
you than bear you ; yet I should bear no cross if 
I did bear you, for I think you have no money 
in your purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden ; the more 
fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a better 
place : but travellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. 

Enter Corin and Silvius. 

Look you, who comes here ; a young man and an 
old in solemn talk. 21 

Co r. That is the way to make her scorn you 
still. 

Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do 
love her ! 

Cor. I partly guess ; for I have loved ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not 
guess, 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
But if thy love were ever like to mine — 
As sure I think did never man love so — 
How many aclions most ridiculous 30 

Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? 

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily ! 
If thou remember' st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 
Thou hast not loved: 
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
Thou hast not loved : 

Or if thou hast not broke from company 40 

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
Thou hast not loved. 

Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit. 
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy 

wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine own. 

Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I 
was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and 
bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane 
Smile ; and I remember the kissing of her batlet 
and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands 
had milked ; and I remember the wooing of a 
peascod instead of her, from whom I took two 
cods and, giving her them again, said with weep- 
ing tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that 
are true lovers run into strange capers ; but as all 
is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal 
in folly. 

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware 
of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own 
wit till I break my shins against it. 60 

Ros. Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
Is much upon my fashion. 

Touch. And mine; but it grows something 
stale with me. 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man 
If he for gold will give us any food : 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holla, you clown ! 

Ros. Peace, fool : he 's not thy kinsman. 



Cor. Who calls? 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they very wretched. 

Ros. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

Ros. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed : 
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd 
And faints for succour. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her; 
But I am shepherd to another man 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze : 
My master is of churlish disposition 80 

And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is, come see, 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

R os. What is he that shall buy his flock and 
pasture ? 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but 
erewhile, 
That little cares for buying any thing. 90 

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 

Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like 
this place, 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 

Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold : 
Go with me : if you like upon report 
The soil, the profit and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. 100 

{Exezmt. 



Scene V. Tlte forest. 
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 

Song. 
Ami. Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 
Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more. 
Ami. It will make you melancholy, Mon- 
sieur Jaques. 11 
Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I 
can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel 
sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. 

A mi. My voice is ragged : I know I cannot 
please you. 

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me ; I do 

desire you to sing. Come, more ; another stanzo : 

call you 'em stanzos ? 

Ami. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. 20 

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they 

owe me nothing. Will you sing? 



Scene v.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



213 



Ami. More at your request than to please 

myself. , . , -mi 

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, 1 11 
thank you ; but that they call compliment is like 
the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man 
thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a 
penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. 
Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your 
tongues. 

Ami. Well, I '11 end the song. Sirs, cover the 
while ; the duke will drink under this tree. He 
hath been all this day to look you. 

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid 
him. He is too disputable for my company : I 
think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven 
thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, 
come. 

Song. 
Who doth ambition shun [All together here. 
And loves to live i' the sun, 4* 

Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither : 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. I 'II give you a verse to this note that I 
made yesterday in despite of my invention. 

Ami. And I'll sing it. 5° 

Jaq. Thus it goes :— 

If it do come to pass 
That any man turn ass, 
Leaving his wealth and ease, 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame : 
Here shall he see 
Gross fools as he, 
An if he will come to me. 
Ami. What's that 'ducdame'? 60 

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools 
into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can ; if I cannot, 
I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I'll go seek the duke : his banquet 
is prepared. [Exeunt severally. 

Scene VI. The forest. 
Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, 
I die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure 
out my grave. Farewell, kind master. 

Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart 
in thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer 
thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any 
thin°- savage, I will either be food for it or bring 
it for foodlo thee. Thy conceit is nearer death 
than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable ; 
hold death awhile at the arm's end : I will here 
be with thee presently ; and if I bring thee not 
something to eat, I will give thee leave to die : 
but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker 
of my labour. Well said ! thou lookest cheerly, 
and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou best in 
the bleak air : come, I will bear thee to some 
shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a 
dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. 
Cheerly, good Adam ! [Exeunt. 



Scene VII. The forest. 
A table set out. Enter.DuKK senior, Amiens, 
and Lords like outlaws. 
Duke S. I think he be transform' d into a beast ; 
For I can no where find him like a man. 
First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone 
hence : 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. 
Go, seek him : tell him I would speak with him. 

Enter Jaques. 
First Lord. He saves my labour by his own 
approach. 

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a 
life is this, 
That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
What, you look merrily ! " 

Jaq. A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i' the forest, 
A motley fool ; a miserable world ! 
As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 
In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 
'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,'quothhe, 
' Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune :' 
And then he drew a dial from his poke, 20 

And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
Says very wisely, ' It is ten o'clock : 
Thus we may see,' quoth he, ' how the world wags : 
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, 
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; 
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; 
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear 
The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 30 

That fools should be so deep-contemplative, 
And I did laugh sans intermission 
An hour by his dial. O noble fool ! 
A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 

Duke S. What fool is this ? 

Jaq. O worthy fool ! One that hath been a 
courtier, 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair, 
They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 41 

In mangled forms. O that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It i s m Y on 'y su ' 1 ; 

Provided that you weed your better judgements 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have ; 
And they that are most galled with my folly, 50 
Theymostmustlaugh. And why, sir, must they so? 
The ' why' is plain as way to parish church : 
He that a fool doth very wisely hit 
Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
The wise man's folly is anatomized 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley; give me leave 



To speak my mind, and I will through and 

through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 60 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thou 

wouldst do. 
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but 

good ? 
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chid- 
ing sin : 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
And all the embossed sores and headed evils, 
That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 70 

That can therein tax any private party? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
tTill that the weary very means do ebb? 
What woman in the city do I name, 
When that I say the city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in and say that I mean her, 
When such a one as she such is her neighbour? 
Or what is he of basest function 
That says his bravery is not of my cost, 80 

Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech? 
There then; how then? what then? Let me see 

wherein 
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right, 
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, 
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, 
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here ? 

Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn, 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. 

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by 
thy distress, 91 

Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first : the thorny 
point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred 
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say : 
He dies that touches any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaq. An you will not be answered with rea- 
son, I must die. 101 
■ Duke S. What would you have ? Your gen- 
tleness shall force 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food ; and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to 
our table. 

Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I 
pray you : 
I thought that all things had been savage here ; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are 
That in this desert inaccessible, no 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have look'd on better days, 
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, 



If ever sat at any good man's feast, 

If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear 

And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, 

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 

In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better 
days, 120 

And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church 
And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness 
And take upon command what help we have 
That to your wanting may be minister'd. 

Orl. Then but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 130 

Limp'd in pure love : till he be first sufficed, 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go find him out, 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orl. I thank ye ; and be blest for your good 
comfort ! [Exit. 

Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone un- 
happy : 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players : 140 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, 
In fair round belly with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, 159 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 

Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 
Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable 
burthen, 
And let him feed. 

Orl. I thank you most for him. 
Adam. So had you need : 

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 170 
Duke S. Welcome ; fall to : I will not trouble 
you 
As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 



Scene vii.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Song. 
Ami. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath be rude. 179 
Heigh-ho ! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Then, heigh-ho, the holly! 

This life is most jolly. 
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friend remember'd not. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, &c. 190 

Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Row- 
land's son, 
As you have whisper' d faithfully you were, 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 
Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke 
That loved your father : the residue of your fortune, 
( !o to my cave and tell me. Good old man, 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is. 
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, 
And let me all your fortunes understand. {Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. A room in the palace. 

Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver. 

Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that 
cannot be : 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument 
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is ; 
Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or living 
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine 
Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, 10 

Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth 
Of what we think against thee. 

Oli. O that your highness knew my heart 
in this! 
I never loved my brother in my life. 

Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him 
out of doors; 
And let my officers of such a nature 
Make an extent upon his house and lands: 
Do this expediently and turn him going. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The forest. 

Enter Orlando, with a paper. 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 

And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey 
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 

Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. 
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books 

And in their barks my thoughts I '11 character : 
That every eye which in this forest looks 

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 



Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree 

The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. [Exit. 

Enter Corin and Touchstone. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, 
Master Touchstone? 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, 
it is a good life ; but in respect that it is a shep- 
herd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is 
solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it 
is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect 
it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in 
respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it 
is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; 
but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much 
against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in 
thee, shepherd? 

Cor. No more but that I know the more one 
sickens the worse at ease he is ; and that he that 
wants money, means and content is without three 
good friends ; that the property of rain is to wet 
and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat 
sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack 
of the sun ; that he that hath learned no wit by 
nature nor art may complain of good breeding or 
comes of a very dull kindred. 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. 
Wast ever in court, shepherd ? 

Cor. No, truly. 

Touch. Then thou art damned. 

Cor. Nay, I hope. 

'Touch. Truly, thou art damned like an ill- 
roasted egg, all on one side. 39 

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. 

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, 
thou never sawest good manners ; if thou never 
sawest good manners, then thy manners must 
be wicked ; and wickedness is sin, and sin is 
damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone : those that are 
good manners at the court are as ridiculous in 
the country as the behaviour of the country is 
most mockable at the court. You told me you 
salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands : 
that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers 
were shepherds. 

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, 
and their fells, you know, are greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands 
sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as 
wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, 
shallow. A better instance, I say ; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 60 

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. 
Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. 

Cor. And they are often tarred over with 
the surgery of our sheep ; and would you have 
us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed 
with civet. 

Touch. Most shallow man ! thou worms-meat, 
in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed ! Learn 
of the wise, and perpend : civet is of a baser birth 
than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend 
the instance, shepherd. 71 

Cor. You have too courtly a 1 t for me : 
I'll rest. 

Wilt thou rest damned? God help 



2l6 



AS VOW LIKE IT. 



[Act hi. 



thee, shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! 
thou art raw. 

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer : I earn that I 
eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no 
man's happiness, glad of other men's good, con- 
tent with my harm, and the greatest of my 
pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. 

Tottch. That is another simple sin in you, 
to bring the ewes and the rams together and 
to offer to get your living by the copulation of 
cattle ; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray 
a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, 
old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. 
If thou beest not damned for this, the devil him- 
self will have no shepherds; I cannot see else 
how thou shouldst 'scape. 90 

Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, 
my new mistress's brother. 

Enter Rosalind, with a j>aper, reading. 
Ros. From the east to western Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures fairest lined 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no fair be kept in mind 
But the fair of Rosalind. 100 

Touch. I'll rhyme you so eight years to- 
gether, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours 
excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to 
market. 
Ros. Out, fool ! 
Touch. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind, 
Let him seek out Rosalind. 
If the cat will after kind, 
So be sure will Rosalind. no 

Winter garments must be lined, 
So must slender Rosalind. 
They that reap must sheaf and bind ; 
Then to cart with Rosalind. 
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 
Such a nut is Rosalind. 
He that sweetest rose will find 
Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 
This is the very false gallop of verses : why do 
you infect yourself with them? 120 

Ros. Peace, you dull fool ! I found them on a 
tree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall 
graft" it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest 
fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you 
be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the 
medlar. 

Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or 
no, let the forest judge. 130 

Enter Celia, with a writing. 
Ros. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading : stand aside. 
Cel. [Reads] 

Why should this a desert be? 

For it is unpeopled? No: 

Tongues I 'II hang on every tree, 

That shall civil sayings show : 

Some, how brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage, 



That the stretching of a span 

Buckles in his sum of age ; 140 

Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : 
But upon the fairest boughs, 
Or at every sentence end, 
Will I Rosalinda write, 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore Heaven Nature charged 

That one body should be fill'd 150 

With all graces wide-enlarged : 

Nature presently distill'd 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart, 

Cleopatra's majesty, 
Atalanta's better part, 

Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devised, 
Of many faces, eyes and hearts, 

To have the touches dearest prized. 160 
Heaven would that she these gifts should 

have, 
And I to live and die her slave. 
Ros. O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious 
homily of love have you wearied your parish- 
ioners withal, and never cried ' Have patience, 
good people' ! 

Cel. How now ! back, friends ! Shepherd, go 
off a little. Go with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an hon- 
ourable retreat; though not with bag and bag- 
gage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 171 
[Exe?int Coriu and Touchstone. 
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? 
Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; 
for some of them had in them more feet than the 
verses would bear. 

Cel. That's no matter: the feet might bear 
the verses. 

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame and could 
not bear themselves without the verse and there- 
fore stood lamely in the verse. 180 
Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering 
how thy name should be hanged and carved upon 
these trees? 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out 
of the wonder before you came ; for look here 
what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be- 
rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an 
Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. 
Cel. Trow you who hath done this? 
Ros. Is it a man? 190 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about 
his neck. Change you colour? 
Ros. I prithee, who? 

Cel. O Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter for 
friends to meet ; but mountains may be removed 
with earthquakes and so encounter. 
Ros. Nay, but who is it? 
Cel. Is it possible? 

Ros. Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary 
vehemence, tell me who it is. 200 

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most won- 
derful wonderful ! and yet again wonderful, and 
after that, out of all hooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, 
though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a 



Scene ii.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



217 



doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of 
delay more is a South-sea of discovery ; I prithee, 
tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I 
would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst 
pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as 
wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle, 
either too much at once, or none at all. I 
prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that I 
may drink thy tidings. 

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 

Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner 
of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin 
worth a beard? 

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man 
will be thankful : let me stay the growth of his 
beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of 
his chin. 

Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the 
wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. 

R os. Nay, but the devil take mocking : speak, 
sad brow and true maid. 

Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Ros. Orlando? 

Cel. Orlando. 230 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my 
doublet and hose? What did he when thou 
sawest him? What said he? How looked he? 
Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did 
he ask for me? Where remains he ? How parted 
he with thee? and when shalt thou see him 
again ? Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth 
first : 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this 
age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars 
is more than to answer in a catechism. 241 

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest 
and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he 
did the day he wrestled ? 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve 
the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of 
my finding him, and relish it with good observance. 
I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. 

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when 
it drops forth such fruit. 250 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. 

Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a 
wounded knight. 

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it 
well becomes the ground. 

Cel. Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it 
curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a 
hunter. 259 

Ros. O, ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

Cel. 1 would sing my song without a burden : 
thou bringest me out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when 
I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Cel. You bring me out. Soft ! comes he not 
here? 

Enter Orlando and Jaques. 

Ros. 'Tis he : slink by, and note him. 

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but. 
good faith, I had as lief have been myself 
alone. 270 

Orl. And so had 1 ; but yet, for fashion sake, 
I thank you too for your society. 



Jaq. God be wi' you: let's meet as little as 
we can. 

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 
Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with 
writing love-songs in their barks. 

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses 
with reading them ill-favouredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? 280 

Orl. Yes, just. 
Jaq. I do not like her name. 
Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you 
when she was christened. 

Jaq. What stature is she of? 
Orl. Just as high as my heart. 
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have 
you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, 
and conned them out of rings ? 289 

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted 
cloth, from whence you have studied your ques- 
tions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit : I think 'twas 
made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with 
me? and we two will rail against our mistress the 
world and all our misery. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world but 
myself, against whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in 
love. 300 

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your 
best virtue. I am weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool 
when I found you. 

Orl. He is drowned in the brook: look but 
in, and you shall see him. 

Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. 
Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, | 
good Signior Love. 310 

Orl. I am glad of your departure: adieu, 
good Monsieur Melancholy. [Exit Jaques. 

Ros. {Aside to Celia] I will speak to him 
like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the 
knave with him. Do you hear, forester ? 
Orl. Very well: what would you? 
Rqs. I pray you, what is't o' clock? 
Orl. You should ask me what time 0' day: 
there's no clock in the forest. 319 

Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; 
else sighing every minute and groaning every 
hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well 
as a clock. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of Time? had 
not that been as proper? 

Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers 
paces with divers persons. I '11 tell you who 
Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who 
Time gallops withal and who he standsstill withal. 
Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? 
R os. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid 
between the contract of her marriage and the day 
it is solemnized : if the interim be but a se'nnight. 
Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 
seven year. 

Orl. Who ambles Time withal? 
Res. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich 
man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps 
easily because he cannot study and the other 
lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one 
lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, 



2l8 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act hi. 



the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious 
penury; these Time ambles withal. 
Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? 
Ros. With a thief to the gallows, for though 
he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself 
too soon there. 

Orl. Who stays it still withal ? 
Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they 
sleep between term and term and then they per- 
ceive not how Time moves. 35 J 
Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? 
Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here 
in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a pet- 
ticoat. 

Orl. Are you native of this place ? 
Ros. As the cony that you see dwell where 
she is kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you 
could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 360 
Ros. I have been told so of many : but indeed 
an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, 
who was in his youth an inland man ; one that 
knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. 
I have heard him read many lectures against it, 
and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched 
with so many giddy offences as he hath generally 
taxed their whole sex withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal 
evils that he laid to the charge of women ? 370 
Ros. There were none principal ; they were 
all like one another as half-pence are, every one 
fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came 
to match it. 

Orl. I prithee, recount some of them. 
Ros. No, I will not cast away my physic but 
on those that are sick. There is a man haunts 
the forest, that abuses our young plants with 
carving ' Rosalind ' on their barks ; hangs odes 
upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, for- 
sooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if I could 
meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some 
good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian 
of love upon him. 

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked : I pray 
you, tell me your remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon 
you : he taught me how to know a man in love ; 
in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not 
prisoner. 390 

Orl. What were his marks? 
Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not, a 
blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an un- 
questionable spirit, which you have not, a beard 
neglected, which you have not ; but I pardon you 
for that, for simply your having in beard is a 
younger brother's revenue : then your hose should 
be ungartered, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve 
unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing 
about you demonstrating a careless desolation ; 
but you are no such man ; you are rather point- 
device in your accoutrements as loving yourself 
than seeming the lover of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee 
believe I love. 

Ros. Me believe it! you may as soon make 
her that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, 
she is apter to do than to confess she does : that 
is one of the points in the which women still give 
the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, 



are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, 
wherein Rosalind is so admired? 

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white 
hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate 
he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your 
rhymes speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express 
how much. 419 

Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell 
you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as 
madmen do : and the reason why they are not so 
punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordi- 
nary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I 
profess curing it by counsel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was 
to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set 
him every day to woo me : at which time would 
I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effemi- 
nate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fan- 
tastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, 
full of smiles, for every passion something and 
for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women 
are for the most part cattle of this colour ; would 
now like him, now loathe him ; then entertain 
him, then forswear him ; now weep for him, then 
spit at him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad 
humour of love to a living humour of madness ; 
which was, to forswear the full stream of the 
world and to live in a nook merely monastic. 
And thus I cured him ; and this way will I take 
upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound 
sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot 
of love in't. 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros, I would cure you, if you would but call 
me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and 
woo me. 

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will : tell 
me where it is. 450 

R os. Go with me to it and I '11 show it you : 
and by the way you shall tell me where in the 
forest you live. Will you go ? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, 
sister, will you go? [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques 
behind. 

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will 
fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? 
am I the man yet ? doth my simple feature con- 
tent you ? 

A ud. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what 
features ? 

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as 
the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among 
the Goths. 

Jag. [Aside'] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse 
than Jove in a thatched house ! 11 

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be un- 
derstood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the 
forward child Understanding, it strikes a man 
more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. 
Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. 



Scene hi.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



219 



Aud. I do not know what 'poetical' is : is it 
honest in deed and word ? is it a true thing ? 

Touch. No, truly : for the truest poetry is 
the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, 
and what they swear in poetry may be said as 
lovers they do feign. 

Aud. Do you wish then that the gods had 
made me poetical ? 

Touch. I do, truly ; for thou swearest to me 
thou art honest : now, if thou wert a poet, I 
might have some hope thou didst feign. 

A ud. Would you not have me honest ? 

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard- 
favoured ; for honesty coupled to beauty is to 
have honey a sauce to sugar. 31 

Jaq. \ Aside] A material fool ! 

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I 
pray the gods make me honest. 

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon 
a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean 
dish. 

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods 
I am foul. 39 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul- 
ness ! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be 
it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end 
I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of 
the next village, who hath promised to meet me 
in this place of the forest and to couple us. 

Jaq. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. 

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a 
fearful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here 
we have no temple but the wood, no assembly 
but horn-beasts. But what though ? Courage ! 
As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is 
said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods :' 
right ; many a man has good horns, and knows 
no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his 
wife ; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even 
so. Poor men alone ? No, no ; the noblest deer 
hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single 
man therefore blessed ? No : as a walled town 
is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead 
of a married man more honourable than the bare 
brow of a bachelor ; and by how much defence 
is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more 
precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. 

Enter Sir Oliver Martext. 
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met : will you 
dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go 
with you to your chapel ? 

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? 

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the 
marriage is not lawful. 71 

Jaq. [Advancing-] Proceed, proceed: I'll give 
her. 

Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye- 
call't : how do you, sir? You are very well met : 
God 'ild you for your last company : I am very 
glad to see you : even a toy in hand here, sir : 
nay, pray be covered. 

Jaq. Will you be married, motley? 79 

Tottch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse 
his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath 
his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would 
be nibbling. 



Jaq. And will you, being a man of your 
breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? 
Get you to church, and have a good priest that 
can tell you what marriage is : this fellow will 
but join you together as they join wainscot ; then 
one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like 
green timber, warp, warp. 90 

Touch. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I 
were better to be married of him than of another : 
for he is not like to marry me well ; and not being 
well married, it will be a good excuse for me 
hereafter to leave my wife. 

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel 
thee. 

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey : 

We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. 

Farewell, good Muster Oliver: not, — 100 

() sweet Oliver, 

O brave Oliver, 

Leave me not behind thee : 

but,— 

Wind away, 
Begone, I say, 
I will not to wedding with thee. 
[Exeunt Jaques, Touclistone and Audrey. 
Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter : ne'er a fantastical 
knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. 
[Exit. 109 

Scene IV. The forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Kos. Never talk to me ; I will weep. 

Cel. Do, I prithee ; but yet have the grace 
to consider that tears do not become a man. 

Eos. But have I not cause to weep? 

Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; 
therefore weep. 

Eos. His very hair is of the dissembling 
colour. 

Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, 
his kisses are^Judas's own children. 10 

Eos. V faith, his hair is of a good colour. 

Cel. An excellent colour : your chestnut was 
ever the only colour. 

Eos. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as 
the touch of holy bread. 

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of 
Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not 
more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in 
them. 

Eos. But why did he swear he would come 
this morning, and comes not? 21 

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Eos. Do you think so? 

Cel. Yes ; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a 
horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do 
think him as concave as a covered goblet or a 
worm-eaten nut. 

Eos. Not true in love? 

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is 
not in. 30 

Eos. You have heard him swear downright 
he was. 

Cel. 'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of 
a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; 
they are both the conftrmer of false reckonings. 
He attends here in the forest on the duke your 
father. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act hi. 



Ros. I met the duke yesterday and had much 
question with him: he asked me of what parent- 
age I was ; I told him, of as good as he ; so he 
laughed and let me go. But what talk we of 
fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? 

Cel. 0, that's a brave man! he writes brave 
verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths 
and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart 
the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that 
spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff 
like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth 
mounts and folly guides. Who comes here ? 

Enter Corin. 

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft in- 
quired 50 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love, 
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 

Cel. Well, and what of him ? 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
Between the pale complexion of true love 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, 
If you will mark it. 

Ros. O, come, let us remove : 

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. 60 

Bring us to this sight, and you shall say 
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another part of the forest. 
Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do .not, 
Phebe ; 
Say that you love me not, but say not so 
In bitterness. The common executioner, 
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 

hard, 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 
But first begs pardon : will you sterner be 
fThan he that dies and lives by bloody drops? 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, behind. 

Phe. I would not be thy executioner : 
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
Thou tell' st me there is murder in mine eye : 10 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, 
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill 

thee: 
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why now fall down ; 
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers ! 
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in 

thee : 20 

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 
The cicatrice and capable impressure 
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine 

eyes, 
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
That can do hurt. 

Sil. O dear Phebe, 



If ever, — as that ever may be near, — 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 30 

That love's keen arrows make. 

Phe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me: and when that time 

comes, 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
As till that time I shall not pity thee. 

Ros. And why, I pray you? Who might be 
your mother, 
That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
Over the wretched ? What though you have no 

beauty, — 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without candle may go dark to bed — 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 40 

Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me 1 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! 
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it : 
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, 
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, 
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain ? 50 
You are a thousand times a properer man 
Than she a woman : 'tis such fools as you 
That makes the world full of ill-favour' d children : 
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper 
Than any of her lineaments can show her. 
But, mistress, know yourself : down on your knees, 
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
Sell when you can : you are not for all markets : 
Cry the man mercy; love him ; take his offer: 61 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So take her to thee, shepherd : fare you well. 

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year 
together : 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 

Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness 
and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, 
as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, 
I '11 sauce her with bitter words. Why look you 
so upon me ? 70 

Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, 
For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. 
Will you go, sister ? Shepherd, ply her hard. 
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, 
And be not proud : though all the world could see, 
None could be so abused in sight as he. 80 

Come, to our flock. 

[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin. 

Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 
'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' 

Sil. Sweet Phebe,— 

Phe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be : 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love, 
By giving love your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermined. 



Scene v.] 



AS VOW LIKE IT. 



Phe. Thou hast my love : is not that neigh- 
bourly ? 90 

Sil. I would have you. 

Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well. 
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
I will endure, and I '11 employ thee too : 
But do not look for further recompense 
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 

Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, 
And I in such a poverty of grace, 100 

That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then 
A scatter'd smile, and that I '11 live upon. 

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me 
erewhile ? 

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft : 
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds 
That the old carlot once was master of. 

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for 
him ; 
'Tis but a peevish boy ; yet he talks well ; 1 10 
But what care I for words ? yet words do well 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
It is a pretty youth : not very pretty : 
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes 

him : 
He'll make a proper man : the best thing in him 
Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he 's tall : 
His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, ico 

A little riper and more lusty red 
Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the dif- 
ference 
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd 

him 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
To fall in love with him ; but, for my part, 
I love him not nor hate him not ; and yet 
I have more cause to hate him than to love him : 
For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black : 
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 131 
I marvel why I answer'd not again : 
But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 
1 '11 write to him a very taunting letter, 
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? 

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Phe. I '11 write it straight ; 

The matter 's in my head and in my heart : 
I will be bitter with him and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. The forest. 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and J aqves. 
Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better 
acquainted with thee. 

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either arc 



abominable fellows and betray themselves to every 
modern censure worse than drunkards. 

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 9 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is 
fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor 
the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, 
which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor 
the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melan- 
choly of mine own, compounded of many simples, 
extracted from many objects, and indeed the sun- 
dry contemplation of my travels, in which my 
often rumination wraps me in a most humorous 
sadness. 20 

Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great 
reason to be sad : I fear you have sold your own 
lands to see other men's ; then, to have seen 
much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes 
and poor hands. 

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 

Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I 
had rather have a fool to make me merry than 
experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too ! 

Enter Orlando. 

Or/. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 
- Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk 
in blank verse. [Exit. 

Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you 
lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits 
of your own country, be out of love with your 
nativity and almost chide God for making you 
that countenance you are, or I will scarce think 
you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, 
Orlando ! where have you been all this while? 
You a lover ! An you serve me such another trick, 
never come in my sight more. 41 

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour 
of my promise. 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He 
that will divide a minute into a thousand parts 
and break but a part of the thousandth part of a 
minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of 
him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, 
but I'll warrant him heart-whole. 

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 50 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more 
in my sight : I had as lief be wooed of a snail. 

Orl. Of a snail ? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes 
slowly, he carries his house on his head ; a better 
jointure, I think, than you make a woman: be- 
sides, he brings his destiny with him. 

Orl. What 's that ? 

Ros. Why, horns, which such as you are fain 
to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes 
armed in his fortune and prevents the skmder of 
his wife. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosa- 
lind is virtuous. 

Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath 
a Rosalind of a better leer than you. 

R os. Come, woo me, woo me, for now 1 am in 
a holiday humour and like enough to consent 
What would you say to me now, an I were jrout 
very very Rosalind? 71 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act iv. 



Ros. Nay, you were better speak first, and 
when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you 
might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, 
when they are out, they will spit ; and for lovers 
lacking — God warn us! — matter, the cleanliest 
shift is to kiss. 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied ? 

Ros. Then she puts j^ou to entreaty, and there 
begins new matter. 81 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his be- 
loved mistress ? 

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your 
mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker 
than my wit. 

Orl. What, of my suit? 

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of 
your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because 
I would be talking of her. 91 

Ros. Well in her person I say I will not have you. 

Orl. Then in mine own person I die. 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor 
world is almost six thousand years old, and in all 
this time there was not any man died in his own 
person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had 
his brains dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he 
did what he could to. die before, and he is one of 
the patterns of love. Leander, he would have 
lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned 
nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer 
night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash 
him in the Hellespont and being taken with the 
cramp was drowned : and the foolish coroners of 
that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But 
these are all lies : men have died from time to 
time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. 

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of 
this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But 
come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more 
coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will, 
I will grant it. 

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Ros. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays 
and all. 

Orl. And wilt thou have me ? 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What sayest thou ? 120 

R os. Are you not good ? 

Orl. I hope so. 

R os. Why then, can one desire too much of a 
good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest 
and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. 
What do you say, sister? 

Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando — ' 

Cel. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife 
this Rosalind? 131 

Orl. I will. 

Ros. Ay, but when? 

Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say ' I take thee, Rosa- 
lind, for wife.' 
. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; 
but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : 
there's a girl goes before the priest ; and certainly 
a woman's thought runs before her actions. 141 



Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me how long you would have 
her after you have possessed her. 

Orl. For ever and a day. 

Ros. Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, 
no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo, 
December when they wed : maids are May when 
they are maids, but the sky changes when they 
are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than 
a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamor- 
ous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled 
than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a 
monkey : I will weep for nothing, like Diana in 
the fountain, and I will do that when you are 
disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a hyen, 
and that when thou art inclined to sleep. 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? 

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 160 

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do 
this : the wiser, the waywarder : make the doors 
upon a woman's wit and it will out at the case- 
ment ; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole ; 
stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the 
chimney. 

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, 
he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?' 

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it 
till you met your wife's wit going to your neigh- 
bour's bed. 171 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse 
that? 

Ros. Marry, to say she came to seek you 
there. You shall never take her without her 
answer, unless you take her without her tongue. 
O, that woman that cannot make her fault her 
husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child 
herself, for she will breed it like a fool ! 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will 
leave thee. 1S1 

Ros. Alas ! dear love, I cannot lack thee two 
hours. 

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner: by 
two o'clock I will be with thee again. 

R os. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; I 
knew what you would prove : my friends told me 
as much, and I thought no less : that flattering 
tongue of yours won me : 'tis but one cast away, 
and so, come, death ! Two o'clock is your hour? 

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 191 

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and 
so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are 
not dangerous, if you break one jot of your pro- 
mise or come one minute behind your hour, I 
will think you the most pathetical break-promise 
and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy 
of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out 
of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore 
beware my censure and keep your promise. 200 

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert 
indeed miy Rosalind : so adieu. 

Ros. Well, Time is the old justice that exa- 
mines all such offenders, and let Time try : adieu. 
[Exit Orlando. 

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your 
love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose 
plucked over your head, and show the world what 
the bird hath done to her own nest. 

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, 



that thou didst know how many fathom deep I 
am in love ! But it cannot be sounded : my 
affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay 
of Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you 
pour affection in, it runs out. 

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus 
that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen 
and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that 
abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, 
let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll 
tell thee, Alicna, I cannot be out of the sight of 
Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he 
come. 

Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The forest. 
Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters. 

Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ? 

A Lord. Sir, it was I. 

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a 
Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set 
the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of 
victory. Have you no song, forester, for this 
purpose? 

For. Yes, sir. 

Jaq. Sing it : 'tis no matter how it be in tune, 
so it make noise enough. 10 

Song. 
For. What shall he have that kill'd the deer? 
His leather skin and horns to wear. 
Then sing him home ; 
[The rest shall bear this burden. 
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn ; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born : 

Thy father's father wore it, 
And thy father bore it : 
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn 
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. {Exeunt. 

Scene III. The forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
Ros. How say you now ? Is it not past two 
o'clock? and here much Orlando! 

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and trou- 
bled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and 
is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. 

Enter Silvius. 

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth; 
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess 
By the stern brow and waspish action 
Which she did use as she was writing of it, 10 
It bears an angry tenour : pardon me ; 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this 
letter 
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners ; 
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, 
Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will! 
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, 
This is a letter of your own device. 20 

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents : 



Phebe did write it. 

Ros. Come, come, you are a fool 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands : 
She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: 
1 say she never did invent this letter; 
This is a man's invention and his hand. 

Sil. Sure, it is hers. 30 

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers ; why, she defies me, 
Like Turk to Christian : women's gentle brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, 
Such Bthiope words, blacker in their effect 
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the 
letter? 
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; 
Vet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
Ros. She Phebcs me: mark how the tyrant 
writes. [Reads. 

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, 40 

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? 
Can a woman rail thus ? 
Sil. Call you this railing ? 
Ros. [Reads] 

Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart ? 
Did you ever hear such railing? 

Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
That could do no vengeance to me. 
Meaning me a beast. 

If the scorn of your bright eyne 50 

Have power to raise such love in mine, 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in mild aspect ! 
Whiles you chid me, I did love ; 
How then might your prayers move ! 
He that brings this love to thee 
Little knows this love in me : 
And by him seal up thy mind ; 
Whether that thy youth and kind 
Will the faithful offer take 60 

Of me and all that I can make ; 
Or else by him my love deny, 
And then I'll study how to die. 
Sil. Call you this chiding ? 
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no 
pity. Wilt thou love such a woman ? What, to 
make thee an instrument and play false strains 
upon thee ! not to be endured ! Well, go your 
way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame 
snake, and say this to her : that if she love me, 
I charge her to love thee ; if she will not, I will 
never have her unless thou entreat for her. If 
you be a true lover, hence, and not a word ; f. >r 
here comes more company. [Exit Silvias. 

■r Oliver. 
Oli. Good morrow, fair ones : pray you, if you 
know, 
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? 
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour 
bottom : 
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream So 
Left on your right hand brings you to the place. 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself; 



224 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act v. 



There's none within. 

OH. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
Then should I know you by description ; 
Such garments and such years : ' The boy is fair, 
Of female favour, and bestows himself 
t Like a ripe sister : the woman low 
And browner than her brother.' Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 90 

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. 

OIL Orlando doth commend hirn to you both. 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind 
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he ? 

Ros. I am : what must we understand by this? 

OIL Some of my shame ; if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkercher was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

OH. When last the young Orlando parted 
from you 
He left a promise to return again 100 

Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside, 
j And mark what object did present itself: 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, 
Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd 
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly, 111 
I Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, 

And with indented glides did slip away 
I Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
; A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, 
■ When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
1'his seen, Orlando did approach the man 120 
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same 
brother ; 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That lived amongst men. 

OIL And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando : did he leave him there, 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 

OH. Twice did he turn his back and purposed 
so ; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 130 
Made him give battle to the lioness, 
Who quickly fell before him : in which hurtling 
From miserable slumber I awaked. 

Cel. Are you his brother ? 

Ros. Was't you he rescued ? 

Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill 
him? 

OH. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? 

OH. By and by. 

When from the first to last betwixt us two 140 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, 
As how I came into that desert place : — 
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 



Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, 

Committing me unto my brother's love ; 

Who led me instantly unto his cave, 

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 

The lioness had torn some flesh away, 

Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted 

And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 150 

Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound ; 

And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 

He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 

To tell this story, that you might excuse 

His broken promise, and to give this napkin 

Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth 

That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

[Rosalind swoons. 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet Gany- 
mede ! 

OIL Many will swoon when they do look on 
blood. 

Cel. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede ! 

OH. Look, he recovers. 161 

Ros. I would I were at home. 

Cel. We '11 lead you thither. 

I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 

OH. Be of good cheer, youth : you a man ! 
you lack a man's heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body 
would think this was well counterfeited ! I pray 
you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. 
Heigh-ho ! 169 

OH. This was not counterfeit : there is too 
great testimony in your complexion that it was a 
passion of earnest. 

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

OH. Well then, take a good heart and coun- 
terfeit to be a man. 

Ros. So I do : but, i'faith, I should have been 
a woman by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler : pray 
you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. 

OH. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 181 

Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray 
you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will 
you go ? \_Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. The forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Tozcch. We shall find a time, Audrey; pa- 
tience, gentle Audrey. 

And. Faith, the priest was good enough, for 
all the old gentleman's saying. 

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a 
most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a 
youth here in the forest lays claim to you. 

Aiid. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no in- 
terest in me in the world : here comes the man 
you mean. 10 

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a 
clown : by my troth, we that have good wits 
have much to answer for ; we shall be flouting ; 
we cannot hold. 

Enter William. 
Will. Good even, Audrey. 
And. God ye good even, William. 



Scene i.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



225 



Will. And good even to you, sir. 

Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy 
head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. 
How old are you, friend ? 20 

Will. Five and twenty, sir. 

Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William ? 

Will. William, sir. 

Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest 
here? 

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 

Touch. ' Thank God ;' a good answer. Art rich ? 

Will. Faith, sir, so so. 

Touch. ' So so' is good, very good, very ex- 
cellent good ; and yet it is not ; it is but so so. 
Art thou wise? 31 

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touch. Why, thou sayest well. I do now 
remember a saying, ' The fool doth think he is 
wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a 
fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a 
desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when 
he put it into his mouth ; meaning thereby that 
grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You 
do love this maid? 4° 

Will. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? 

Will. No, sir. 

Touch. Then learn this of me: to have, is to 
have ; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, 
being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling 
the one doth empty the other ; for all your writers 
do consent that ipse is he : now, you are not 
ipse, for I am he. 

Will. Which he, sir? 50 

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. 
Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is in the 
vulgar leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
is company, — of this female, — which in the com- 
mon is woman ; which together is, abandon the 
society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest ; 
or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, 
I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life 
into death, thy liberty into bondage : I will deal 
in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; 
I will bandy with thee in faction ; I will o'er-run 
thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and 
fifty ways : therefore tremble, and depart. 

And. Do, good William. 

// 'ill. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. 

Enter Cokix. 

Cor. Our master and mistress seeks you ; 
come, away, away ! 

Touch. Trip, Audrey ! trip, Audrey ! I at- 
tend, I attend. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The forest. 
Enter Orlando and Oliver. 
Orl. Is't possible that on so little acquaint- 
ance you should like her? that but seeing you 
J should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, 
; she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy 
her? 

OIL Neither call the giddiness of it in ques- 
tion, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, 
my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting ; 
but say with me, I love Aliena ; say with her 
that she loves me ; consent with both that we 



may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good ; 
for my father's house and all the revenue that 
was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, 
and here live and die a shepherd. 

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wed- 
ding be to-morrow : thither will I invite the duke 
and all's contented followers. Go you and pre- 
pare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosa- 
lind. 

Enter Rosalind. 

Eos. God save you, brother. 20 

OIL And you, fair sister. [Exit. 

Eos. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me 
to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! 

Orl. It is my arm. 

Eos. I thought thy heart had been wounded 
with the claws of a lion. 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Eos. Did your brother tell you how I coun- 
terfeited to swoon when he showed me your 
handkercher? 30 

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Eos. O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true : 
there was never any thing so sudden but the fight 
of two rams and Csesar's thrasonical brag of 'I 
came, saw, and overcame :' for your brother and 
my sister no sooner met but they looked, no 
sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved 
but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked 
one another the reason, no sooner knew the rea- 
son but they sought the remedy ; and in these 
degrees have they made a pair of stairs to mar- 
riage which they will climb incontinent, or else 
be incontinent before marriage : they are in the 
very wrath of love and they will together ; clubs 
cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow, and I 
will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, 0, how 
bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through 
another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall 
I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, 
by how much I shall think my brother happy in 
having what he wishes for. 

Eos. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve 
your turn for Rosalind? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Eos. I will weary you then no longer with 
idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak 
to some purpose, that I know you are a gentle- 
man of good conceit : I speak not this that you 
should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, in- 
somuch I say I know you are ; neither do I 
labour for a greater esteem than may in some 
little measure draw a belief from you, to do 
yourself good and not to grace me. Believe 
then, if you please, that I can do strange things: 
I have, since I was three year old, conversed with 
a magician, most profound in his art and yet not 
damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the 
heart as your gesture cries it out, when your 
brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I 
know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not 
inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes 
to-morrow human as she is and without any 
danger. 

Orl. Spcakest thou in sober meanings? 

Eos. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, 



226 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act v. 



though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put 
you in your best array; bid your friends; for if 
you will be married to-morrow, you shall, and to 
Rosalind, if you will. 81 

Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover 
of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you have done me much un- 
gentleness, 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not if I have : it is my study 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : 
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd ; 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis 
to love. 

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 91 

■ Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Eos. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 
• Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil, It is to be all made of fantasy, ico 

All made of passion and all made of wishes, 
All adoration, duty, and observance, 
All humbleness, all patience and impatience, 
t All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to 
love you? no 

Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to 
love you ? 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to 
love you? 

Ros. Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you 
me to love you?' 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

R os. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the 
howling of Irish wolves against the moon. [To 
Sil.] I will helpyou, if I can: [To Phe.] I 
would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet 
me all together. [To Phe.] I will marry you, if 
ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to- 
morrow: [To Orl.] I will satisfy you, if ever I 
satisfied man, and you shall be married to-mor- 
row: [To Sil.] I will content you, if what 
pleases you contents you, and you shall be 
married to-morrow. [To Orl.] As you love 
Rosalind, meet: [To Sil.] as you love Phebe, 
meet: and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So 
fare you well : I have left you commands. 131 

Sil. I '11 not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor I. 

Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The forest. 
Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; 
to-morrow will we be married. 
Aud. I do desire it with all my heart; and I 



hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a 
woman of the world. Here come two of the 
banished duke's pages. 

Enter two Pages. 

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 

Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, 
sit, and a song. 9 

Sec. Page. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 

First Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, 
without hawking or spitting or saying we are 
hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad 
voice ? 

Sec. Page. I 'faith, i 'faith; and both in a 
tune, like two gipsies on a horse. 

Song. 
It was a lover and his lass, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: 21 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 
Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
These pretty country folks would lie, 

In spring time, &c. 
This carol they began that hour, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
How that a life was but a flower 

In spring time, &c. 30 

And therefore take the present time, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; 
For love is crowned with the prime 

In spring time, &c. 

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there 
was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note 
was very untuneable. 

First Page. You are deceived, sir : we kept 
time, we lost not our time. 

Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but 
time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be 
wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, 
Audrey. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The forest. 

EuterDuKE senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 
Oliver, and Celia. 
Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that 
the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes 
do not ; 
t As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 
Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact 
is urged : 
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here ? 

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to 

give with her. 
Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I 

bring her ? 
Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms 
king. 10 

Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? 



Scene iv.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



227 



PJie. That will I, should I die the hour after. 

Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, 
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? 

Phe. So is the bargain. 

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she 
will? 

Sil. Though to have her and death were both 
one thing. 

Ros. I have promised to make all this matter 
even. 
Keep you your word,0 duke, to give your daughter; 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : 20 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, 
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd : 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you '11 marry her, 
If she refuse me : and from hence I go, 
To make these doubts all even. 

[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. 

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw 
him 
Methought he was a brother to your daughter : 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 30 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, 
and these couples are coming to the ark. Here 
comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all 
tongues are called fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome: this 
is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so 
often met in the forest : he hath been a courtier, 
he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put 
me to my purgation. I have trod a measure ; I 
have flattered a lady ; I have been politic with my 
friend, smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone 
three tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like 
to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 50 

Touch, Faith, we met, and found the quarrel 
was upon the seventh cause. 

Jaq. How seventh cause ? Good my lord, 
like this fellow. 

Diike S. I like him very well. 

Touch. God 'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the 
like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of 
the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear ; 
according as marriage binds and blood breaks : a 
poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but 
mine own ; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take 
that that no man else will : rich honesty dwells 
like a miser, sir, in a poor house ; as your pearl 
in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and 
sententious. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and 
such dulcet diseases. 

"jfaq. But, for the seventh cause ; how did you 
find the quarrel on the seventh cause ? 70 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed : — 
bear your body more seeming, Audrey : — as thus, 
sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's 



beard : he sent me word, if I said his beard was 
not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is 
called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word 
again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me 
word, he cut it to please himself: this is called 
the Quip Modest, if again ' it was not well cut,' 
he disabled my judgement: this is called the Reply 
Churlish. If again ' it was not well cut,' he would 
answer, I spake not true : this is called the Re- 
proof Valiant. If again ' it was not well cut,' he 
would say, I lied : this is called the Countercheck 
Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial 
and the Lie Direct. 

7aq. And how oft did you say his beard was 
not well cut ? 

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie 
Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie 
Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the de- 
grees of the lie ? 

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the 
book ; as you have books for good manners : I 
will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort 
Courteous ; the second, the Quip Modest ; the 
third, the Reply Churlish ; the fourth, the Re- 
proof Valiant ; the fifth, the Countercheck Quar- 
relsome ; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance ; 
the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may 
avoid but the Lie Direct ; and you may avoid 
that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices 
could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties 
were met themselves, one of them thought but 
of an If, as, ' If you said so, then I said so;' and 
they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If 
is the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If. 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's 
as good at any thing and yet a fool. no 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking- 
horse and under the presentation of that he shoots 
his wit. 

Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. 
Still Music. 
Hyi7i. Then is there mirth in heaven, 
When earthly things made even 

Atone together. 
Good duke, receive thy daughter : 
Hymen from heaven brought her, 

Yea, brought her hither. 

That thou mightst join her hand with his 

Whose heart within his boson) is. i?i 

Ros. [To duke] To you I give myself, for I am 

yours. 

[To Orl.} To you I give myself, for I am yours. 

Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you arc 

my daughter. 
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my 

Rosalind. 
Plte. If sight and shape be true, 
Why then, my love adieu ! 

Ros. I '11 have no father, if you be not he : 
I'll have no husband, if you be not he : 
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 130 

Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
'Tis I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events: 
Here's eight that must take hands 
To join in Hymen's bands. 

If truth holds true contents. 

15—2 



228 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act v. 



You and you no cross shall part : 

You and you are heart in heart : 

You to his love must accord, 

Or have a woman to your lord : 140 

You and you are sure together, 
As the winter to foul weather. 
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, 
Feed yourselves with questioning ; 
That reason wonder may diminish, 
How thus we met, and these things finish. 

Song. 
Wedding is great Juno's crown : 

O blessed bond of board and bed ! 
'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; 

High wedlock then be honoured : 150 
Honour, high honour and renown, 
To Hymen, god of every town ! 

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art 
to me! 
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. 

Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 

Enter Jaques de Boys. 

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word 
or two : 
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 160 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address' d a mighty power ; which were on foot, 
In his own condudl, purposely to take 
His brother here and put him to the sword : 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
Where meeting with an old religious man, 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprise and from the world, 
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 
And all their lands restored to them again 170 
That were with him exiled. This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 

Duke S. Welcome, young man ; 

Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding : 
To one his lands withheld, and to the other 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest let us do those ends 
That here were well begun and well begot : 
And after, every of this happy number 
That have endured shrewd days and nights with us 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 180 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget thisnew-fall'n dignity 
And fall into our rustic revelry. 
Play, music ! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, 



With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 
Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you 
rightly, 
The duke hath put on a religious life 
And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 
Jaq de B. He hath. 

Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learn' d. 191 
[To dttke\ You to your former honour I be- 
queath ; 
Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: 
[To OrlJ\ You to a love that your true faith doth 

merit : 
[To Oli.~\ You to your land and love and great 

allies : 
[To Sit.] You to a long and well-deserved bed : 
[To Touc/i.] And you to wrangling; for thy 

loving voyage 
Is but for two months vidtuall'd. So, to your 

pleasures : 
I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 200 

Jaq. To see no pastime I : what you would have 

I '11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. 

Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these 

rites, 

As we do trust they'll end, in true delights, 

[A dance. 

Epilogue. 

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the 
epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome than to 
see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good 
wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play 
needs no epilogue ; yet to good wine they do use 
good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the 
help of good epilogues. What a case am I in 
then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot 
insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play ! 
I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to 
beg will not become me : my way is to conjure 
you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge 
you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to 
like as much of this play as please you : and I 
charge you, O men, for the love you bear to 
women — as I perceive by your simpering, none 
of you hates them — that between you and the 
women the play may please. If I were a woman 
I would kiss as many of you as had beards that 
pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths 
that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as 
have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths 
will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid 
me farewell. [Exeunt. 



THE TAMING. OF THE SHREW. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



A Lord. ) 

Christopher Sly, a tinker. I Persons in the 
Hostess, Page, Players, Hunts- f Induction, 
men, and Servants. ' 

Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. 
Vixcentio, an old gentleman of Pisa. 
Lucentio, son toVincentio, in love with Bianca. 
Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor 

to Katharina. 
Gre.mio, 
Hortensio 



J suitors to Bianca. 



BlONDELLO, 



Grumio, 



servants to Lucentio. 



servants to Petruchio. 



• daughters to Baptist 



Curtis, 

A Pedant. 

Katharina, the shrew, 

Bianca, 

Widow. 
Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on 

Baptista and Petruchio. 
Scene : Padua, and Petruchid s country house. 



INDUCTION. 
Scene I. Before a?i alehouse on a heath. 

Enter Hostess and Sly. 

Sly. I'll pheeze you, in faith. 

Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 

Sly. Ye are a baggage : the Slys are no rogues ; 
look in the chronicles ; we came in with Richard 
Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris ; let the 
world slide : sessa ! 

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you 
have burst? 

Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy : go 
to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 10 

Host. I know my remedy ; I must go fetch 
the third-borough. [Exit. 

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll 
answer him by law : I '11 not budge an inch, boy : 
let him come, and kindly. [Falls asleep. 

Horns "winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, 
with his train. 
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well 
my hounds : 
fBrach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd; 
And couple Clowderwith thedeep-mouth'dbrach. 
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? 20 

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 
First Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, 
my lord ; 
He cried upon it at the merest loss 
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : 
Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 

Lord. Thou art a fool : if Echo were as fleet, 
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
But sup them well and look unto them all : 
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 

First Hun. I will, my lord. 30 

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk ? See, 

doth he breathe ? 
Sec. Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he 
not warm'd with ale, 
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 



Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine 

he lies ! 
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his 

fingers, 
A most delicious banquet by his bed, 
And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
Would not the beggar then forget himself? 41 
First Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he can- 
not choose. 
Sec. Him. It would seem strange unto him 

when he waked. 
Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worthless 

fancy. 
Then take him up and manage well the jest: 
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber 
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures : 
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters 
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : 
Procure me music ready when he wakes, 50 

To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight 
And with a low submissive reverence 
Say 'What is it your honour will command?' 
Let one attend him with a silver basin 
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers ; 
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, 
And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your 

hands ?' 
Some one be ready with a costly suit 
And ask him what apparel he will wear ; 60 

Another tell him of his hounds and horse, 
And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic ; 
fAnd when he says he is, say that he dreams, 
For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs: 
It will be pastime passing excellent, 
If it be husbanded with modesty. 

First Hun. My lord, I warrant you we will 

play our part, 
As he shall think by our true diligence 70 

He is no less than what we say he is. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREIV. 



[Induction. 



Lord. Take him up gently and to bed with him ; 
And each one to his office when he wakes. 

[Some bear out Sly. A triimpet sounds. 
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : 

[Exit Servingman. 
Belike, some noble gentleman that means, 
Travelling some journey, to repose him here. 

Re-enter Servingman. 

How now ! who is it ? 

Serv. An 't please your honour, players 

That offer service to your lordship. 

Lord. Bid them come near. 

Enter Players. 

Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
Players. We thank your honour. 80 

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 
A Player. So please your lordship to accept 

our duty. 
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I re- 
member, 
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son : 
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well : 
I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
Was aptly fitted and naturally perform' d. 

A Player. I think 'twas Soto that your honour 

means. 
Lord. 'Tis very true : thou didst it excellent. 
Well, you are come to me in happy time ; go 

The rather for I have some sport in hand 
Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
There is a lord will hear you play to-night : 
But I am doubtful of your modesties ; 
Lest over-eyeing of his odd behaviour, — 
For yet his honour never heard a play — 
You break into some merry passion 
And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
If you should smile he grows impatient. 
A Player. Fear not, my lord : we can contain 
ourselves, 100 

Were he the veriest antic in the world. 

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
And give them friendly welcome every one : 
Let them want nothing that my house affords. 

[Exit one with the Players. 
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, 
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's cham- 
ber; 
And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. 
Tell him from me, as he will win my love, 
He bear himself with honourable action, no 

Such as he hath observed in noble ladies 
Unto their lords, by them accomplished : 
Such duty to the drunkard let him do 
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, 
And say 'What is't your honour will command, 
Wherein your lady and your humble wife 
May show her duty and make known her love ?' 
And then with kind embracements, tempting 

kisses, 
And with declining head into his bosom, 
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 120 

To see her noble lord restored to health, 
Who for this seven years hath esteemed him 
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
And if the boy have not a woman's gift 
To rain a shower of commanded tears, 



An onion will do well for such a shift, 
Which in a napkin being close convey'd 
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst : 
Anon I '11 give thee more instructions. 130 

[Exit a Servingman. 
I know the boy will well usurp the grace, 
Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman : 
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband, 
And how my men will stay themselves from 

laughter 
When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence 
May well abate the over-merry spleen 
Which otherwise would grow into extremes. 

[Exezcnt. 

Scene II. A bedchamber in the Lord's house. 

Enter aloft Sly, with Attendants; some with 

apparel, others with basin and ewer and 

other appicrte7iances; and Lord. 

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 

First Serv. Will't please your lordship drink 
a cup of sack?- 

Sec. Serv. Will't please your honour taste of 
these conserves? 

Third Serv. What raiment will your honour 
wear to day ? 

Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 
'honour' nor 'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in 
my life ; and if you give me any conserves, give 
me conserves of beef : ne'er ask me what raiment 
I '11 wear ; for I have no more doublets than backs, 
no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes 
than feet ; nay, sometime more feet than shoes, 
or such shoes as my toes look through the over- 
leather. 

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your 
honour ! 
O, that a mighty man of such descent, 
Of such possessions and so high esteem, 
Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am 
not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton- 
heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card- 
maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now 
by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian 
Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know 
me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on 
the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest 
knave in Christendom. What ! I am not be- 
straught: here's — 

Third Serv. O, this it is that makes your 
lady mourn ! 

Sec. Serv. O, this is it that makes your ser- 
vants droop ! 

Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns 
your house, 30 

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, 
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment 
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. 
Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
Wilt thou have music ? hark ! Apollo plays 

[Music. 
And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 
Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch 



Scene ii.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



231 



Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 40 

On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
Say thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : 
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will 

soar 
Above the morning lark : or wilt thou hunt? 
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them 
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
First Serv. Say thou wilt course ; thy grey- 
hounds are as swift 
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 50 
Sec. Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will 
fetch thee straight 
Adonis painted by a running brook, 
And Cytherea all in sedges hid, 
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 

Lord. We'll show thee Io as she was a maid, 
And how she was beguiled and surprised, 
As lively painted as the deed was done. 

Third Scn>. Or Daphne roaming through a 
thorny wood, 
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she 
bleeds, Go 

And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
Lord. Thou art a lord and nothing but a 
lord: 
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
Than any woman in this waning age. 
First Serv. And till the tears that she hath 
shed for thee 
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, 
She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
And yet she is inferior to none. 

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? 70 
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? 
I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ; 
I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things: 
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed 
And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. 
Weil, bring our lady hither to our sight ; 
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 

Sec. Serv. Will't please your mightiness to 
wash your hands? 
O, how we joy to see your wit restored ! 79 

O, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; 
Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept. 
Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly 
nap. 
But did I never speak of all that time? 
First Serv. O, yes, my lord, but very idle 
words : 
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
Vet would you say ye were beaten out of door ; 
And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
And say you would present her at the iect, 
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd 
quarts : 90 

Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
Third Serv. Why, sir, you know no house 
nor no such maid, 
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, 
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece 
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell 



And twenty more such names and men as these 
Which never were nor no man ever saw. 
S.'y. Now Lord be thanked for my good 

amends ! 
All. Amen. 100 

Sly. 1 thank thee : thou shalt not lose by it. 

Enter the Page as a lady, with attendants. 

Page. ' How fares my noble lord ? 

Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer 
enough. 
Where is my wife ? 

Page. Here, noble lord: what is thy will 
with her? 

Sly. Are you my wife and will not call me 
husband ? 
My men should call me ' lord : ' I am your good- 
man. 

Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and 
husband ; 
I am your wife in all obedience. 

Sly. I know it well. What must I call her? 

Lord. Madam. 11 1 

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? 

Lord. 'Madam,' and nothing else: so lords 
call ladies. 

Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd 
And slept above some fifteen year or more. 

Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, 
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her 
alone. 
Madam, undress you and come now to bed. 

Page. Thrice-noble lord, let me entreat of you 
To pardon me yet for a night or two, 121 

Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
For your physicians have expressly charged, 
In peril to incur your former malady, 
That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 

Sly. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry 
so long. But I would be loath to fall into my 
dreams again : I will therefore tarry in despite of 
the flesh and the blood. 130 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Your honour's players, hearing your 
amendment, 
Are come to play a pleasant comedy ; 
For so your doctors hold it very meet, 
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your 

blood, 
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy : 
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play 
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. 

Sly. Marry. I will, let them play it. Is not 
a comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling- 
trick? 141 

Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing 
stuff. 

Sly. What, household stuff? 

Page. It is a kind of history. 

Sly. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, 
sit by my side and let the world slip: we shall 
ne'er be younger. 

Flourish. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Padua. A public place. 
Enter Lucentio and his man Tkanio. 

Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I had 
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, 
I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy, 
The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
And by my father's love and leave am arm'd 
With his good will and thy good company, 
My trusty servant, well approved in all, 
Here let us breathe and haply institute _ 
A course of learning and ingenious studies. 
Pisa renowned for grave citizens 10 

Gave me my being and my father first, 
A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
Vincentio's son brought up in Florence _ 
It shall become to serve all hopes conceived, 
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : 
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, 
Virtue and that part of philosophy 
Will I apply that treats of happiness 
By virtue specially to be achieved. 20 

Tell me thy mind ; for I have Pisa left 
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves 
A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep 
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 

Tra. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine, 
I am in all affected as yourself ; 
Glad that you thus continue your resolve 
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
Only, good master, while we do admire 
This virtue and this moral discipline, 30 

Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray ; 
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks 
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: 
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have 
And practise rhetoric in your common talk ; 
Music and poesy use to quicken you; 
The mathematics and the metaphysics, 
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you ; 
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en : 
In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 40 

Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, 
We could at once put us in readiness, 
And take a lodging fit to entertain 
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. 
But stay a while : what company is this ? 

Tra. Master, some show to welcome us to town. 



Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gre- 
mio, and Hortensio. Lucentio and Than 10 
stand by. 

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, 
For how I firmly am resolved you know ; 
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter 50 
Before I have a husband for the elder: 
If either of you both love Katharina, 
Because I know you well and love you well, 
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 

Gre. [Aside] To cart her rather : she's too 
rough for me. 
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? 

Kath. I pray you, sir, is it your will 
To make a stale of me amongst these mates? 



Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no 
mates for you, 
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 60 

Kath. V faith, sir, you shall never need to fear : 
I wis it is not half way to her heart ; 
But if it were, doubt not her care should be 
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool 
And paint your face and use you like a fool. 

Hor. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us ! 

Gre. And me too, good Lord ! 

Tra. Hush, master ! here 's some good pastime 
toward : 
That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. 

Luc. But in the other's silence do I see 70 
Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. 
Peace, Tranio ! 

Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze vour 
fill. 

Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
What I have said, Bianca, get you in : 
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, 
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 

Kath. A pretty peat ! it. is best 
Put finger in the eye, an she knew why. 

Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. 80 
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : 
My books and instruments shall be my company, 
On them to look and practise by myself. 

Luc. Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva 
speak. 

Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange ? 
Sorry am I that our good will effects 
Bianca's grief. 

Gre. Why will you mew her up, 

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, 
And make her bear the penance of her tongue ? 

Bap. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am resolved : go 
Go in, Bianca : [Exit Bianca. 

And for I know she taketh most delight 
In music, instruments and poetry, 
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, 
Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, 
Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such, 
Prefer them hither ; for to cunning men. 
I will be very kind, and liberal 
To mine own children in good bringing up : 
And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ; 100 
For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Exit. 

Kath. Why, and I trust I may go too, may 
I not? What, shall I be appointed hours; as 
though, belike, I knew not what to take, and 
what to leave, ha ? [Exit. 

Gre. You may go to the devil's dam : your 
gifts are so good, here's none will hold you. 
Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may 
blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out : 
our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell: yet, 
for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by 
any means light on a fit man to teach her that 
wherein she delights, I will wish him to her 
father. 

Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio : but a word, 
I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet 
never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it 
toucheth us both, that we may yet again have 
access to our fair mistress and be happy rivals in 
Bianca's love, to labour and effect one thing 
specially. 121 

Gre. What 's that, I pray ? 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



233 



Hor. 
sister. 
Gre. 
Hor. 
Gre. 



Marry, sir, to get a husband for her 

A husband ! a devil. 
I say, a husband. 

I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hor- 
tensio, though her father be very rich, any man 
is so very a fool to be married to hell? 129 

Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your 
patience and mine to endure her loud alarums, 
why, man, there be good fellows in the world, 
an a man could light on them, would take her 
with all faults, and money enough. 

Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her 
dowry with this condition, to be whipped at the 
high cross every morning. 

Hor. Faith, as you say, there's small choice 
in rotten apples. But come; since this bar in 
law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth 
friendly maintained till by helping Baptista's 
eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest 
free for a husband, and then have to't afresh. 
Sweet Bianca ! Happy man be his dole ! He 
that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you, 
Signior Gremio? 

Gre. I am agreed ; and would I had given 

him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing 

that would thoroughly woo her, wed her and bed 

her and rid the house of her ! Come on. 150 

[Exeunt Gremio and Hor tens io. 

Tra. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible 
That love should of a sudden take such hold? 

Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
I never thought it possible or likely; 
But see, while idly I stood looking on, 
I found the effect of love in idleness: 
And now in plainness do confess to thee, 
That art to me as secret and as dear 
As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, 
Tranio, I burn, 1 pine, I perish, Tranio, 160 

If I achieve not this young modest girl. 
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ; 
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ; 
Affeclion is not rated from the heart : 
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, 
' Redime te captum quam queas minimo.' 

Luc. Gramercies, lad, go forward; this con- 
tents : 
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 

Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid, 
Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. 

Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, 
Such as the daughter of Agenor had, 
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, 
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 

Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not how 
her sister 
Began to scold and raise up such a storm 
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? 

Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move 
And with her breath she did perfume the air: 1S0 
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. 

Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his 
trance. 
I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid, 
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 

stands : 
Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd 
That till the father rid his hands of her. 



Master, your love must live a maid at home ; 
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, 
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. 

Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he ! 
But art thou not advised, he took some care 191 
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her 1 

'Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis 
plotted. 

Luc. I have it, Tranio. 

Tra. Master, for my hand, 

Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 

Luc. Tell me thine first. 

Tra. You will be schoolmaster 

And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
That's your device. 

Luc. It is: may it be done? 

Tra. Not possible; for who shall bear your 
part, 
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son, 200 

Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends, 
Visit his countrymen and banquet them? 

Luc. Basta; content thee, for I have it full. 
We have not yet been seen in any house, 
Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces 
For. man or master; then it follows thus; 
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
Keep house and port and servants, as I should : 
1 will some other be, some Florentine, 
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 210 
Tis hatch'd and shall be so : Tranio, at once 
Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak : 
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee ; 
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. 

Tra. So had you need. 
In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, 
And I am tied to be obedient ; 
For so your father charged me at our parting, 
'Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he, 
Although I think 'twas in another sense; 220 

I am content to be Lucentio, 
Because so well I love Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 
And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded 

eye. 
Here comes the rogue. 

Enter Biondello. 

Sirrah, where have you been? 

Bion. Where have I been! Nay, how now! 
where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio 
stolen your clothes? Or you stolen his? or both? 
pray, what's the news? 230 

Luc. Sirrah, come hither : 'tis no time to jest, 
And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
Puts my apparel and my countenance on, 
And I for my escape have put on his ; 
For in a quarrel since I came ashore 
I kill'd a man and fear I was descried : 
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
While I make way from hence to save my life : 
You understand me? 

Bion. I, sir ! ne'er a whit. 240 

Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth : 
Tranio is changed into Lucentio. 

Bion. The better for him : would I were 
so too ! 



234 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act i. 



Tra. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next 

wish after, 
That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest 

daughter. 
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, 

I advise 
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of 

companies : 
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; 
But in all places else your master Lucentio. 249 
Luc. Tranio, let's go: one thing more rests, 
that thyself execute, to make one among these 
wooers : if thou ask me why, sufficeth, my rea- 
sons are both good and weighty. \E-xetmt. 

The presejiters above speak. 
First Serv. My lord, you nod; you do not 

mind the play. 
Sly. Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good mat- 
ter, surely: comes there any more of it? 
Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. 
Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, 
madam lady : would 'twere done ! 259 

{They sit and mark. 

Scene II. Padua. Be/ore Hortensio's house. 
Enter Petruchio and Jus man Grumio. 

Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave, 
To see my friends in Padua, but of all 
My best beloved and approved friend, 
Hortensio ; and I trow this is his house. 
Here, sirrah Grumio : knock, I say. 

Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is 
there any man has rebused your worship? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 

Gru. Knock you here, sir ! why, sir, what am 
I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir? 10 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate 
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. 

Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome. I 
should knock you first, 
And then I know after who comes by the worst. 

Pet. Will it not be ? 
Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it; 
I'll tiy how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 

[He wrings him by the ears. 

Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 

Pet. Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah 
villain ! 

Enter Hortensio. 

Hor. How now ! what's the matter? My old 
friend Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! 
How do you all at Verona? 

Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part 
the fray? 
' Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say. 

Hor. ' Alia nostra casa ben venuto, molto 
honorato signor mio Petruchio.' 
Rise, Grumio, rise : we will compound this 
quarrel. 

Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges 
in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause for me to 
leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me knock 
him and rap him soundly, sir : well, was it fit for 
a servant to use his master so, being perhaps, for 
aught I see, two and thirty, a pip out? 
Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, 



Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 

Pet. A senseless villain ! Good Hortensio, 
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate 
And could not get him for my heart to do it. 

Gru. Knock at the gate ! O heavens ! Spake 
you not these words plain, ' Sirrah, knock me 
here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me 
soundly ' ? And come you now with, ' knocking 
at the gate'? 

Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 

Hor. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's 
pledge : 
Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you, 
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale 
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? 

Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through 
the world 50 

To seek their fortunes farther than at home 
Where small experience grows. But in a few, 
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: 
Antonio, my father, is deceased ; 
And 1 have thrust myself into this maze, 
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may : 
Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home, 
And so am come abroad to see the world. 

Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly 
to thee 
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? 60 
Thou'ldst thank me but a little for my counsel : 
And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich 
And very rich : but thou'rt too much my friend, 
And I'll not wish thee to her. 

Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends 
as we 
Few words suffice ; and therefore, if thou know 
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, 
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, 
As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd 70 

As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse, 
She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
Affection's edge in me, were she as rough 
As are the swelling Adriatic seas : 
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; 
If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 

Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly 
what his mind is : why, give him gold enough and 
marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby ; or an 
old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though 
she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses : 
why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. 

Hor. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus 
far in, 
I will continue that I broach'd in j est. 
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
With wealth enough and young and beauteous, 
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman : 
Her only fault, and that is faults enough, 
Is that she is intolerable curst 
And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure 
That, were my state far worser than it is, 91 

I would not wed her for a mine of gold. 

Pet. Hortensio, peace ! thou know'st not gold's 
effect: 
Tell me her father's name and 'tis enough ; 
For I will board her, though she chide as loud 
As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. 

Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 



J 



An affable and courteous gentleman : 

Her name is Katharina Minola, 

Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue, ioo 

Pet. I know her father, though I know not her; 
And he knew my deceased father well. 
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; 
And therefore let me be thus bold with you 
To give you over at this first encounter, 
Unless you will accompany me thither. 

Gm. I pray you, sir, let him go while the 
humour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as 
well as I do, she would think scolding would do 
little good upon him: she may perhaps call him 
half a score knaves or so: why, that's nothing; 
an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll 
tell you what, sir, an she stand him but a little, 
he will throw a figure in her face and so disfigure 
her with it that she shall have no more eyes to 
see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir. 

Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, 
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is : 
He hath the jewel of my life in hold. 
His youngest daughter, beautiful Pianca, 120 

And her withholds from me and other more, 
Suitors to her and rivals in my love, 
Supposing it a thing impossible, 
For those defects I have before rehearsed, 
That ever Katharina will be woo'd ; 
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, 
That none shall have access unto Bianca 
Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. 

Gru. Katharine the curst ! 
A title for a maid of all titles the worst. 130 

Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me 
grace, 
And offer me disguised in sober robes 
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; 
That so I may, by this device, at iea>t 
Have leave and leisure to make love to her 
And unsuspected court her by herself. 

Gru. Here's no knavery ! See, to beguile the 
old folks, how the young folks lay their heads 
together! 140 

Enter Gremio, aud Lucentio disguised. 
Master, master, look about you : who goes there, 
ha? 

Hor. Peace, Grumio ! it is the rival of my love. 
Petruchio, stand by a while. 

Gru. A proper stripling and an amorous ! 

Gre. O, very well ; I have perused the note. 
Hark you, sir ; I'll have them very fairly bound : 
All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
And see you read no other lectures to her : 
You understand me : over and beside 
Signior Baptista's liberality, 150 

I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too, 
And let me have them very well perfumed : 
For she is sweeter than perfume itself 
To whom they go to. What will you read to her? 

Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I '11 plead for you 
As for my patron, stand you so assured, 
As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words 
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 

Gre. O this learning, what a thing it is ! 160 

Gru. ( ) this woodcock, what an ass it is ! 

Pet. Peace, sirrah ! 



Hor. Grumio, mum ! God save you, Signior 
Gremio. 

Gre. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. 
Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. 
I promised to inquire carefully 
About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca : 
And by good fortune I have lighted well 
On this young man, for learning and behaviour 
Fit for her turn, well read in poetry 170 

And other books, good ones, I warrant ye. 

J I or. 'Tis well ; and I have met a gentleman 
Hath promised me to help me to another, 
A fine musician to instruct our mistress; 
So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. 

Gre. Beloved of me ; and that my deeds shall 
prove. 

Gru. And that his bags shall prove. 

1 1 or. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love : 
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, [80 

I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. 
Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, 
Upon agreement from us to his liking, 
Will undertake to woo curst Katherine, 
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 

Gre. So said, so done, is well. 
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? 

Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling scold : 
If that be all, masters, 1 hear no harm. 

Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What coun- 
tryman? 190 

Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son : 
My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
And I do hope good days and long to see. 

Gre. O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were 
strange ! 
But if you have a stomach, to't i' God's name : 
You shall have me assisting you in all. 
But will you woo this wild-cat ? 

Pet. Will I live? 

Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her. 

Pet. Why came I hither but to that intent ? 
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? 200 
Have I not in my time heard lions roar ? 
Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds 
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat ? 
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies '.' 
Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' 

clang ? 
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, 
That gives not half so great a blow to hear 
As will a chestnut in a farmer's tire ? 210 

Tush, tush ! fear boys with I 

Gru. For he fears none. 

Gre. Hortensio, hark : 
This gentleman is happily arrived, 
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. 

Hor. I promised we would be contributors 
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 

Gre. And so we will, provided that he win her. 

Gru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. 

Eater Tkanio brave, and Biondello. 
Tra. Gentlemen, God save you. If I may 
be bold, 
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? 221 



236 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act 



Bion. He that has the two fair daughters : 
is't he you mean? 

Tra. Even he, Biondello. 

Gre. Hark you, sir ; you mean not her to — 

Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir : what have 
you to do ? 

Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I 
pray. 

Tra. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's 
away. 

Luc. Well begun, Tranio. 

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; 

Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? 

Tra. And if I be, sir, is it any offence ? 231 

Gre. No ; if without more words you will get 
you hence. 

Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as 
free 
For me as for you ? 

Gre. But so is not she. 

7V«. For what reason, I beseech you? 

Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, 

That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. 

Hor. That she's the chosen of Signior Hor- 
tensio. 

Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen, 
Do me this right ; hear me with patience. 
Baptista is a noble gentleman, 240 

To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
And were his daughter fairer than she is, 
She may more suitors have and me for one. 
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ; 
Then well one more may fair Bianca have : 
And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one, 
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. 

Gre. What! this gentleman will out-talk us all. 

Ltic. Sir, give him head : I know he'll prove 
a jade. 249 

Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? 

Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, 
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter ? 

Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do that he hath two, 
The one as famous for a scolding tongue 
As is the other for beauteous modesty. 

Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me ; let her go by. 

Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Plercules ; 
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 

Pet. Sir, understand you this of me in sooth : 
The youngest daughter whom you hearken for 
Her father keeps from all access of suitors, 261 
And will not promise her to any man 
Until the elder sister first be wed : 
The younger then is free and not before. 

Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
Must stead us all and me amongst the rest, 
And if you break the ice and do this feat, 
Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
For our access, whose hap shall be to have her 
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. 270 

Hor. Sir, you say well and well you do con- 
ceive ; 
And since you do profess to be a suitor, 
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
To whom we all rest generally beholding. 

Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof, 
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, 
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health, 
And do as adversaries do in law, 
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 



Gru. Bion. O excellent motion ! Fellows, 

let's be gone. 280 

Hor. The motion's good indeed and be it so, 

Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Padua. A room in Baptista's 
house. 

Enter Katharina and Bianca. 

Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong 
yourself, 
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me ; 
That I disdain : but for these other gawds, 
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, 
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat ; 
Or what you will command me will I do, 
So well I know my duty to my elders. 

Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, 
tell 
Whom thou lovest best : see thou dissemble not. 

Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive 
I never yet beheld that special face u 

Which I could fancy more than any other. 

Kath. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? 

Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear 
I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 

Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more : 
You will have Gremio to keep you fair. 

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so? 
Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive 
You have but jested with me all this while : 20 
I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 

Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 
[Strikes her. 

Enter Baptista. 
Bap. Why, how now, dame! whence grows 
this insolence? 
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl ! she weeps. 
Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. 
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, 
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong 

thee? 
When did she cross thee with a bitter word ? 
Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be re- 
venged. [Flics after Bianca. 
Bap. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. 
[Exit Bianca. 30 
Kath. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, 
now I see 
She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day 
And for your love to her lead apes in hell. 
Talk not to me : I will go sit and weep 
Till 1 can find occasion of revenge. [Exit. 
Bap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as 1 ? 
But who comes here ? 

Enter Gremio, Lucentio in the habit of a 
//ican man; Petruchio, with Hortensio 
as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello 
bearing a lute and books. 
Gre. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista, 
Bap. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God 

save you, gentlemen ! 41 

Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not 
a daughter 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous? 

Bap. I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina. 

Gre. You are too blunt : go to it orderly. 

Tel. You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give 
me leave. 
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, 
Her affability and bashful modesty, 
Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, 50 
Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness 
Of that report which I so oft have heard. 
And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
I do present you with a man of mine, 

[Presen ting Hortensio. 
Cunning in music and the mathematics, 
To instruct h^r fully in those sciences, 
Whereof I know she is not ignorant : 
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong : 
His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 60 

Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for your 
good sake. 
But for my daughter Katharine, this I know, 
She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 

Pet I see you do not mean to part with her, 
Or else you like not of my company. 

Bap. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. 
Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name ? 

Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
A man well known throughout all Italy. * 

Bap. I know him well : you are welcome for 
his sake. 7° 

Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, 
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: 
Baccare ! you are marvellous forward. 

Pet. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio ; I would 
fain be doing. 
.. Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse 

your wooing. 
Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure 
of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that 
have been more kindly beholding to you than any, 
freely give unto you this young scholar [pre- 
senting Eucentio), that hath been long studying 
at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and 
other languages, as the other in music and ma- 
thematics: his name is Cambio; pray, accept his 
service. , 

Bap. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. 
Welcome, good Cambio. [To Tra/1/0] But, gen- 
tle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger : may 
I be so bold to know the cause of your coming? 

Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, 
That, being a stranger in this city here, 90 

1 )o make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. 
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, 
In the preferment of the eldest sister. 
This liberty is all that I request, 
That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo 
And free access and favour as the rest : 
And, toward the education of your daughters, 
I here bestow a simple instrument, 100 

And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: 
If you accept them, then their worth is great. 

Bap. Lucentio is your name; of whence, I 

pray ? 
Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. 



Bap. A mighty man of Pisa ; by report 
I know him well : you are very welcome, sir. 
Take vou the lute, and you the set of books; 
You shall go see your pupils presently. 
Holla, within ! 

Enter a Servant. 
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen 
To my daughters ; and tell them both, no 

These are their tutors : bid them use them well. 

[Exit Serz'aut, zuit/i Lucentioand Hortensio, 
Biondello following. 
We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, 
And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 

Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh 
haste, 
And every day I cannot come to woo. 
You knew my father well, and in him me, 
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, 
Which I have better'd rather than decreased : 
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, 120 
What dowry shall I have with her to wife ! 

Bap. After my death the one half of my lands, 
And in possession twenty thousand crowns. 

Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of 
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, 
In all my lands and leases whatsoever: 
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, 
That covenants may be kept on either hand. 

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well ob- 
tained, 
That is, her love ; for that is all in all. 130 

Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, 
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
And where two raging fires meet together 
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : 
Though little fire grows great with little wind, 
Vet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
So I to her and so she yields to me ; 
For I am rough and woo not like a babe. 

Bap. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be 
thy speed ! 
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 140 

Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for 
winds, 
That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 

Re-enter Hortensio, with ids head broke. 
Bap. How now, my friend ! why dost thou 

look so pale ? 
Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good 

musician ? 
Hor. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier : 
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 
Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to 

the lute? 
Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute 
to me. 
I did but tell her she mistook her frets, no 

And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; 
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 
' Frets, call you these V quoth she ; 'I '11 fume 

with them :' 
And, with that word, she struck me on the head, 
And through the instrument my pate made way ; 
And there 1 stood amazed for a while, 
As on a pillory, looking through the iute ; 



233 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act ii. 



While she did call me rascal fiddler 

And twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms, 

As had she studied to misuse me so. 160 

Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 

Bap. Well, go with me and be not so discom- 
fited : 
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; 
She 's apt to learn and thankful for good turns. 
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, 
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? 

Pet. I pray you do. [Exeunt all but Petru- 
chio.] I will attend her here, 
And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
Say that she rail ; why then I '11 tell her plain 171 
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 
Say that she frown ; 1 '11 say she looks as clear 
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew : 
Say she be mute and will not speak a word ; 
Then I '11 commend her volubility, 
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
If she do bid me pack, I '11 give her thanks, 
As though she bid me stay by her a week : 
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day 1S0 

When I shall ask the banns and when be married. 
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. 

Enter Katharina. 
Good morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. 

Kath. Well have you heard, but something 
hard of hearing : 
They call me Katharine that do talk of me. 

Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain 
Kate, 
And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst ; 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 189 
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; 
Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, 
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife. 

Kath. Moved ! in good time : let him that 
moved you hither 
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first 
You were a moveable. 

Pet. Why, what's a moveable ? 

Kath. A join'd-stool. 

Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 

Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 

Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Kath. No such jade as you, if me you mean. 

Pet. Alas ! good Kate, I will not burden thee ; 
For, knowing thee to be but young and light — 

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to 
catch ; 
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 

Pet. Should be ! should — buzz ! 

Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. 

Pet. O slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard 
take thee ? 

Kath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. 

Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you are 
too angry. 210 

Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 

Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out. 

Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. 



Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does wear 
his sting? In his tail. 
Kath. In his tongue. 
Pet. Whose tongue ? 

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails : and so fare- 
well. 
Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail ? nay, 
come again, 
Good Kate; I am a gentleman. 

Kath. That I'll try. [She strikes him. 220 

Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 
Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
And if no gentleman, why then no arms. 
Pet. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy 

books ! 
Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb? 
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my 

hen. 
Kath. No cock of mine ; you crow too like a 

craven. 
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not 

look so sour. 
Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. 230 
Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore 

look not sour. 
Kath. There is, there is. 
Pet. Then show it me. 
Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 
Pet. ' What, you mean my face? 
Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. 
Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young 

for you. 
Kath. Yet you are wither'd. 
Pet. 'Tis with cares. 240 

Kath. I care not. 
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth you scape 

not so. 
Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go. 
Pet. No, not a whit : I find you passing gentle. 
Twas told me j r ou were rough and coy and 

sullen, 
And now I find report a very liar ; 
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing cour- 
teous, 
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time 

flowers : 
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, 
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, 250 

Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk, 
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, 
With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? 
O slanderous world ! Kate like the hazel-twig 
Is straight and slender and as brown in hue 
As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels. 
O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. 
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st com- 
mand. 
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove 260 
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? 
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful ! 
Kath. Where did you study all this goodly 

speech? 
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 
Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son 
Pet. Am I not wise ? 
Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in 
thy bed : 

1 And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 270 

Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented 
That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed 

on; 
And, will you, nill you, T will marry you. 

. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, 
Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well, 
Thou must be married to no man but me ; 
For I am he am born to tame you Kate, 
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate 
Conformable as other household Kates. 280 

Here comes your father: never make denial; 
I must and will have Katharine to my wife. 

Re-etiter Baptista, Gremio, andlvLAXtlO. 

Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you 

with my daughter? 
Pet. How but well, sir? how but well? 
It were impossible I should speed amiss. 
Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine ! 

in your clumps? 
Kath. Call you me daughter? now, I promise 
you 
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, 
To wish me wed to one half lunatic; 
A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, 290 

That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 
Pet. Father, 'tis thus : yourself and all the 
world, 
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her: 
If she be curst, it is for policy, 
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; 
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
For patience she will prove a second Grissel, 
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity : 
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together, 
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 300 

Kath. I '11 see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 
Gre. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see 

thee hang'd first. 
Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good 

night our part ! 
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for 
myself : 
If she and I be pleased, what's that to you? 
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
That she shall still be curst in company. 
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate ! 
She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss 310 
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
That in a twink she won me to her love. 
O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see, 
How tame, when men and women are alone, 
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. 
Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. 
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; 
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine. 
Bap. I know not what to say: but give me 
your hands ; 320 

God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. 

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we : we will be wit- 
nesses. 
Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ; 



I will to Venice ; Sunday comes apace : 
We will have rings and things and fine array ; 
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday. 
[Exein:t Petruchio and Katharina severally. 
Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? 
Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a mer- 
chant's part, 
And venture madly on a desperate mart. 

Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you : 
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 331 
Bap. The gain 1 seek is, quiet in the match. 
Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. 
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter : 
Now is the day we long have looked for: 
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 

Tra. And 1 am one that love Bianca more 
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can 
guess. 
Gre. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear 

as I. 
Tra. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. 
Gre. But thine doth fry. 340 

Skipper, stand back : 'tis age that nourisheth. 
Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that llourisheth. 
Bap. Content you, gentlemen : I will com- 
pound this strife : 
'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he of both 
That can assure my daughter greatest dower 
Shall have my Bianca's love. 
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? 
Gre. First, as you know, my house within the 
city 
Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; 
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands ; 350 
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; 
In ivory coffers I have stuff d my crowns; 
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, 
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, 
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, 
Valance of Venice gold in needlework, 
Pewter and brass and all things that belong 
To house or housekeeping : then, at my farm 
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls, 360 

And all things answerable to this portion. 
Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; 
And if I die to-morrow, this is hers, 
If whilst I live she will be only mine. 

Tra. That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me: 
I am my father's heir and only son : 
If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
I '11 leave her houses three or four as good, 
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one 
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua : 370 

Besides two thousand ducats by the year 
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. 
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio? 

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of land ! 
My land amounts not to so much in all : 
That she shall have; besides an ar 
That now is lying in Marseilles' r 
What, have I choked you with an argosy? 

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less 
Than three great argosies ; besides two galliases, 
And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her, 
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer*st next. 

Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more ; 
And she can have no more than all I have : 
If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 



240 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act in 



Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the 
world, 
By your firm promise : Gremio is out-vied. 

Bap. I must confess your offer is the best ; 
And, let your father make her the assurance, 
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me, 390 
If you should die before him, Where's her dower? 

Tra. That's but a cavil: he is old, I young. 

Gre. And may not young men die, as well as 
old? 

Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
I am thus resolved : on Sunday next you know 
My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
If not, to Signior Gremio : 
And so, I take my leave, and thank you both. 

Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. [Exit Bafitista. 
Now I fear thee not : 401 
Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool 
To give thee all, and in his waning age 
Set foot under thy table : tut, a toy ! 
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. 

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither' d hide ! 
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 
'Tis in my head to do my master good : 
I see no reason but supposed Lucentio 
Must get a father, call'd ' supposed Vincentio ; ' 
And that's a wonder : fathers commonly 411 

Do get their children ; but in this case of wooing, 
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cun- 
ning. [Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Padua. Baptista's house. 

Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 

L?ic. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, 
sir : 
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
Her sister Katharine welcomed you withal ? 

Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is 
The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
Then give me leave to have prerogative ; 
And when in music we have spent an hour, 
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 

Luc. . Preposterous ass, that never read so far 
To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 10 
Was it not to refresh the mind of man 
After his studies or his usual pain? 
Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
And while I pause, serve in your harmony. 

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of 
thine. 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double 
wrong, 
To strive lor that which resteth in my choice : 
I am no breeching scholar in the schools ; 
I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, 
But learn my lessons as I please myself. 2 3 

And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : 
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
His lecture will be done ere you have tuned. 

Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in 
tune? 

Luc. That will be never : tune your instrument. 

Bian. Where left we last ? 



Luc. Here, madam : 
' Hie ibat Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus; 
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' 

Bian. Construe them. 30 

Lric. 'Hie ibat,' as I told you before, 'Simois,' 
I am Lucentio, ' hie est,' son unto Vincentio of 
Pisa, ' Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your 
love ; ' Hie steterat,' and that Lucentio that 
comes a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 
'regia,' bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we 
might beguile the old pantaloon. 

Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. 

Bian. Let's hear. O fie ! the treble jars. 

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 40 

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : 
' Hie ibat Simois,' I know you not, ' hie est Sigeia 
tellus,' I trust you not ; ' Hie steterat Priami,' take 
heed he hear us not, ' regia,' presume not, ' celsa 
senis,' despair not. 

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 

Luc. All but the base. 

Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave 
that jars. 
[Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant is ! 
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : 
Pedascule, I '11 watch you better yet. 50 

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 

Luc. Mistrust it not ; for, sure, ^Eacides 
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. 

Bian. I must believe my master ; else, I pro- 
mise you, 
I should be arguing still upon that doubt : 
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you : 
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 

Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a 
while : 
My lessons make no music in three parts. 60 

Luc. Are you so formal, sir ? well, I must wait, 
[Aside] And watch withal ; for, but I be deceived, 
Our fine musician groweth amorous. 

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, 
To learn the order of my fingering, 
I must begin with rudiments of art; 
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 
More pleasant, pithy and effectual, 
Than hath been taught by any of my trade r 
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 70 

Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 

Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 

Bian. [Reads] "'Gamut' I am, the ground of 
all accord, 

' A re,' to plead Hortensio's passion ; 
'B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord, 

' C fa ut,' that loves with all affection : 
'D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I : 
*E la mi,' show pity, or 1 die." 
Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not : 
Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice, 80 
To change true rules for old inventions. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serii. Mistress, your father prays you leave - 
your books 
And help to dress your sister's chamber up : 
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. 

Bian. Farewell, sweet masters both; I must 
be gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



241 



Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to 
stay. [Exit. 

Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant : 
Methinks he looks as though he were in love : 
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble 
To cast thy wandering eye-; on every st;de, 90 
Seize thee that list : it once I find thee ranging, 
Hortensio will be quit with thee by chair 

[Exit. 

Scene II. Padua. Before Baptista's house. 

EuterBAVTiSTA, Gremio.Tranio, Katii \m.\ a, 
Bianca, Lucentio, and others, attendants. 

Bap. [To Tranio] Signior Lucentio, this is the 
'pointed day. 
That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, 
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. 
What will be said? what mockery will ii 
To want the bridegroom when the priest attends 
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ! 
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? 

Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, 
be forced 
To give my hand opposed against my heart 
Unto a mad-brain rudesby .till of spleen ; 10 

Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. 
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, 
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour: 
And, to be noted for a merry man, 
He'll wop a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, 
Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns; 
Yet never means to wed where he hath wood. 
Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
And say, ' Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, 
If it would please him come and marry her !' 20 

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista 
too. 
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, 
Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; 
Though lie be merry, yet withal he's honest, 

Kath. Would Katharine had never seen him 

though ! 
[Exit weeping, follox • dby Bianca and others. 

Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; 
For such an injury would vex a very saint, 
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 

Enter Biondello. 

Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and 
such news as you never heard of! 31 

Bap, Is it new and old too? how may that be': 

Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petru- 
chio's coming? 

Bap. Is he come? 

Bion. Why, no, sir. 

Bap. What then ? 

Bion. He is coming. 

Bap. When will he be here ? 

Bion. When he stands where I am and sees 
you there. 41 

Tra. But say, what to thine old news? 

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat 
and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice 
turned, a pair of boots that have been candle- 
cases, one buckled, another laced, an old rusty 
sword ta'en out of the town-armoury, with a 
broken hilt, and chapeless ; with two broken 



points: his horse hipped with an old mothy saddle 

and stirrups of no kindred ; besides, possessed 
with the glanders and like to mose in the chine ; 
troubled with the lampass, infected with the 
fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, 
rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives, 
stark spoiled with the iawn with the 

bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten ; 
near-legged before and with a half-checked bit 
and a head-stall of sheep's leather which, being 
restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been 
often burst and now repaired with knots; one 
girth six times pieced ami a woman's crupper of 
velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly 
set down in studs, and here and there pieced with 
packthread. 

Bap. Wiio comes with him? 

Bion. 0, sir, bis lackey, for all the world 
caparisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock on 
one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, 
gartered with a red and bine list; an old hat 
and 'the humour of forty fancies' pricked in 't 
for a feather: a monster, a very monster in ap- 
parel, and not like a Christian footboy or a 
gentleman's lackey. 

Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to 
this fashion ; 
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparcll'd. 

Bup. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he 
comes. 

Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 

Bap. Didst thou not say he comes? 

Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? 

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 80 

Bion. No, sir; I say his horse comes, with 
him on his back. 

Bap. Why, that's all one. 

Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, 
1 hold you a penny, 
A horse' and a man 
Is more than one, 
And yet not many. 

Enter Petruchio and GrumiO. 

Pet. Come, where be these galiants? who's 
at home ? 

Bap. You are welcome, sir. 

Pet. And yet I come not well. 90 

Bap. And yet you halt not. 

Tra. Not so well apparell'd 

As I wish you were. 

Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus. 
But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? 
How does my father? Gentles, methinks you 

frown : 
And wherefore gaze this goodly company, 
As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
Some comet or unusual prodigy? 

Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wed- 
ding-day : 
First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; 
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 101 
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
An eye-sore to our solemn festival ! 

Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import 
Hath all so long detain' d you from your wile, 
And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh 
to hear : 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act hi. 



Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word, 
Though in some part enforced to digress ; 
Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse no 

As you shall well be satisfied withal. 
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her: 
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. 

Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent 
robes : 
Go to my chamber ; put on clothes of mine. 

Pet. Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her. 

Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 

Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' 
done with words: 
To me she's married, not unto my clothes: 
Could I repair what she will wear in me, 120 

As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. 
But what a fool am I to chat with you, 
When I should bid good morrow to my bride, 
And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 

[Exeunt Petruchio and Grttmio. 

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad 
attire : 
We will persuade him, be it possible, 
To put on better ere he go to church. 

Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. 
[Exeunt Baptista, Grcinio, and attendants. 

Tra. But to her love concerneth us to add 
Her father's liking : which to bring to pass, 131 
As I before imparted to your worship, 
I am to get a man, — whate'er he be, 
It skills not much, we'll fit him to our turn, — 
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ; 
And make assurance here in Padua 
Of greater sums than I have promised. 
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, 
And marry sweet Bianca with consent. 

Luc. Were it not that my fellow-schoolmaster 
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 241 

'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; 
Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, 
I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. 

Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
And watch our vantage in this business : 
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, 
The narrow-prying father, Minola, 
The quaint musician, amorous Licio; 
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 150 

Re-enter Gremio. 
Signior Gremio, came you from the church ? 

Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 

Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
home? 

Gre. A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom 
indeed, 
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 

Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. 

Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 

Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's 
dam. 

Gre. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him ! 
I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest 160 
Should ask, if Katharine should be his wife, 
'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he \ and swore so loud, 
That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book ; 
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, 
The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff 
That down fell priest and book and book and priest : 



170 



' Now take them up,' quoth he, 'if any list.' 
Tra. What said the wench when he rose again ? 
Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd 
and swore, 
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
But after many ceremonies done, 
He calls for wine : ' A health ! ' quoth he, as if 
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates 
After a storm ; quaff 'd off the muscadel 
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
Having no other reason 
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly 
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
This done, he took the bride about the neck 
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack 
That at the parting all the church did echo : 181 
And I seeing this came thence for very shame ; 
And after me, I know, the rout is coming. 
Such a mad marriage never was before : 
Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. [Music. 

Re-enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, 

Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio, and Train. 

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for 
your pains : 
I know you think to dine with me to-day, 
And have prepared great store of wedding cheer ; 
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 190 

Bap. Is't possible you will away to-night? 

Pet. I must away to-day, before night come : 
Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
You would entreat me rather go than stay. 
And, honest company, I thank you all, 
That have beheld me give away myself 
To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife : 
Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; 
For I must hence ; and farewell to you all. 

Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 

Pet. It may not be. 

Gre. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. It cannot be. 

Katk. Let me entreat you. 201 

Pet. I am content. 

Katk. Are you content to stay ? 

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay ; 
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 

Katk. Now, if you love me, stay. 

Pet. Grumio, my horse. 

Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have 
eaten the horses. 

Katk. Nay, then, 
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 210 
No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. 
The door is open, sir ; there lies your way ; 
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green ; 
For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself: 
'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom, 
That take it on you at the first so roundly. 

Pet. O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not 
angry. 

Katk. I will be angry : what hast thou to do? 
Father, be quiet: he shall stay my leisure. 219 

Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 

Katk. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner : 
I see a woman may be made a fool, 
If she had not a spirit to resist. 

Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy 
command. 






Scene ii.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



343 



Obey the bride, you that attend on her ; 
Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves : 
But for my bonny Kate, she must with rne. 
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret ; 
I will be master of what is mine own : 231 

She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, 
My household stuff, my field, my barn, 
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ; 
I '11 bring mine action on the proudest he 
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 
Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves ; 
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. 
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 
Kate : 240 

I'll buckler thee against a million. 

[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Grtanio. 
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die 

with laughing. 
Tra. Of all mad matches never was the like. 
Ltic. Mistress, what's your opinion of your 

sister? 
Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly 

mated. 
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride 
and bridegroom wants 
For to supply the places at the table, 249 

You know there wants no junkets at the feast. 
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place ; 
And let Bianca take her sister's room. 

Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride 

it? 
Bap. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, 
let's go. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Petruchio's country house. 

Enter Grumio. 
Gru. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad 
masters, and all foul ways ! Was ever man so 
beaten? was ever man so rayed? was ever man 
so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and 
they are coming after to warm them. Now, were 
not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips 
might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof 
of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should 
come by a fire to thaw me : but I, with blowing 
the fire, shall warm myself; for, considering the 
weather, a taller man than I will take cold. 
Holla, ho ! Curtis. 

Enter Curtis. 

Curt. Who is that calls so coldly ? 

Gru. A piece of ice : if thou doubt it, thou 
mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with no 
greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, 
good Curtis. 

Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, 
Grumio? 

Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, 
fire ; cast on no water. 21 

Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported ? 



Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost : 
but, thou knowest, winter tames man, woman 
and beast; for it hath tamed my old master and 
my new mistress and myself, fellow Curtis. 

Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no 
beast. 

Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn 
is a foot; and so long am I at the least. But 
wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee 
to our mistress, whose hand, she being now at 
hand, thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, 
for being slow in thy hot office? 

Curt. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how 
goes the world? 

Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but 
thine ; and therefore fire : do thy duty, and have 
thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost 
frozen to death. 40 

Curt. There's fire ready; and therefore, good , 
Grumio, the news. 

Gru. Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as 
much news as will thaw. 

Curt. Come, you are so full of cony-catching ! 
Gru. Why, therefore fire ; for I have caught 1 
extreme cold. Where's the cook? is supper 
ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cob- j 
webs swept; the serving-men in their new fus- ' 
tian, their white stockings, and every officer his 
wedding-garment on? Be the jacks fair within, 
the jills fair without, the carpets laid, and every- 
thing in order? 

Curt. All ready ; and therefore, I pray thee, 
news. 

Gru. First, know, my horse is tired; my 
master and mistress fallen out. 
Curt. How ? 

Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; and 
thereby hangs a tale. 60 

Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. 
Gru. Lend thine ear. 
Curt. Here. 

Gru. There. [Strikes him. 

Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale : 
and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and 
beseech listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we 
came down a foul hill, my master riding behind 
my mistress, — 70 

Curt. Both of one horse? 
Gru. What's that to thee? 
Curt. Why, a horse. 

Gru. Tell thou the tale : but hadst thou not 
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her 
horse fell and she under her horse ; thou shouldst 
have heard in how miry a place, how she was be- 
moiled, how he left her with the horse upon her, 
how he beat me because her horse stumbled, 
how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off 
me, how he swore, how she prayed, that never 
prayed before, how I cried, how the horses ran 
away, how her bridle was burst, how I lost my 
crupper, with many things of worthy memory, 
which now shall die in oblivion and thou return 
unexperienced to thy grave. 

Curt. By this reckoning he is more shrew 
than she. 

Gru. Ay : and that thou and the proudest of 
you all shall find when he comes home. But what 
talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, 



244 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act iv. 



Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop and the rest : 
let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue 
coats brushed and their garters of an indifferent 
knit: let them curtsy with their left legs and not 
presume to touch a hair of my master's horse- 
tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? 

Curt. They are. 

Gru. Call them forth. 

Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my 
master to countenance my mistress. 101 

Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 

Curt. Who knows not that? 

Gru. Thou, it seems, that calls for company 
to countenance her. 

Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 

Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of 
them. 

Enter four or five Serving-men. 

Nath. Welcome home, Grumio ! 

Phil. How now, Grumio ! no 

Jos. What, Grumio ! 

Nick. Fellow Grumio ! 

Nath. How now, old lad ? 

Gru. Welcome, you ; — how now, you ; — what, 
you ; — fellow, you; — and thus much for greeting. 
Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and 
all things neat? 

Nath. All things is ready- How near is our 
master? 119 

Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and 
therefore' be not — Cock's passion, silence ! I hear 
my master. 

Enter Petruchio and Katharina. 

Pet. Where be these knaves? What, no man 
at door 
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse ! 
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? 
All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir. 
Pet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir! here, sir ! 
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! 
What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ? 
Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 130 
Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. 
Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt- 
horse drudge ! 
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, 
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? 

Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, 
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the 

heel; 
There was no link to colour Peter's hat, 
And Walter's dagger was not come from sheath- 
ing: 
There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and 

Gregory ; 
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; 140 
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 
Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. 
[Exeunt Servants. 
[Singing] Where is the life that late I led — 
Where are those — Sit down, Kate, and welcome. — 
Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 

Re-enter Servants with supper. 
Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be 
merry. 



Off with my boots, you rogues ! you villains, 

when? 
[Sings] It was the friar of orders grey, 

As he forth walked on his way : — 
Out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry: 150 
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. 
[Strikes him. 
Be merry, Kate. Some water, here ; what, ho ! 
Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you 

hence, 
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: 
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 

with. 
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some 

water? 



Enter one with water. 

Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. 
You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall? 

[Strikes Jwn. 
Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault 

unwilling. 
Pet. A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear' d 
knave ! 160 

Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a sto- 
mach. 
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I ? 
What's this? mutton? 
First Serv. Ay. 

Pet. Who brought it? 

Peter. I. 

Pet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. 
What dogs are these ! Where is the rascal cook? 
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, 
And serve it thus to me that love it not? 
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : 

[Throws the meat, &*c. about the stage. 
You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! 
What, do you grumble ? I '11 be with you straight. 
Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so dis- 
quiet: 171 
The meat was well, if you were so contented. 
Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried 
away; 
And I expressly am forbid to touch it, 
For it engenders choler, planteth anger; 
And better 'twere that both of us did fast, 
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, 
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. 
Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended, 
And, for this nifjht, we'll fast for company: 180 
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter Servants severally. 

Nath. Peter, didst ever see the like? 
Peter. He kills her in her own humour. 

Re-enter Curtis. 
Gru. Where is he ? 

Curt. In her chamber, making a sermon of 
continency to her ; 
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor 

soul, 
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, 
And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 19:3 

Away, away! for he is coming hither. [Exeunt. 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



245 



Re-enter Petruchio. 
Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
And 'tis my hope to end successfully. 
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty; 
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, 
For then she never looks upon her lure. 
Another way I have to man my haggard, 
To make her come and know her keeper's call, • 
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites 
That bate and beat and will not be obedient. 
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; 210 
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall 

not; 
As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
I '11 find about the making of the bed ; 
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, 
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : 
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend 
That all is done in reverend care of her ; 
And in conclusion she shall watch all night: 
And if she chance to nod I '11 rail and brawl 
And with the clamour keep her still awake. 220 
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; 
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong 

humour. 
He that knows better how to tame a shrew. 
Now let him speak : 'tis charity to show. [Exit. 

Scene II. Padua. Before Baptista's li-. fuse. 
Enter Tranio and Hortensio. 

Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress 
Bianca 
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? 
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 

Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. 

Enter Bianca and Lucentio. 
Luc. Now, mistress, profit vou in what you 

read ? 
Bian. What, master, read you? first resolve 

me that. 
Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love. 
Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your 

art! 
Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress 
of my heart ! 10 

Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell 
me, I pray, 
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
Tra. O despiteful love ! unconstant woman- 
kind ! 
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 

Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
Nor a musician, as I seem to be; 
But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
And makes a god of such a cullion : 20 , 

Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. 

Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard j 
Of your entire affection to Bianca ; 
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
I will with vou, if you be so contented, 
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. 
Hor. See, how they kiss and court ! Signior 
Lucentio, 



Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow 
Never to woo her more, but do forswear her, 
As one unworthy all the former favours 30 

That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. 

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, 
Never to marry with her though she would en- 
treat : 
Fie on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him ! 

Hor. Would all the world but he had quite 
forsworn ! 
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, 
I will be married to a wealthy widow, 
Kre three days pass, which hath as long loved me 
As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard. 
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. 40 

Kindness in women, not their^ifcfceous looks, 
Shall win my love : and so L-ilKe my leave. 
In resolution as I swore before. [Exit. 

Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such 
grace 
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! 
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love, 
And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 

Bian. Tranio, you jest : but have you both 
forsworn me ? 

Tra. Mistress, we have. 

Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 

Tra. V faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 51 

Bian. God give him joy ! 

Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her. 

Bian. He says so, Tranio. 

Tra. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 

Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such 
a place ? 

Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master ; 
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, 
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering 
tongue. 

Enter Biondello. 

Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so 
long 
That I am dog-weary : but at last I spied 60 

fAn ancient angel coming down the hill, 
Will serve the turn. 

Tra. What is he, Biondello? 

Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, 
I know not what; but formal in apparel, 
In gait and countenance surely like a father. 

Luc. And what of him, Tranio ? 

Tra. If he be credulous and trust my tale, 
I '11 make him glad to seem Vincentio, 
And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
As if he were the right Vincentio. 70 

Take in your love, and then let me alone. 

[Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca. 

Enter a Pedant. 

Bed. God save you, sir ! 

Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcome. 

Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? 

Ped. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two : 
But then up farther, and as far as Rome ; 
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. 

Tra. What countryman, I pray ? 

Ped. Of Mantua. 

Tra. Of Mantua, sir? marry, God forbid ! 
And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 



246 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act iv. 



Ped. My life, sir ! how, I pray ? for that goes 
hard. 80 

Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause ? 
Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke, 
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him, 
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly : 
'Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come, 
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 

Ped. Alas ! sir, it is worse for me than so ; 
For I have bills for money by exchange 
From Florence and must here deliver them. 90 

Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, 
This will I do, and this I will advise you : 
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? 

Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, 
Pisa renowned for grave citizens. 

Tra. Among them know you one Vincentio? 

Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him ; 
A merchant of incomparable wealth. 

Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say, 
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 100 

Bion. [Aside] As much as an apple doth an 
oyster, and all one. 

Tra. To save your life in this extremity, 
This favour will I do you for his sake ; 
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes 
That you are like to Sir Vincentio. 
His name and credit shall you undertake, 
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged : 
Look that you take upon you as you should; 
You understand me, sir : so shall you stay 
Till you have done your business in the city: no 
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 

Ped. O sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
The patron of my life and liberty. 

Tra. Then go with me to make the matter 
good. 
This, by the way, I let you understand; 
My father is here look'd for every day, 
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you : 
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. 120 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in Petruchio's house. 
Enter Katharina and Grumio. 

Gru. No, no, forsooth ; I dare not for my life. 

Kath. The more my wrong, the more his 
spite appears : 
What, did he marry me to famish me ? 
Beggars, that come unto my father's door, 
Upon entreaty have a present alms ; 
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity: 
But I, who never knew how to entreat, 
Nor never needed that I should entreat, 
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep, 
With oaths kept waking and with brawling fed: 10 
And that which spites me more than all these wants, 
He does it under name of perfect love ; 
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, _ 
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. 
I prithee go and get me some repast ; 
I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 

Gru. What say you to a neat's foot ? 

Kath. 'Tis passing good : I prithee let me 
have it. 



Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat. 
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd? 20 

Kath. I like it well : good Grumio, fetch it me. 
Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear 'tis choleric. 
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? 
Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
. Kath. Why then, the beef, and let the mustard 
rest. 
Gru. Nay then, I will not: you shall have the 
mustard, 
Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 

Kath. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt. 
Gru. Why then, the mustard without the beef. 
' Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding 
slave, [Beats him. 

That feed'st me with the very name of meat : 
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you, 
That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
Go, get thee gone, I say. 

Enter Petruchio and Hortensio with meat. 

Pet. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, 
all amort? 

Hor. Mistress, what cheer ? 

Kath. Faith, as cold as can be. 

Pet. Pluck up thy spirits ; look cheerfully upon 
me. 
Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am 
To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee : 40 
I am sure> sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
What, not a word? Nay, then thou lovest it not; 
And all my pains is sorted to no proof. 
Here, take away this dish. 

Kath. I pray you, let it stand. 

Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ; 
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 

Kath. I thank you, sir. 

Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie ! you are to blame. 
Come, Mistress Kate, I '11 bear you company. 

Pet. [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou 
lovest me. 50 

Much good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 
Kate, eat apace : and now, my honey love, 
Will we return unto thy father's house 
And revel it as bravely as the best, 
With silken coats and caps and golden rings, 
With ruffs and cuffs and fardingales and things ; 
With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery, 
With amber bracelets, beads and all this knavery. 
What, hast thou dined ? The tailor stays thy 

leisure, 
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 60 

Enter Tailor. 
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
Lay forth the gown. 

Enter Haberdasher. 

What news with you, sir? 

Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. 

Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer ; 
A velvet dish : fie, fie ! 'tis lewd and filthy : 
Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, 
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap : 
Away with it ! come, let me have a bigger. 

Kath. I '11 have no bigger : this doth fit the time, 
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 70 

Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, 



Scene hi.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



247 



And not till then. 

Hor. [Aside] That will not be in haste. 

Kath. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to 
speak ; 
And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe : 
Your betters have endured me say my mind, 
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, 
Or else my heart concealing it will break, 
And rather than it shall, I will be free 
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 80 

Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap, 
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie : 
I love thee well, in that thou likest it not. 

Kath. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; 
And it I will have, or I will have none. 

[Exit Haberdasher. 

Pet. Thy gown ? why, ay : come, tailor, let us 
see*t. 

mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? 
What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: 
What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart? 
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, 
Like to a censer in a barber's shop : 91 
Why, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? 

Hor. [Aside] I see she's like to have neither 

cap nor gown. 
Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
According to the fashion and the time. 

Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remember'd, 

1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
Go, hop me over every kennel home, 

For you shall hop without my custom, sir : 

I '11 none of it : hence ! make your best of it. 100 

Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown, 
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commend- 
able : 
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. 

Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet 
of thee. 

Tai. She says your worship means to make a 
puppet of her. 

Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou liest, thou 
thread, thou thimble, 
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, 

nail ! 
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou! 
Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread ? 
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant ; 
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard 
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou livest ! 
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 

Tai. Your worship is deceived ; the gown is 
made 
Just as my master had direction : 
Grumio gave order how it should be done. 

Gru. 1 gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. 

Tai. But how did you desire it should be made ? 

Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 121 

Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? 

Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 

Tai. I have. 

Gru. Face not me: thou hast braved many 
men ; brave not me ; I will neither be faced nor 
braved. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut 
out the gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to 
pieces : ergo, thou liest. 

Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to 
testify. 131 



Pet. Read it. 

Gru. The note lies in's throat, if he say I 
said so. 

Tai. [Reads] 'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown :' 

Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, 
sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death 
with a bottom of brown thread ; I said a gown. 

Pet. Proceed. 

Tai. [Reads] 'With a small compassed cape :' 

Gru. I confess the cape. 141 

Tai. [Reads] 'With a trunk sleeve:' 

Gru. I confess two sleeves. 

Tai. [Reads] 'The sleeves curiously cut.' 

Pet. Ay, there's the villany. 

Gru. Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. T 
commanded the sleeves should be cut out and 
sewed up again ; and that I '11 prove upon thee, 
though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. 

Tai. This is true that I say : an I had thee in 
place where, thou shouldst know it. 151 

Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the 
bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. 

Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall 
have no odds. 

Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 

Gru. You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my 
mistress. 

Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. 

Gru. Villain, not for thy life: take up my 
mistress' gown for thy master's use ! 161 

Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? 

Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you 
think for : 
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
O, fie, fie, fie ! 

Pet. [Aside] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the 
tailor paid. 
Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more. 

Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to- 
morrow : 
Take no unkindness of his hasty words : 
Away ! I say; commend me to thy master. 170 
[Exit Tailor. 

Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto 
your father's 
Even in these honest mean habiliments : 
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor ; 
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
What is the jay more precious than the lark, 
Because his feathers are more beautiful? 
Or is the adder better than the eel, 
Because his painted skin contents the eye? 180 
O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse 
For this poor furniture and mean array. 
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me ; 
And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith, 
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him; 
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end ; 
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. 
Let's see ; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock. 
And well we may come there by dinner-time. 190 

Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two ; 
And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there. 

Pet. It shall be seven ere I go to horse: 
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do. 
You are still crossing it. Sirs, let't alone : 



248 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act iv. 



! I will not go to-day ; and ere I do, 
J It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 

Hor. [Aside] Why, so this gallant will com- 
mand the sun. \_Exeitnt. 

! Scene IV. Padua. Before Baptist a's house. 
Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like 

VlNCENTIO. 

Tra. Sir, this is the house : please it you that 

I call? 
Ped. Ay, what else? and but I be deceived 
Signior Baptista may remember me, 
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, 
Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. 

Tra. 'Tiswe'l ; and hold your own, in any case, 
i With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
Ped. I warrant you. 

Enter Biondello. 

But, sir, here comes your boy ; 
'Twere good he were school'd. 

Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, 
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you : 11 
Imagine 'twere the right Vmcentio. 
Bion. Tut, fear not me. 

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Bap- 
tista? 
Bion. I told him that your father was at 
Venice, 
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
Tra. Thou'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that to 
drink. 
Here comes Baptista : set your countenance, sir. 

Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 

Signior Baptista, you are happily met. 
[To the Pedant] Sir, this is the gentleman I told 
you of: 20 

I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 

Ped. Soft, son ! 
Sir, by your leave : having come to Padua 
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
Of love between your daughter and himself; 
And, for the good report I hear of you 
And for the love he beareth to your daughter 
And she to him, to stay him not too long, 30 

I am content, in a good father's care, 
To have him match'd ; and if you please to like 
No worse than I, upon some agreement 
Me shall you find ready and willing 
Wiih one consent to have her so bestow'd ; 
For curious I cannot be with you, 
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 

Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say : 
Your plainness and your shortness please me well. 
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here 40 

Doth love my daughter and she loveth him, 
Or both dissemble deeply their affections : 
And therefore, if you say no more than this, 
That like a father you will deal with him 
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, 
The match is made, and all is done : 
Your son shall have my daughter with consent. [ 

Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you ' 
know best 



We be affied and such assurance ta'en 

As shall with either part's agreement stand ? eo 

Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for, you 
know, 
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants : 
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still ; 
And happily we might be interrupted. 

Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you : 
There doth my father lie ; and there, this night, 
We'll pass the business privately and well. 
Send for your daughter by your servant here ; 
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning, 60 
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. 

Bap. It likes me well. Biondello, hie you home, 
And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
And, if you will, tell what hath happened, 
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, 
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 

Bion. I pray the gods she may with all my 
heart ! 

Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee 
gone. [Exit Bion. 

Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer : 70 
Come, sir ; we will better it in Pisa. 

Bap. I follow you. 

[Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista. 

Re-enter Biondello. 

Bion. Cambio ! 

Ltic. What sayest thou, Biondello? 

Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh 
upon you? 

Luc. Biondello, what of that? . 

Bion. Faith, nothing ; but has left me here 
behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his 
signs and tokens. 80 

Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. 

Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking 
with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 

Luc. And what of him? 

Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you 
to the supper. 

Ltic. And then? 

Bion. The old priest of Saint Luke's church 
is at your command at all hours. 

Luc. And what of all this ? go 

Bion. I cannot tell ; expect they are busied 
about a counterfeit assurance : take you assurance 
of her, ' cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum : ' 
to the church ; take the priest, clerk, and some 
sufficient honest witnesses : 
If this be not that you look for, I have no more 

to say, 
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. 

Luc. Hearest thou, Biondello? 

Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench mar- 
ried in an afternoon as she went to the garden 
for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir: 
and so, adieu, sir. My master hath appointed 
me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the priest be 
ready to come against you come with your ap- 
pendix. [Exit. 

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
She will be pleased ; then wherefore should I doubt ? 
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her : 
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. [Exit. 



Scene v.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



249 



. Scene V. A px '>lic road. 

Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Hortensio, 

and Servants. 

Pet. Come on, i' God's name ; once more to- 
ward our father's. 
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the 
moon ! 
Katk. The moon ! the sun : it is not moonlight 

now. 
Pet. I say it is the moon that shines so bright. 
Katk. I know it is the sun that shines so bright. 
Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that"s 
myself, 
Tt shall be moon, or star, or what I list, 
Or ere I journey to your father's house. 
Go on, and fetch our horses back again. 
Evermore cross'dand cross'd ; nothing butcross'd ! 
Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 1 1 
Katk. Forward, 1 pray, since we have come 
so far, 
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please : 
An if you please to call it a rush-candle, 
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 
Pet. I say it is the moon. 

Katk. 1 know it is the moon. 

Pet. Nay, then you lie : it is the blessed sun. 
Katk. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed 
I sun : 

] But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
And the moon changes even as your mind. 20 
What you will have it named, even that it is ; 
And so it shall be so for Katharine. 

Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. 
Pet. Well, forward, forward ! thus the bowl 
should run, 

not unluckily against the bias. 
Uut, soft ! company is coming here. 

Enter Vincentio. 
To I'incentid] Good morrow, gentle mistress: 
where away? 
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, 
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? 
Such war of white and red within her checks ! 30 
: What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 
As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? 
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. 
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 

Hor. A' will make the man mad, to make a 
woman of him. 

Katk. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh 
and sweet, 
Whither away, or where is thy abode? 
i lappy the parents of so fair a child ; 
I lappier the man, whom favourable stars 40 

Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art 
not mad : 
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, 
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 

Katk. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, 
That have been so bedazzled with the sun 
That everything I look on seemeth green : 
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father ; 
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 
Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and withal make 
known 50 



Which way thou travellest : if along with us, 
We shall be joyful of thy company. 

Vin. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, 
That with your strange encounter much amazed 

me, 
My name is call'd Vincentio ; my dwelling Pisa ; 
And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 

Pet. What is his name ? 

/ in. Lucentio, gentle sir. 

Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son. 
And now by law, as well as reverend age, 60 

.•ntitle thee my loving father : 
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, 
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, 
Nor be not grieved : she is of good esteem, 
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
Hcside, so qualified as may beseem 
The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
Let me embrace with old Vincentio, 
And wander we to see thy honest son, 
V. ho will of thy arrival be full joyi 70 

Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, 
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
Upon the company you overtake ? 

Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
^ Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
For our first merriment hath made thee j( 
\ Exeunt all but II 

Hor. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. 
Have to my widow ! and if she be froward, 
Then hast thou taught Horteusio to be untoward. 

[Exit. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. Padua. Be/ore Lucentio's house. 

Gremio discovered. Enter behind Biondello, 
Lucentio, and Bianca. 
Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest is 

ready. 

Euc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance 
to need thee at home ; therefore leave us. 

Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o" your 
back ; and then come back to my master's as 
soon as I can. 

[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca. and Biondello. 

Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 



E7iter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, 
GRUMIO, with Attendants. 

Pet. Sir. here's the door, this is Lucentio's 
house : 
My father's bears more toward the market-place ; 
Thither must 1, and here I leave you, sir. 11 

Vin. You shall not choose but drink before 
you go : 
T think I shall command your welcome here, 
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. 

[A'uoe/.-s. 
Gre. They're busy within ; you were best 
knock louder. 

Pedant looks out of the iv\ 

Fed. What's he that knocks as he would beat 
down the gate ? 



250 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act v. 



Vin. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir ? 

Fed. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken 
withal. 21 

Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
or two, to make merry withal ? 

Fed. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: 
he shall need none, so long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well be- 
loved in Padua. Do you hear, sir ? To leave 
frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell Signior 
Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa and is 
here at the door to speak with him. 30 

Fed. Thouliest: his father is come from Padua 
and here looking out at the window. 

Vin. Art thou his father? 

Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may 
believe her. 

'Pet. [To Vincentio] Why, how now, gentle- 
man ! why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you 
another man's name. 

Ped. Lay hands on the villain : I believe a' 
means to cozen somebody in this city under my 
countenance. 41 

Re-enter Biondello. 

Bion. I have seen them in the church together : 
God send 'em good shipping ! But who is here ? 
mine old master Vincentio ! now we are undone 
and brought to nothing. 

Vin. [Seeing Biondello] Come hither, crack- 
hemp. 

Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. 

Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What, have 
you forgot me? 50 

Bion. Forgot you ! no, sir : I could not for- 
get you, for I never saw you before in all my 
life. _ 

Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou 
never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? 

Bion. What, my old worshipful old master? 
yes, marry, sir: see where he looks out of the 
window. 

Vin. Is 't so, indeed? [Beats Biondello. 

Bion. Help, help, help! here's a madman 
will murder me. [Exit. 61 

Ped. Help, son ! help, Signior Baptista ! 

[Exitfroin above. 

Pet. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see 
the end of this controversy. [They retire. 

Re-enter Pedant below; Tranio, Baptista, 
and Servants. 

Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my 
servant ? 

Vin. What am I, sir ! nay, what are you, sir? 
O immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doub- 
let! a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! andacopatain 
hat ! O, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I 
play the good husband at home, my son and my 
servant spend all at the university. 

Tra. How now ! what's the matter? 

Bap. What, is the man lunatic ? 

Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman 
by your habit, but your words show you a mad- 
man. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl 
and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to 
maintain it. 79 



I 'in. Thy father ! O villain ! he is a sail-maker 



Bap. You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. 
Pray, what do you think is his name? 

Vin. His name ! as if I knew not his name : 
I have brought him up ever since he was three 
years old, and his name is Tranio. 

Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lu- 
centio ; and he is mine only son, and heir to the 
lands of me, Signior Vincentio. 89 

Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his 
master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the 
duke's name. O, my son, my son ! Tell me, 
thou villain, where is my son Lucentio? 

Tra. Call forth an officer. 

Enter one with an Officer. 

Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Bap- 
tista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. 

Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 

Gre. Stay, officer : he shall not go to prison. 

Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio : I say he shall 
go to prison. 100 

Gre. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be 
cony-catched in this business : I dare swear this 
is the right Vincentio. 

Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 

Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 

Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not 
Lucentio. 

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. 

Bap. Away with the dotard ! to the gaol with 
him ! no 

Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abused : 
O monstrous villain ! 

Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and 
Bianca. 

Bion. O ! we are spoiled and — yonder he is : 
deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 

Luc. [Kneeling] Pardon, sweet father. 
' Vin. Lives my sweet son? 

[Exetmt Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant, 
as fast as may be. 

Bian. Pardon, dear father. 

Bap. How hast thou offended ?- 

Where is Lucentio ? 

Luc. Here's Lucentio, 

Right son to the right Vincentio ; 
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. 

Gre. Here 's packing, with a witness, to deceive 
us all ! 

Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio, 
That faced and braved me in this matter so ? 

Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? 

Bian. Cambio is changed into Lucentio. 

L7ic. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's 
love 
Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
While he did bear my countenance in the town ; 
And happily I have arrived at the last 130 

Unto the wished haven of my bliss. 
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to ; 
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 

Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would 
have sent me to the gaol. 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Bap. But do you hear, sir? have you married 
my daughter without asking my good will ? 

Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, 

go to: but I will in, to be revenged for this 

villany. [Exit. 140 

Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this 

knavery. [Exit. 

Luc. Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will 

not frown. [Exeunt Luce?itio and Bianca. 

Gre. My cake is dough ; but I '11 in among the 

rest, 

Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. 

[Exit. 
Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end 

of this ado. 
Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 
Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ? 150 

Kath. No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to 

kiss. 
Pet. Why, then let's home again. Come, 

sirrah, let's away. 
Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now pray 

thee, love, stay. 
Pet. Is not this well ? Come, my sweet Kate : 
Better once than never, for never too late. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Padua. Lucentio's house. 

Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pe- 
dant, Lucentio,- Bianca, Petruchio, Ka- 
tharina, Hortensio, and Widow, Tranio, 
Biondello, and Grumio : the Serving-men 
with Tranio bringing in a banquet. 

Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes 
agree : 
And time it is, when raging war is done, 
To smile at scapes and perils overblown. 
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. 
Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina, 
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, 
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house : 
My banquet is to close our stomachs up, 
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down ; 
For now we sit to chat as well as eat. 11 

Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! 
Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petru- 
chio. 
Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 
Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word 

were true. 
Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his 

widow. 
IVid. Then never trust me, if I be afeard. 
Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss 
my sense : 
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 

IV id. He that is giddy thinks the world turns 
round. 20 

Pet. Roundly replied. 

Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? 

Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 
Pet. Conceives by me ! How likes Hortensio 

that? 
Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her 
tale. 



Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, 

good widow. 
Kath. 'He that is giddy thinks the world 
turns round:' 
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 
Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a 
shrew, 
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
And now you know my meaning. 30 

Kath. A very mean meaning. 
Wid. Right, I mean you. 

Kath. And I am mean indeed, respecting 

you. 
Pet. To her, Kate ! 
Hor. To her, widow ! 
Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her 

down. 
Hor. That 's my office. 
Pet. Spoke like an officer : ha' to thee, lad ! 

{Drinks to Hortensio. 
Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted 

folks? 
Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
Bian. Head, and butt ! an hasty-witted body 
Would say your head and butt were head and 
horn. 
Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd 
, you? 
Bian. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore I '11 

sleep again. 
Pet. Nay, that you shall not : since you have 
begun, 
Have at you for a bitter jest or two ! 
Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my 
bush ; 
And then pursue me as you draw your bow. 
You are welcome all. 

[Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widonu. 
Pet. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior 
Tranio, 
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not ; 
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. 51 
Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his grey- 
hound, 
Which runs himself and catches for his master. 
Pet. A good swift simile, but something cur- 
rish. 
Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for your- 
self: 
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. 
Bap. O ho, Petruchio ! Tranio hits you 

now. 
Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. 
Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you 

here? 
Pet. A' has a little gall'd me, I confess ; 60 
And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 

Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 
Pet. Well, I say no : and therefore for assur- 
ance 
Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
And he whose wife is most obedient 
To come at first when he doth send for her, 
Shall win the wager which we will propose. 
Hor. Content. What is the wa 
Luc. Twenty crowns. 70 

Pet. Twenty crowns ! 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act v. 



I '11 venture so much of my hawk or hound, 
But twenty times so much upon my wife. 

Luc. A hundred then. 

Hor. Content. 

Pet. A match ! 'tis done. 

Hor. Who shall begin ? 

Luc. That will I. 

Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 

Bion. I go. [Exit. 

Bap. Son, I '11 be your half, Bianca comes. 

Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all 
myself. 

Re-enter Biondello. 

How now! what news? 

Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 80 
That she is busy and she cannot come. 

Pet. How ! she is busy and she cannot come ! 
Is that an answer? 

Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : 

Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 

Pet. I hope, better. 

Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife 
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Bion. 

Pet. O, ho ! entreat her ! 

Nay, then she must needs come. 

Hor. I am afraid, sir, 

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 

Re-enter Biondello. 

Now, where 's my wife ? 90 

Bion. She says you have some goodly jest in 
hand : 
She will not come ; she bids you come to her. 

Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! 
O vile, 
Intolerable, not to be endured ! 
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
Say, I command her come to me. [Exit Grumio. 

Hor. I know her answer. 

Pet. What? 

Hor. She will not. 

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 

Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes 
Katharina ! 

Re-enter Katharina. 

Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send 

for me ? 100 

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's 

wife? 
Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 
Pet. Go, fetch them hither : if they deny to 
come, 
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their hus- 
bands : 
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 

[Exit Katharina. 
Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 
Hor. And so it is : I wonder what it bodes. 
Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love and 
quiet life, 
And awful rule and right supremacy; 
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and 
happy ? 1 10 

Bap. Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! 



The wager thou hast won ; and I will add 
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ; 
Another dowry to another daughter, 
For she is changed, as she had never been. 

Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet 
And show more sign of her obedience, 
Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
See where she comes and brings your froward wives 
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. 120 

Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca <z«^Widow. 

Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not : 
Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot. 

IV id. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 

Bian. Fie ! what a foolish duty call you this? 
Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too : 
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since sup- 
per-time. 
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on 

my duty. 
Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these 

headstrong women 130 

What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 

Wid. Come, come, you're mocking: we will 

have no telling. 
Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with her. 
Wid. She shall not. 

Pet. I say she shall : and first begin with her. 
Kath. Fie, fie ! unknit that threatening unkind 

brow, 
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, 
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair 

buds, 140 

And in no sense is meet or amiable. 
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, 
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. 
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
And for thy maintenance commits his body 
To painful labour both by sea and land, 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 150 
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and 

safe; 
And craves no other tribute at thy hands 
But love, fair looks and true obedience ; 
Too little payment for so great a debt. 
Such duty as the subject owes the prince 
Even such a woman oweth to her husband ; 
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
And not obedient to his honest will, 
What is she but a foul contending rebel 
And graceless traitor to her loving lord? 160 

I am ashamed that women are so simple 
To offer war where they should kneel for peace, 
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway, 
When they are bound to serve, love and obey. 
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, 
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, 
But that our soft conditions and our hearts 
Should well agree with our external parts? 
Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! 
My mind hath been as big as one of yours, 170 



Scene ii.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



My heart as great, my reason haply more, 
To bandy word for word and frown for frown ; 
But now I see our lances are but straws, 
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, 
That seeming to be most which we indeed least 

are. 
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, 
And place your hands below your husband's foot: 
In token of which duty, if he please, 
My hand is ready ; may it do him ease. 
Pet. Why, there's a wench ! Come on, and 

kiss me, Kate. 180 

Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou 

shalt ha't. 



Vin. 'Tis a good hearing when children are 

toward. 
Luc. But a harsh hearing when women are 

fro ward. 
Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed. 
We three are married, but you two are sped. 
[To Luc] 'Twas I won the wager, though you 

hit the white ; 
And, being a winner, God give you good night ! 
[Exeunt Petruchio and Katharina. 
Hor. Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a 

curst shrew. 
Luc. 'Tis a %vonder, by your leave, she will 
be tamed so. [£ 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King of France. 

Duke of Florence. 

Bertram, Count of Rousillon. 

Lafeu, an old lord. 

Parolles, a follower of Bertram. 

Steward, l servants to the Countess of 

Clown, j Rousillon. 

A Page. 



Countess of Rousillon, 
tram. 



mother to Ber- 



Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the 

Countess. 
An old Widow of Florence. 
Diana, daughter to the Widow. 
Violenta, -> neighbours and friends to the 
Mariana, j Widow. 

Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c, French and 
Florentine. 

Scene: Rousillon; Paris; Florence; 

Marseilles. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Rousillon. The Count's palace. 

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, 
Helena, and Lafeu, all in black. 

Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury 
a second husband. 

Ber. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my 
father's death anew : but I must attend his ma- 
jesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, 
evermore in subjection. 

La/. You shall find of the king a husband, 
madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally 
is at all times good must of necessity hold his 
virtue to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up 
where it wanted rather than lack it where there 
is such abundance. 

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's 
amendment? 

La/ He hath abandoned his physicians, ma- 
dam ; under whose practices he hath persecuted 
time with hope, and finds no other advantage in 
the process but only the losing of hope by time. 

Count. This young gentlewoman had a fa- 
ther, — O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis ! — 
whose skill was almost as great as his honesty ; 
had it stretched so far, would have made nature 
immortal, and death should have play for lack of 
work. Would, for the king's sake, he were liv- 
ing ! I think it would be the death of the king's 
disease. 

La/ How called you the man you speak of, 
madam ? 

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, 
and it was his great right to be so : Gerard de 
Narbon. 31 

La/ He was excellent indeed, madam : the 
king very lately spoke of him admiringly and 
mourningly : he was skilful enough to have lived 
still, if knowledge could be set up against mor- 
tality. 

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- 
guishes of? 

La/ A fistula, my lord. 

Ber. I heard not of it before. 40 



La/ I would it were not notorious. Was 
this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de 
Narbon? 

Count. His sole child, my lord, and be- 
queathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes 
of her good that her education promises; her 
dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts 
fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries vir- 
tuous qualities, there commendations go with 
pity ; they are virtues and traitors too : in her 
they are the better for their simpleness ; she 
derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. 

La/ Your commendations, madam, get from 
her tears. 

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can sea- 
son her praise in. The remembrance of her father 
never approaches her heart but the tyranny of 
her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. 
No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest 
it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than 
have it. 61 

Hel. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have 
it too. 

La/ Moderate lamentation is the right of the 
dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. 

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, 
the excess makes it soon mortal. 

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 

La/ How understand we that ? 

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed 
thy father 70 

In manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtue 
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness 
Share with thy birthright ! Love all, trust a few, 
Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend 
Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence, 
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more 

will, 
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck 

down, 
Fall on thy head ! Farewell, my lord ; 
'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord, 80 
Advise him. 

La/ He cannot want the best 

That shall attend his love. 



Scene i.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Count. Heaven- bless him ! Farewell, Bertram. 

[Exit. 

Ber. [To Helena} The best wishes that can be 
forged in your thoughts be servants to you ! Be 
comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and 
make much of her. 

La/. Farewell, pretty lady : you must hold 
the credit of your father. 

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 

Hel. 0, were that all ! I think not on my 

father ; 90 

And these great tears grace his remembrance 

more 
Than those I shed for him. What was he like? 
I have forgot him : my imagination 
Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. 
I am undone : there is no living, none, 
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one 
That I should love a bright particular star 
And think to wed it, he is so above me : 
In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 100 

The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 
The hind that would be mated by the lion 
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, 
To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
In our heart's table ; heart too capable 
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? 

Enter Parolles. 
[Aside\ One that goes with him: I love him for 
his sake ; no 

And yet I know him a notorious liar, 
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, 
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
-f Look bleak i' the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 

Par. Save you, fair queen ! 

Hel. And you, monarch ! 

Par. No. 

Hel. And no. 120 

Par. Are you meditating on virginity? 

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in 
you : let me ask you a question. Man is enemy 
to virginity ; how may we barricado it against him? 

Par. Keep him out. 

Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though 
valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us 
some warlike resistance. 

Par. There is none : man, sitting down before 
you, will undermine you and blow you up. 130 

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from undermine 
and blowers up ! Is there no military policy, h . 
virgins might blow up men? 

Par. virginity being blown down, man will 
quicklier be blown up : marry, in blowing him 
down again, with the breach yourselves made, 
you lose your city. It is not politic in the com- 
monwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss 
of virginity is rational increase and there was 
never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That 
you were made of is metal to make virgins. 
Virginity by being once lost may be ten times 
found ; by being ever kept, it is ever lost : 'tis too 
cold a companion ; away with 't ! 



Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore 
I die a virgin. 

Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tisagainst 
the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
ginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most 
infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is 
a virgin : virginity murders itself; and should be 
buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a 
desperate offendress against nature. Virginity 
breeds mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself 
to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his 
own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, 
idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited 
sin in the canon. Keep it not ; you cannot choose 
but lose by 't : out with 't ! within ten year it will 
make itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; and 
the principal itself not much the worse : away 
with 't ! 

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 
own liking? 

Par. Let me see : marry, ill, to like him that 
ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the 
gloss with lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : 
off with 't while 'tie vendible ; answer the time of 
request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears 
her cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuit- 
able: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, 
which wear not now. Your date is better in 
your pie and your porridge than in your cheek : 
and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one 
of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats 
drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly 
better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you 
any thing with it ? 

Hel. fNot my virginity yet 

There shall your master have a thousand loves. 
A mother and a mistress and a friend, 181 

A phoenix, captain and an enemy, 
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; 
i His humble ambition, proud humility, 
I His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, 
I His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world 
I Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, 
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — 
I know not what he shall. God send him well ! 
The court's a learning place, and he is one — 191 

Par. What one,' i' faith? 

Hel. That I wish well. 'Tis pity — 

Par. What's pity? 

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't. 
Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, 
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, 
Might with effects of them follow our friends, 
And show what we alone must think, which never 
Returns us thanks. 20 o 

Enter Page. 

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for yon 

[Exit. 

Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remem- 
ber thee, I will think of thee at court. 

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under 
a charitable star. 

Par. Under Mars, I. 

Hel. I especially think, under Mais. 

Par. Why under Mars? 

Hel. The wars have so kept you under that 
you must needs be born under .Mars. 210 



256 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Far. When he was predominant. 

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. 

Par. Why think you so? 

Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. 

Par. That's for advantage. 

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes 
the safety : but the composition that your valour 
and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, 
and I like the wear well. 219 

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot 
answer thee acutely. I will return perfect 
courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall serve 
to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a 
courtier's counsel and understand what advice 
shall thrust upon thee ; else thou diest in thine 
unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee 
away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy 
prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy 
friends : get thee a good husband, and use him as 
he uses thee : so, farewell. [Exit. 230 

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky 
Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull 
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. 
What power is it which mounts my love so high, 
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
t The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
To join like likes and kiss like native things. 
Impossible be strange attempts to those 239 

That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose 
t What hath been cannot be : who ever strove 
To show her merit, that did miss her love ? 
The king's disease — my project may deceive me, 
But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. Paris. The King's palace. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, 
•with letters, and divers Attendants. 

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the 
ears; 
Have fought with equal fortune and continue 
A braving war. 

First Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here re- 
ceive it 
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
With caution that the Florentine will move us 
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
Prejudicates the business and would seem 
To have us make denial. 

First Lord. His love and wisdom, 

Approved so to your majesty, may plead 10 

For amplest credence. 

King. He hath arm'd our answer, 

And Florence is denied before he comes: 
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see 
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
To stand on either part. 

Sec. Lord. It well may serve 

A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
For breathing and exploit. 

King. What's he comes here? 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

First Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my 
good lord, 



Young Bertram. 

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; 
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 20 
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral 

parts 
Mayst thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 

Ber. My thanks and duty afe your majesty's. 

King. I would I had that corporal soundness 
now, 
As when thy father and myself in friendship 
First tried our soldiership ! He did look far 
Into the service of the time and was 
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; 
But on us both did haggish age steal on 
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 30 
To talk of your good father. In his youth 
Fie had the wit which I can well observe 
To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest 
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted 
Ere they can hide their levity in honour : 
t So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
Were in his pride Or sharpness ; if they were, 
His equal had awaked them, and his honour, 
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
Exception bid him speak, and at this time 40 

His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him 
He used as creatures of another place 
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, 
Making them proud of his humility, 
t In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man 
Might be a copy to these younger times : 
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 
But goers backward. 

Ber. His good remembrance, sir, 

Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb ; 
So in approof lives not his epitaph 50 

As in your royal speech. 

King. Would I were with him ! He would 
always say — 
Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words 
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, 
To grow there and to bear, — 'Let me not live,' — 
This his good melancholy oft began. 
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 
When it was out, — ' Let me not live,' quoth he, 
' After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 60 
All but new things disdain; whose judgements 

are 
Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies 
Expire before their fashions. This he wish'd : 
I after him do after him wish too, 
Since I nor wax nor hcney can bring home, 
I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
To give some labourers room. 

Sec. Lord. You are loved, sir; 

They that least lend it you shall lack you first. 

King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, 
count, 
Since the physician at your father's died? 70 

He was much famed. 

Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 

King. If he were living, I would try him yet. 
Lend me an arm ; the rest have worn me out 
With several applications : nature and sickness 
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; 
My son 's no dearer. 

Ber. Thank your majesty. 

[Exeunt. Flourish. 



Scene hi.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



257 



Scene III. Rousillon. TJie Count's palace. 
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 

Count. I will now hear; what say you of this 
gentlewoman? 

Steiv. Madam, the care I have had to even 
your content, I wish might be found in the calen- 
dar of my past endeavours ; for then we wound 
our modesty and make foul the clearness of our 
deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. 

Count. What does this knave here? Get you 
gone, sirrah : the complaints 1 have heard of you 
I do not all believe : 'tis my slowness that I do 
not; for I know you lack not folly to commit 
them, and have ability enough to make such 
knaveries yours. 

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am 
a poor fellow. 

Count. We!!, sir. 

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am 
poor, though many of the rich are damned : but, 
if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to 
the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we 
may. 21 

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 
Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. 
Count. In what case? 

Clo. In IsbePs case and mine own. Service is 
no heritage : and I think I shall never have the 
blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for 
they say barnes are blessings. 

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 
Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am 
driven on by the flesh ; and he must needs go 
that the devil drives. 

Count. Is this all your worship's reason? 
Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, 
such as they are. 

Count. May the world know them ? 
Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, 
as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, 
I do marry that I may repent. 

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wick- 
edness. 41 
Clo. I am out o' friends, madam ; and I hope 
to have friends for my wife's sake. 

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
Clo. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends ; 
for the knaves come to do that for me which I 
am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my 
team and gives me leave to in the cmp ; if I be 
his cuckold, he's my drudge : he that comforts my 
wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he j 
that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh ! 
and blood ; he that loves my flesh and blood is my ' 
friend : ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. 
If men could be contented to be what they are, | 
there were no fear in marriage ; for young Char- \ 
bon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, how- 
some'er their hearts are severed in religion, their j 
heads are both one ; they may joul horns toge- I 
ther, like any deer i' the herd. 

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 
calumnious knave? 61 

Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the 
tmth the next way : 

For I the ballad will repeat, 
Which men full true shall find; 



Your marriage comes by destiny, 
Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
Count. Get you gone, sir ; I '11 talk with you 
more anon. 

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid 
Helen come to you : of her I am to speak. 71 

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would 
speak with her; Helen, I mean. 
Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
Why the Grecians sacked Troy? 
Fond done, done fond, 
Was this King Priam's joy? 
With that she sighed as she stood, 
With that she sighed as she stood, 

And gave this sentence then ; 80 

Among nine bad if one be good, 
Among nine bad if one be good, 
There's yet one good in ten. 
Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt 
the song, sirrah. 

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which 
is a purifying o' the song: would God would 
serve the world so all the year! we 'Id find no 
fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. 
One in ten, quoth a' ! An we might have a good 
woman born but one every blazing star, or at an 
earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man 
may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. 

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I 
command you. 

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, 
and yet no hurt done ! Though honesty be no 
puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the 
surplice of humility over the black gown of a big 
heart. I am going, forsooth : the business is for 
Helen to come hither. [Exit. 101 

Count. Well, now. 

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
woman entirely. 

Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed 
her to me ; and she herself, without other advan- 
tage, may lawfully make title to as much love as i 
she finds : there is more owing her than is paid; 
and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. 

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her 
than I think she wished me : alone she was, and 
did communicate to herself her own words to her 
own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they 
touched not any stranger sense. Her matter 
was, she loved your son : Fortune, she said, was 
no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt 
their two estates ; Love no god, that would not 
extend his might, only where qualities were level ; 
Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her 
poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first 
assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered 
in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I 
heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty 
speedily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the 
loss that may happen, it concerns you something 
to know it. 

Count. You have discharged this honestly; 
keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed 
me of this before, which hung so tottering in the 
balance that I Could neither believe nor misdoubt. 
Pray you, leave me : stall this in your bosom : 
and I thank you for your honest care : I will speak 
with you further anon. [Exit Steward. 



258 



ALUS WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 



[Act i. 



Enter Helena. 
Even so it was with me when I was young : 

I f ever we are nature's, these are ours ; this thorn 
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; 

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
It is the show and seal of nature's truth, 
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth : 
By our remembrances of days foregone, 140 

fSuch were our faults, or then we thought them 

none. 
Her eye is sick on't : I observe her now. 

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? 

Count. You know, Helen, 

I am a mother to you. 

Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 

Count. Nay, a mother : 

Why not a mother? When I said ' a mother,' 
Methought you saw a serpent : what 's in ' mother,' 
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; 
And put you in the catalogue of those 
That were enwombed mine : 'tis often seen 150 
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds 
A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, 
Yet I express to you a mother's care : 
God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood 
To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, 
That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? 
Why ? that you are my daughter ? 

Hel. That I am not. 

Count. I say, I am your mother. 

Hel. Pardon, madam; 160 

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
I am from humble, he from honourd name ; 
No note upon my parents, his all noble: 
My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
He must not be my brother. 

Count. Nor I your mother? 

Hel. You are my mother, madam; would you 
were, — 
So that my lord your son were not my brother, — 
Indeed my mother ! orwere you both our mothers, 
I care no more for than I do for heaven, 170 

So I were not his sister. Can't no other, 
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother ? 

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- 
in-law : 
God shield you mean it not ! daughter and mother 
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again ? 
My fear hath catch'd your fondness : now I see 
The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
Your salt tears' head : now to all sense 'tis gross 
You love my son; invention is ashamed, 
Against the proclamation of thy passion, 180 

To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; 
But tell me then, 'tis so ; for, look, thy cheeks 
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes 
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours 
That in their kind they speak it : only sin 
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, 
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? 
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew ; 
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, 
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 190 
To tell me truly. 

Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! 

Count. Do you love my son? 



Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 

Count. Love you my son ? 

Hel. Do not you love him, madam? 

Count. Go not about; my love hath in 't a bond, 
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, 

disclose 
The state of your affection ; for your passions 
Have to the full appeach'd. 

Hel. Then, I confess, 

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 
That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
I love your son. 200 

My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my love : 
Be not offended ; for it hurts not him 
That he is loved of me : I follow him not 
By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him ; 
Yet never know how that desert should be. 
I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve 
I still pour in the waters of my love 
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, 210 
Religious in mine error, I adore 
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, 
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, 
Let not your hate encounter with my love 
For loving where you do : but if yourself, 
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, 
Did ever in so true a flame of liking 
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian 
Was both herself and love : O, then, give pity 
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose 
But lend and give where she is sure to lose ; 221 
That seeks not to find that her search implies, 
But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies ! 

Count. Had you not lately an intent, — speak 
truly, — 
To go to Paris ? 

Hel. Madam, I had. 

Count. Wherefore ? tell true. 

Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself I swear. 
You know my father left me some prescriptions 
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading 
And manifest experience had collected 
For general sovereignty ; and that he will'd me 
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, 231 
As notes whose faculties inclusive were 
More than they were in note : amongst the rest, 
There is a remedy, approved, set down, 
To cure the desperate languishings whereof 
The king is render'd lost. 

Count. This was your motive 

For Paris, was it? speak. 

Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this; 
Else Paris and the medicine and the king 
Had from the conversation of my thoughts 240 
Haply been absent then. 

Count. But think you, Helen, 

If you should tender your supposed aid, 
He would receive it? he and his physicians 
Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him, 
They, that they cannot help : how shall they credit 
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off 
The danger to itself? 

Hel. There 's something in 't, 

More than my father's skill, which was the greatest 
Of his profession, that his good receipt 250 

Shall for my legacy be sanctified 



Scene hi.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



259 



By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your 

honour 
But give me leave to try success, I 'Id venture 
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure 
By such a day and hour. 

Count. Dost thou believe 't? 

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave 
and love, 
Means and attendants and my loving greetings 
To those of mine in court : I '11 stay at home 
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: 260 
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, 
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Paris. The King's falace. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King, attended 
with divers young Lords taking leave for the 
,■ Florentine war; Bertram, and Parolles. 

King. Farewell, young lords; these warlike 
principles 
Do not throw from you : and you, my lords, fare- 
well : 
Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain, all 
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, 
And is enough for both. 

First Lord. 'Tis our hope, sir, 

After well enter'd soldiers, to return 
And find your grace in health. 

King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
Will not confess he owes the malady 
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young 
lords ; 10 

Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy, — 
t Those bated that inherit but the fall 
Of the last monarchy, — see that you come 
Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when 
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, 
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. 
Sec. Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your 

majesty ! 
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of 
them: 
They say, our French lack language to deny, 20 
If they demand : beware of being captives, 
Before you serve. 

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 

King. Farewell. Come hither to me. 

[Exit, attended. 
First Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will 

stay behind us ! 
Tar. 'Tis not his fault, the spark. 
Sec. Lord. O, 'tis brave wars ! 

Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. 
/>';>-. 1 am commanded here, and kept a coil 
with 
'Too young' and 'the next year ' and ''tis too 
early.' 
Par. An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away 

bravely. 
Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse toasmock, 
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, 31 

Till honour be bought up and no sword worn 



But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal 
away. 

First Lord. There's honour in the theft. 

Par. Commit it, count. 

Sec. Lord. I am your accessary; and so, fare- 
well. 

Per. I grow to you, and our parting is a tor- 
tured body. 

First Lord. Farewell, captain. 

See. Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles ! 

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are 
kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good 
metals: you shall find in the regiment of the 
Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an 
emblem of war. here on his sinister cheek ; it 
was this very sword entrenched it : say to him, I 
live ; and observe his reports for me. 

First Lord. We shall, noble captain. 

[Exeunt Lords. 

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! what 
will ye do? 

Ber. Stay : the king. 50 

Re-enter King. Bertram^*/ Parolles retire. 
Par. [To Per.] Use a more spacious cere- 
mony to the noble lords; you have restrained 
yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be 
more expressive to them : for they wear them- 
selves in the cap of the time, there do muster true 
gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of 
the most received star; and though the devil lend 
the measure, such are to be followed: after them, 
and take a more dilated farewell. 

Ber. And I will do so. 60 

Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most 
sinewy sword-men. 

[Exeunt Bertram and Parolles. 

Enter Lafeu. 
Laf. [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and 

for my tidings. 
King. I '11 fee thee to stand up. 
Laf. Then here's a man stands, that has 
brought his pardon. 
I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me 

mercy, 
And that at my bidding you could so stand up. 
King. I would I had; so I had broke thy 
pate, 
And ask'd thee mercy for't. 
Laf Good faith, across: but, my good lord, 
'tis thus ; 70 

Will you be cured of your infirmity? 
King. No. 

Laf. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal 
fox ? 
Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if 
My royal fox could reach them : I have seen a 

medicine 
That's able to breathe life into a stone, 
Quicken a rock, and make yon dance canary 
With spritely fire and motion; whose simple 

touch 
Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, 
To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand 80 

And write to her a love-line. 

King. What ' her ' is this? 

Laf. Why, Doctor She : my lord, there's one 
arrived, 



17 



260 



ALL'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 



[Act ii. 



If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, 
If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, 
Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more 
Than I dare blame my weakness : will you see 

her, 
For that is her demand, and know her business? 
That done, laugh well at me. 

King. Now, good Lafeu, go 

Bring in the admiration ; that we with thee 
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine 
By wondering how thou took'st it. 

Laf. Nay, I '11 fit you, 

And not be all day neither. [Exit. 

King. Thus he his special nothing ever pro- 
logues. 

Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena. 

Laf. Nay, come your ways. 

King. This haste hath wings indeed. 

Laf. Nay, come your ways ; 
This is his majesty; say your mind to him: 
A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid's uncle, 
That dare leave two together; fare you well. 101 

[Exit. 

King. Now, fair one, does your business fol- 
low us? 

Hel. Ay, my good lord. 
Gerard de Narbon was my father; 
In what he did profess, well found. 

King. I knew him. 

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises 
towards him ; 
Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death 
Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one. 
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
And of his old experience the only darling, no 
He bade me store up, as a triple eye, 
Safer than mine own two, more dear ; I have so ; 
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
With that malignant cause wherein the honour 
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
I come to tender it and my appliance 
With all bound humbleness. 

King. We thank you, maiden ; 

But may not be so credulous of cure, 
When our most learned doctors leave us and 
The congregated college have concluded 120 

That labouring art can never ransom nature 
From her inaidible estate ; I say we must not 
So stain our judgement, or corrupt our hope, 
To prostitute our past-cure malady 
To empirics, or to dissever so 
Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
A senseless help when help past sense we deem. 

Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains : 
I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 130 
A modest one, to bear me back again. 

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd 
grateful : 
Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks 

I give 
As one near death to those that wish him live : 
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, 
I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 

Hel. What I can do can do no hurt to try, 



Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. 
He that of greatest works is finisher 
Oft does them by the weakest minister: 140 

So holy writ in babes hath judgement shown, 
When judges have been babes ; great floods have 

flown 
From simple sources, and great seas have dried 
When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
Oft expectation fails and most oft there 
Where most it promises, and oft it hits 
Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. 

King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, 
kind maid ; 
Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid : 
Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. 150 

Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
It is not so with Him that all things knows 
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows ; 
But most it is presumption in us when 
The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent ; 
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
I am not an impostor that proclaim 
Myself against the level of mine aim; 
But know I think and think I know most sure 160 
My art is not past power nor you past cure. 

King. Art thou so confident? within what 
space 
Hopest thou vlvj cure? 

Hel. The great'st grace lending grace. 

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, 
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, 
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, 
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, 170 
Health shall live free and sickness freely die. 

King. Upon thy certainty and confidence 
What darest thou venture? 

Hel. Tax of impudence, 

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame 
Traduced by odious ballads : my maiden's name 
Sear'd otherwise ; nay, worse — if worse — extended 
With vilest torture let my life be ended. 

King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit 
doth speak 
His powerful sound within an organ weak : 
And what impossibility would slay 180 

In common sense, sense saves another way. 
Thy life is dear ; for all that life can rate 
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, 
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all 
That happiness and prime can happy call : 
Thou this to hazard needs must intimate 
Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. 
Sweet pracliser, thy physic I will try, 
That ministers thine own death if I die. 

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property 190 
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, 
And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; 
But, if I help, what do you promise me? 

King. Make thy demand. 

Hel. But will you make it even? 

King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of 
heaven. 

Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly 
hand 
What husband in thy power I will command : 



Scene i.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



261 



Exempted be from me the arrogance 

To choose from forth the royal blood of France, 

My low and humble name to propagate 200 

With any branch or image of thy state ; 

But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 

Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 

Kitig. Here is my hand ; the premises ob- 
served, 
Thy will by my performance shall be served : 
So make the choice of thy own time, for I, 
Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. 
More should I question thee, and more I must, 
Though more to know could not be more to trust, 
From whence thou earnest, how tended on : 
but rest 210 

Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. 
Give me some help here, ho ! If thou proceed 
As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. 
[Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene II. Rotisillon. The Count's palace. 
Enter Countess and Clown. 

Cotint. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to 
the height of your breeding. 

Clo. I will show myself highly fed and lowly 
taught : I know my business is but to the court. 

Count. To the court ! why, what place make 
you special, when you put off that with such con- 
tempt? But to the court ! 

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man 
any manners, he may easily put it off at court : 
he that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his 
hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, 
nor cap ; and indeed such a fellow, to say pre- 
cisely, were not for the court ; but for me, I have 
an answer will serve all men. 

Cou7it. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that 
fits all questions. 

Clo. It is like a barber's chair that fits all but- 
tocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the 
brawn buttock, or any buttock. 

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all ques- 
tions? 21 

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an 
attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta 
; punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a 
I pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May- 
day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his 
horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, 
as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the 
pudding to his skin. 

Coutit. Have you, I say, an answer of such 
fitness for all questions? 31 

Clo. From below your duke to beneath your 
constable, it will fit any question. 

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
size that must fit all demands. 

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and 
all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier : 
it shall do you no harm to learn. 39 

Count. To be young again, if we could: I 
will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by 
your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! There's a simple putting off. 
More, more, a hundred of them. 

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that 
loves you. 



Clo. O Lord, sir ! Thick, thick, spare not me. 

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this 
homely meat. 

Clo. O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant 
you. _ _ 51 I 

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 

Clo. O Lord, sir! spare not me. 

Count. Do you cry, ' O Lord, sir !' at your 
whipping, and 'spare not me'? Indeed your 'O 
Lord, sir !' is very sequent to your whipping : you 
would answer very well to a whipping, if you 
were but bound to't. 

Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 
'O Lord, sir!' I see 'things may serve long, but 
not serve ever. 61 

Count. I play the noble housewife with the 
time, 
To entertain 't so merrily with a fool. 

Clo. O Lord, sir! why, there 't serves well 
again. 

Count. An end, sir ; to your business. Give 
Helen this, 
And urge her to a present answer back : 
Commend me to my kinsmen and my son : 
This is not much. 

Clo. Not much commendation to them. 70 

Count. Not much employment for you : you 
understand me? 

Clo. Most fruitfully : I am there before my legs. 

Count. Haste you again. {Exeunt severally. 

Scene III. Paris. The King's palace. 
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

Laf. They say miracles are past ; and we have 
our philosophical persons, to make modern and fa- 
miliar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence 
is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing 
ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we 
should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 

Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of won- j 
der that hath shot out in our latter times. 

Ber. And so 'tis. 

Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, — 10 

Par. So I say. 

Laf. Both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Par. So I say. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 

Par. Right ; so I say. 

Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 

Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. 

Laf. Not to be helped, — 

Par. Right; as.'twere, a man assured of a — 

Laf Uncertain life, and sure death. 20 

Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. 

Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the 
world. 

Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in 
showing, you shall read it in — what do ye call 
there? 

Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an 
earthly actor. 

Par. That's it; I would have said the very 
same. 30 

Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier : 'fore 
me, I speak in respect — 

Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that 
is the brief and the tedious of it ; and he 's of a 



262 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act ii. 



most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge 
it to be the — 

Laf. Very hand of heaven. 

Par. Ay, so I say. 

Laf. In a most weak — [pausing] and debile 
minister, great power, great transcendence : which 
should, indeed, give us a further use to be made 
than alone the recovery of the king, as to be— 
[pausing] generally thankful. 

Par. I would have said it; you say well. 
Here comes the king. 

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 
Lafeu and Parolles retire. 

Laf. Lustig, as the Dutchman says : I '11 like 
a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my 
head : why, he's able to lead her a coranto. 

Par. Mort du vinaigre ! is not this Helen? 50 

Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. 
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense 
Thou hast repeal 'd, a second time receive 
The confirmation of my promised gift, 
Which but attends thy naming. 

Enter three or four Lords. 
Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful 

parcel 
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, 
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's 
voice 60 

I have to use : thy frank election make ; 
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- 
sake. 
Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous 
mistress 
Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but 
one ! 
Laf. I 'Id give bay Curtal and his furniture, 
My mouth no more were broken than these boys', 
And writ as little beard. 

King. Peruse them well : 

Not one of those but had a noble father. 

Hel. Gentlemen, 
Heaven hath through me restored the king to 
health. 7° 

A II. We understand it, and thank heaven for 

you. 
Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein weal- 
thiest, 
That I protest I simply am a maid. 
Please it your majesty, I have done already : 
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 
'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be 

refused, 
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; 
We'll ne'er come there again.' 

King. Make choice ; and, see, 

Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. 

Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do T fly, 80 
And to imperial Love, that god most high, 
Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? 
First Lord. And grant it. 
Hel. Thanks, sir; all the 

rest is mute. 
Laf I had rather be in this choice than throw 
ames-ace for my life. 



Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair 
eyes, 
Before I speak, too threateningly replies : 
Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
Her that so wishes and her humble love ! 
Sec. Lord. No better, if you please. 
Hel. My wish receive, go 

Which great Love grant ! and so, I take my leave. 
Laf. Do all they deny her? An they were 
sons of mine, I 'd have them whipped ; or I would 
send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 

Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take ; 
I '11 never do you wrong for your own sake : 
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none 
have her : sure, they are bastards to the English ; 
the French ne'er got 'em. 101 

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too 
good, 
To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
Fourth Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 
Laf There's one grape yet; I am sure thy 
father drunk wine : but if thou be'st not an ass, 
I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee 
already. 

Hel. [To Bertram] I dare not say I take you ; 
but I give 
Me and my service, ever whilst I live, 110 

Into your guiding power. This is the man. 
King. Why, then, young Bertram, take her ; 

she 's thy wife. 
Ber. My wife, my liege ! I shall beseech your 
highness, 
In such a business give me leave to use 
The help of mine own eyes. 

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 

What she has done for me ? 

Ber. Yes, my good lord ; 

But never hope to know why.I should marry her. 
King. Thou know'st she has raised me from 

my sickly bed. 
Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
Must answer for your raising ? I know her well : 
She had her breeding at my father's charge. 121 
A poor physician's daughter my wife ! Disdain 
Rather corrupt me ever ! 
King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, 
the which 
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, 
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
In differences so mighty. If she be 
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, 
A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest 130 
Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, 
It is a dropsied honour. Good alone 
Is good without a name. Vileness is so : 
The property by what it is should go, 
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; 
In these to nature she 's immediate heir, 
And these breed honour : that is honour's scorn, 
Which challenges itself as honour's born 141 

And is not like the sire : honours thrive, 
When rather from our acts we them derive 
Than our foregoers : the mere word 's a slave 



Scene hi.] 



ALUS WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 



263 



Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave 

A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb 

Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb 

Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said ? 

If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 

I can create the rest: virtue and she 150 

Is her own dower ; honour and wealth from me. 

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 

King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst 
strive to choose. 

Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, 
I 'm glad : 
Let the rest go. 

King. My honour's at the stake; which to 
defeat, 

I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, 
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
That dost in vile misprision shackle up 

My love and her desert ; that canst not dream, 
We, poising us in her defective scale, 161 

Shall weigh thee to the beam ; that wilt not know, 

I I is in us to plant thine honour where 

We please to have it grow. Check thy con- 
tempt: 
Obey our will, which travails in thy good: 
Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
Which both thy duty owes and our power claims ; 
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever 
Into the staggers and the careless lapse 170 

Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and 

hate 
Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, 
Without all terms of pity. Speak ; thine answer. 

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit 
My fancy to your eyes : when I consider 
What great creation and what dole of honour 
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late 
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled, 
Is as 'twere born so. 

King. Take her by the hand, 180 

And tell her she is thine : to whom I promise 
A counterpoise, if not to thy estate 
A balance more replete. 

Ber. I take her hand. 

King. Good fortune and the favour of the king 
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony 
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, 
And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast 
Shall more attend upon the coming space, 
Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, 
Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err. 190 
[Exeunt all but Lafeu and Parolles. 

La/. [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a 
word with you. 

Par. Your pleasure, sir? 

La/. Your lord and master did well to make 
his recantation. 

Par. Recantation! My lord ! my master ! 

La/ Ay ; is it not a language I speak ? 

Par. A most harsh one, and not to be under- 
stood without bloody succeeding. My master ! 

La/ Are you companion to the Count Rou- 
sillon? 201 

Par. To any count, to all counts, to what is 
man. 

La/ To what is count's man : count's master 
is of another style. 



Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, 
you are too old. 

La/ I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to 
which title age cannot bring thee. 209 

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. 

La/ I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to 
be a pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tole- 
rable vent of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the 
scarfs and the bannerets about thee did mani- 
foldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of 
too great a burthen. I have now found thee ; 
when I lose thee again, I care not : yet art thou 
good for nothing but taking up; and that thou'rt 
scarce worth. 

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of anti- 
quity upon thee, — 221 

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, 
lest thou hasten thy trial ; which if — Lord have 
mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window 
of lattice, fare thee well : thy casement I need 
not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy 
hand. 

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious 
indignity. 

La/ Ay, with all my heart; and thou art 
worthy of it. 231 

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 

La/ Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I 
will not bate thee a scruple. 

Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 

La/ Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast 
to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou 
be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt 
find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I 
have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, 
or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the 
default, he is a man I know. 

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
vexation. 

La/ I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, 
and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past : 
as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me 
leave. [Exit. 

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- 
grace off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! 
Well, I must be patient ; there is no fettering of 
authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can 
meet him with any convenience, an he were 
double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity 
of his age than I would have of — I'll beat him, 
an if I could but meet him again. 

Re-enter Lafet. 

La/ Sirrah, your lord and master's married ; 
there 's news for you : you have a new mistress. 

Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship 
to make some reservation of your wrongs : he is 
my good lord : whom I serve above is my master. 

La/ Who? God? 

Par. Ay, sir. 

La/ The devil it is that's thy master. Why 
dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost 
make hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? 
Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose 
stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours 
younger, I 'Id beat thee: methinks, thou art a 
general offence, and every man should beat thee : 
I think thou wast created for men to breathe 
themselves upon thee. 



264 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act 



Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, 
my lord. 

Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for 
picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a 
vagabond and no true traveller : you are more 
saucy with lords and honourable personages than 
the commission of your birth and virtue gives you 
heraldry. You are not worth another word, else 
I 'Id call you knave. I leave you. [Exit. 281 

Par. Good, very good ; it is so then : good, 
very good ; let it be concealed awhile. 

Re-enter Bertram. 

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! 

Par. What's the matter, sweet-heart? 

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have 
sworn, 
I will not bed her. 

Par. What, what, sweet-heart? 

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me ! 
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 290 

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
The tread of a man's foot : to the wars ! 

Ber. There 's letters from my mother : what 
the import is, I know not yet. 

Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, 
my boy, to the wars \ 
He wears his honour in a box unseen, 
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, 
Spending his manly marrow in her arms, 
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet 
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions 300 

France is a stable ; v/e that dwell in't jades; 
Therefore, to the war! 

Ber. It shall be so : I'll send her to my house, 
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, 
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king 
That which I durst not speak : his present gift 
Shall furnish me to 'those Italian fields, 
Where noble fellows strike : war is no strife 
To the dark house and the detested wife. 

Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? 

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and- advise 
me. 311 

I '11 send her straight away : to-morrow 
I '11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 

Par. Why, these balls bound; there's noise 
in it. 'Tis hard : 
A young man married is a man that's marr'd : 
Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
The king has done you wrong : but, hush, 'tis so. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Paris. The King's palace. 
Enter Helena and Clown. 

Hel. My mother greets me kindly : is she well ? 

Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but 
thanks be given, she 's very well and wants 
nothing i' the world ; but yet she is not well. 

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, 
that she's not very well? 

Clo. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for 
two things. 

Hel. What two things ? 10 

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither 
God send her quickly ! the other, that she's in 
earth, from whence God send her quickly ! 



Enter Parolles. 

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
mine own good fortunes. 

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; 
and to keep them on, have them still. O, my 
knave, how does my old lady? 

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her 
money, I would she did as you say. 21 

Par. Why, I say nothing. 

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many 
a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : 
to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, 
and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your 
title ; which is within a very little of nothing. 

Par. Away ! thou'rt a knave. 

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 
thou'rt a knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave : 
this had been truth, sir. 31 

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool ; I have found 
thee. 

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or 
were you taught to find me? The search, sir, 
was profitable ; and much fool may you find in 
you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase 
of laughter. 

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. 
Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; 40 

A very serious business calls on him. 
The great prerogative and rite of love, 
Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac- 
knowledge ; 
But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; 
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with 

sweets, 
Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy 
And pleasure drown the brim. 

Hel. What 's his will else ? 

Par. That you will take your instant leave o' 
the king, 
And make this haste as your own good pro- 
ceeding, 50 
Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
May make it probable need. 

Hel. What more commands he? 

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
Attend his further pleasure. 

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 

Par. I shall report it so. 

Hel. I pray you. [Exit Parolles.] 

Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Paris. The King's palace. 
Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 

Laf. But I hope your lordship thinks not him 
a soldier. 

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 

Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 

Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 

Laf. Then my dial goes not true : I took this 
lark for a bunting. 

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very 
great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. 

Laf I have then sinned against his ex- 
perience and transgressed against his valour ; 
and my state that way is dangerous, since I 



Scene v.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



=65 



cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he 
comes : I pray you, make us friends ; I will 
pursue the amity. 

Enter Parolles. 

Par. [To Bertram] These things shall he 
done, sir. 

Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? 

Par. Sir? 

Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a 
good workman, a very good tailor. 21 

Ber. [Aside to Par.] Is she gone to the king? 

Par. She is. 

Ber. Will she away to-night? 

Par. As you '11 have her. 

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my 
treasure, 
Given order for our horses ; and to-night, 
When I should take possession of the bride, 
End ere I do begin. 29 

Laf. A good traveller is something at the 
latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three 
thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand 
nothings with, should be once heard and thrice 
beaten. God save you, captain. 

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my 
lord and you, monsieur? 

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run 
into my lord's displeasure. 

Laf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots 
and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the 
custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather 
than suffer question for your residence. 

Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my 
lord. 

Laf And shall do so ever, though I took 
him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and 
believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this 
light nut ; the soul of this man is his clothes. 
Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence ; I 
have kept of them tame, and know their natures. 
Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you 
t than you have or will to deserve at my hand ; 
but we must do good against evil. [Exit. 

Par. An idle lord, 1 swear. 

Ber. I think so. 

Par. Why, do you not know him? 

Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common 
speech 
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 

Enter Helena. 

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
Spoke with the king and have procured his leave 
For present parting; only he desires 61 

Some private speech with you. 

Ber. I shall obey his will. 

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
The ministration and required office 
On my particular. Prepared I was not 
For such a business ; therefore am I found 
So much unsettled : this drives me to entreat you 
That presently you take your way for home ; 
And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, 70 
For my respects are better than they seem 
And my appointments have in them a need 
Greater than shows itself at the first view 



To you that know them not. This to my mother : 
[Giving a letter. 
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so 
I leave you to your wisdom. 

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 

But that I am your most obedient servant. 

Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 

Hel. And ever shall 

With true observance seek to eke out that 
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
To equal my great fortune. 

Ber. Let that go: 81 

-My haste is very great : farewell ; hie home. 

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 

Ber. Well, what would you say? 

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, 
Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is ; 
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
What law does vouch mine own. 

Ber. What would you have ? 

Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : nothing, 
indeed. 
I would not tell you what I would, my lord: 
Faith, yes; go 

Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. 

Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to 
horse. 

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my 
lord. 

Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur? 
Farewell. [Exit Helena. 

Go thou toward home ; where I will never come 
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. 
Away, and for our flight. 

Par. Bravely, coragio ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Florence. TJie Duke's palace. 

Flourish. E titer t/ie Duke ofFlo?-encc, attended; 

the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. 

Duke. So that from point to point now have 
you heard 
The fundamental reasons of this war, 
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth 
And more thirsts after. 

First Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 

Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 
On the opposer. 

Duke. Therefore we marvel much our cousin 
France 
Would in so just a business shut his bosom 
Against our borrowing prayers. 

Sec. Lord. Good my lord, 

The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 10 

But like a common and an outward man, 
That the great figure of a council frames 
By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
Say what I think of it, since I have found 
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail 
As often as I guess'd. 

Duke. Be it his pleasure. 

First Lord. But I am sure the younger of our 
nature, 
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day 
Come here for physic. 

Duke. Welcome shall they be : 



2 66 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act in. 



And all the honours that can fly from us 20 

Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; 
When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exe?tnt. 

Scene II. Rousillon. The Count's palace. 
Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. It hath happened all as I would have 
had it, save that he comes not along with her. 

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be 
a very melancholy man. 

Count. By what observance, I pray you? 

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and 
sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and 
sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man 
that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly 
manor for a song. 10 

Coiait. Let me see what he writes, and when 
he means to come. [Opening a letter. 

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at 
court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country 
are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' 
the court : the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, 
and I begin to love, as an eld man loves money, 
with no stomach. 

Count. What have we here ? 

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 20 

Cou7it. [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in- 
law: she hath recovered the king, and undone 
me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and 
sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear 
I am run away : know it before the report come. 
If there be breadth enough in the world, I will 
hold a long distance. My duty to you. 

Your unfortunate son, 

Bertram. 
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 30 

To fly the favours of so good a king ; 
To pluck his indignation on thy head 
By the misprising of a maid too virtuous 
For the contempt of empire. 

Re-enter Ci.own. 

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within 
between two soldiers and my young lady ! 

Count. What is the matter ? 

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, 
some comfort ; your son will not be killed so soon 
as I thought he would. 40 

Count. Why should he be killed ? 

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I 
hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; 
that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of 
children. Here they come will tell you more : 
for my part, I only hear your son was run awav. 

[Exit. 

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
First Gent. Save you, good madam. 
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
Sec. Gent. Do not say so. 
Count. Think upon patience. Pray you, gen- 
tlemen, 50 
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, 
That the first face of neither, on the start, 
Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray 
you? 



Sec. Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the 
duke of Florence : 
We met him thitherward ; for thence we came, 
And, after some dispatch in hand at court, 
Thither we bend again. 

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my 
passport. 
[Reads] When thou canst get the ring upon my 
finger which never shall come off, and show me 
a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, 
then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I 
write a 'never.' 
This is a dreadful sentence. 

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 

First Gent. Ay, madam ; 

And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. 

Count. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; 
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
Thou robb'st me of a moiety : he was my son ; 
But I do wash his name out of my blood, 70 

And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is 
he? 

Sec. Gent. Ay, madam. 

Count. And to be a soldier? 

Sec. Gent. Such is his noble purpose ; and, be- 
lieve 't, 
The duke will lay upon him all the honour 
That good convenience claims. 

Count. Return you thither ? 

First Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest 
wing of speed. 

Hel. [Reads] Till I have no wife, I have no- 
thing in France. 
'Tis bitter. 

Count. Find you that there? 

Hel. Ay, madam. 

First Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, 
haply, which his heart was not consenting to. 80 

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no 
wife ! 
There's nothing here that is too good for him 
But only she ; and she deserves a lord 
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon 
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with 
him? 

First Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 
Which I have sometime known. 

Count. Parolles, was it not? 

First Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. 

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of 
wickedness. 
My son corrupts a well-derived nature 90 

With his inducement. 

First Gent. Indeed, good lady, 

The fellow has a deal of that too much, 
Which holds him much to have. 

Cotmt. You're welcome, gentlemen. 
I will entreat you, when you see my son, 
To tell him that his sword can never win 
The honour that he loses : more I '11 entreat you 
Written to bear along. 

Sec. Gent. We serve you, madam, 

In that and all your worthiest affairs. 

Count. Not so, but as we change our cour- 
tesies. 100 
Will you draw near ? 

[Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. 

Hel. ' Till I have no wife, I have nothing in 
France.' 



Scene ii.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



267 



Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 

Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France ; 

Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is 't I 

That chase thee from thy country and expose 

Those tender limbs of thine to the event 

Of the none-sparing war? and is it I 

That drive thee from the sportive court, where 

thou 
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark no 
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, 
That ride upon the violent speed of fire, 
fFly with false aim ; move the still-peering air, 
That sings with piercing ; do not touch my lord. 
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; 
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
His death was so effeaed : better 'twere 
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 120 

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere 
That all the miseries which nature owes 
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rou- 
sillon, 
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, 
As oft it loses all : 1 will be gone ; 
My being here it is that holds thee hence : 
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although 
The air of paradise did fan the house 
And angels officed all : I will be gone, 
That pitiful rumour may report my flight, 130 
To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day . 
For with the dark, poor thief, I '11 steal away. 

[Exit. 

Scene III. Florence. Before the •Duke's palace. 

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Ber- 
tram, Paroli.es, Soldiers, Drum, and Trum- 
pets. 

Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; 
and we. 

Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 

Upon thy promising fortune. 

Ber. Sir, it is 

A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet 

We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake 

To the extreme edge of hazard. 

j) u ke. Then go thou forth ; 

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, 

As thy auspicious mistress ! 

Ber. This very day, 

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 

Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove 

A lover of thy drum, hater of love. {Exeunt, n 



Scene IV. Rousillon. Tlie Count's palace. 
Enter Countess and Steward. 

Count. Alas! and would you take the letter 
of her? 
M ight you not know she would do as she has done, 
By sending me a letter? Read it again. 

Stew. [Reads] 
I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone : 

Ambitious love hath so in me offended, 
That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, 

With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
Write, write, that from the bloody course of war 

My' dearest master, your dear son, may hie : 



Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 10 

His name with zealous fervour sanctify : 
His taken labours bid him me forgive ; 
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, 
Where death and danger dogs the heels of 
worth : 
He is too good and fair for death and me ; 
Whom 1 myself embrace, to set him free. 
Count. Ah. what sharp stings are in her mild- 
est words ! 
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much. 
As letting her pass so : had I spoke with her, 20 
I could have well diverted her intents, 
Which thus she hath prevented. 

Stew. Pardon me, madam : 

If I had given you this at over-night, 
She might ha\e been o'erta'en; and yet she 

writes, 
Pursuit would be but vain. f 

Count. What angel shall 

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive. 
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear 
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, 
To this unworthy husband of his wife ; 30 

Let every word weigh heavy of her worth 
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief, 
Though little he do feel it. set down sharply. 
Dispatch the most convenient messenger: 
When haply he shall hear that she is gone, 
He will return ; and hope I may that she, 
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, 
Led hither by pure love : which of them both 
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
To make distinction : provide this messenger : 40 
My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ; 
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. Florence. Without the walls. A 
tucket afar off. 

Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Vio- 

lenta, and MARIANA, with other Citizens. 

II 'id. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
city, we shall lose all the sight. 

Dia. They say the French count has done 
most honourable service. 

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their 
greatest commander ; and that with his own hand 
he slew the duke's brother. [Tucket. } We have 
lost our labour ; they are gone a contrary way : 
hark ! you may know by their trumpets. 9 

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice 
ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, 
take heed of this French earl : the honour of a 
maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as 
honesty. 

Wid. I have told my neighbour how you have 
been solicited by a gentleman his companion. 

Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one 
Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those SUgg 
for the young earl. Beware of them, Liana: 
their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and 
all these engines of lust, are not the things they 
go under: many a maid hath been seduced by 
them; and the misery is, example, that so ter- 
rible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot 



2 68 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act 



for all that dissuade succession, but that they are 
limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope 
1 need not to advise you further ; but I hope your 
own grace will keep you where you are, though 
there were no further danger known but the 
modesty which is so lost. 30 

Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 

Wid. I hope so. 

Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim. 

Look, here comes a pilgrim : I know she will 
lie at my house ; thither they send one another: 
I '11 question her. God save you, pilgrim ! whi- 
ther are you bound ? 

Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. 
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? 

Wid. At the Saint Francis here beside the 
port. • 

Hel. Is this the way? 40 

Wid. Ay, marry, is't. [A march afar.] 
Hark you ! they come this way. 
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, 
But till the troops come by, 
I will conduct you where you shall be lodged ; 
The rather, for I think I know your hostess 
As ample as myself. 

Hel. Is it yourself? 

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your 
leisure. 

Wid. You came, I think, from France? 

Hel. I did so. 

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of 
yours 50 

That has done worthy service. 

Hel. His name, I pray you. 

Dia. The Count Rousillon: know you such 
a one? 

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly 
of him : 
His face I know not. 

Dia. Whatsome'er he is, 

He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
As 'tis reported, for the king had married him 
Against his liking: think you it is so? 

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth : I know his 
lady. 

Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the 
count 
Reports but coarsely of her. 

Hel. What's his name? 60 

Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 

Hel. O, I believe with him, 

In argument of praise, or to the worth 
Of the^great count himself, she is too mean 
To have her name repeated : all her deserving 
Is a reserved honesty, and that 
I have not heard examined. 

Dia. Alas, poor lady ! 

'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife 
Of a detesting lord. 

Wid. I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er 
she is, 
Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might 
do her 70 

A shrewd turn, if she pleased. 

Hel. How do you mean? 

May be the amorous count solicits her 
In the unlawful purpose. 



Wid. He does indeed ; 

And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : 
But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard 
In honestest defence. 

Mar. The gods forbid else ! 

Wid. So, now they come : 

Drum and Colours. 

Enter Bertram, Parolles, and the whole 

army. 
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
That, Escalus. 

Hel. Which is the Frenchman? 

Dia. He ; 80 

That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow. 
I would he loved his wife : if he were honester 
He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome 
gentleman? 

Hel. I like him well. 

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that 
same knave 
That leads him to these places : were I his lady, 
I would poison that vile rascal. 

Hel. Which is he? 

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : why is 
he melancholy? 

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. 90 

Par. Lose our drum ! well. 

Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something: 
look, he has spied us. 

Wid. Marry, hang you ! 

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! 

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, and army. 

Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I 
will bring you 
Where you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents 
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, 
Already at my house. 

Hel. I humbly thank you : 

Please it this matron and this gentle maid 100 
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking 
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin 
Worthy the note. 

Both. We'll take your offer kindly. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Camp before Florence. 

Enter Bertram and the two French Lords. 

Sec. Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; 
let him have his way. 

First Lord. If your lordship find him not a 
hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 

Sec. Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 

Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in 
him? 

Sec. Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own 
direct knowledge, without any malice, but to 
speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable 
coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly 
promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality 
worthy your lordship's entertainment. 

First Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, 
reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, 
he might at some great and trusty business in a 
main danger fail you. 



Scene vi.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



a6g 



Ber. I would I knew in what particular action 
to try him. io 

First Lord. None better than to let him fetch 
off his drum, which you hear him so confidently 
undertake to do. 

Sec. Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will 
suddenly surprise him ; such I will have, whom I 
am sure he knows not from the enemy : we will 
bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose 
no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of 
the adversaries, when we bring him to our own 
tents. Be but your lordship present at his examin- 
ation : if he do not, for the promise of his life 
and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer 
to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in 
his power against you, and that with the divine 
forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judge- 
ment in any thing. 

First Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let 
him fetch his drum ; he says he has a stratagem 
for't : when your lordship sees the bottom of his 
success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit 
lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not 
John Drum's entertainment, your inclining can- 
not be removed. Here he comes. 



Enter Parolles. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside to Ber.] O, for the love of 
laughter, hinder not the honour of his design : let 
him fetch off his drum in any hand. 

Ber. How now, monsieur! this drum sticks 
sorely in your disposition. 

First Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a 
drum. 49 

Par. 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A 
drum so lost ! There was excellent command, — 
to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, 
and to rend our own soldiers ! 

First Lord. That was not to be blamed in the 
command of the service : it was a disaster of war 
that Csesar himself could not have prevented, if 
he had been there to command. 

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our 

success : some dishonour we had in the loss of 

| that drum; but it is not to be recovered. 60 

Par. It might have been recovered. 

Ber. It might ; but it is not now. 

Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit 
I of service is seldom attributed to the true and 
I exacfl performer, I would have that drum or 
another, or ' hie jacet.' 

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, mori- 
1 sieur : if you think your mystery in stratagem 
I can bring this instrument of honour again into 
I his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enter- 
prise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a 
worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke 
shall both speak of it, and extend to you what 
further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost 
syllable of your worthiness. 

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will under- 
take it. 

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 

Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will 
presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage my- 
self in my certainty, put myself into my mortal 
preparation ; and by midnight look to hear further 
from me. 



Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace you 
are gone about it? 

Par. I know not what the success will be, my 
lord ; but the attempt I vow. 

Ber. I know thou 'rt valiant; and, to the possi- 
bility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. 
Farewell. 90 

Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 

Sec. Lord. No more than a fish loves water. 
Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so con- 
fidently seems to undertake this business, which 
he knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do 
and dares better be damned than to do't? 

First Lord. You do not know him, my lord, 
as we do : certain it is, that he will steal himself 
into a man's favour and for a week escape a great 
deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, 
you have him ever after. 101 

Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed 
at all of this that so seriously he does address 
himself unto? 

Sec. Lord. None in the world ; but return 
with an invention and clap upon you two or three 
probable lies : but we have almost embossed him ; 
you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is 
not for your lordship's respect. 109 

First Lord. We'll make you some sport with 
the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked 
by the old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he 
is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; 
which you shall see this very night. 

Sec. Lord. I must go look my twigs : he shall 
be caught. 

Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me. 

Sec. Lord. As't please your lordship: I'll 
leave you. [Exit. 

Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and 
show you 
The lass I spoke of. 

First Lord. But you say she's honest. 

Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her 
but once 120 

And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to her, 
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, 
Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
A nd this is all I have done. She's a fair creature : 
Will you go see her? 

First Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Florence. The Yv'idow's house. 
Enter Helena and Widow. 

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
I know not how I shall assure you further, 
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 

Wid. Though my estate be fallen, 1 was well 
bom, 
Nothing acquainted with these businesses; 
And would not put my reputation now 
In any staining adt. 

Hel. Nor would I wish you. 

First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, 
And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken 
Is s*> from word to word ; and then you cannot, 
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 11 
Err in bestowing it. 

Wid. I should believe you ; 

For you have show'd me that which well approves 



272 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act iv. 



First Lord. He has much worthy blame laid 
upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so 
sweet a lady. 9 

Sec. Lord. Especially he hath incurred the 
everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even 
tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will 
tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly 
with you. 

First Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis 
dead, and I am the grave of it. 

Sec. Lord. He hath perverted a young gen- 
tlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste 
renown ; and this night he fleshes his will in the 
spoil of her honour : he hath given her his monu- 
mental ring, and thinks himself made in the 
unchaste composition. 

First Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion ! 
as we are ourselves, what things are we ! 

Sec. Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as 
in the common course of all treasons, we still see 
them reveal themselves, till they attain to their 
abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives 
against his own nobility, in his proper stream 
o'erflows himself. 3° 

First Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, 
to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We 
shall not then have his company to-night? 

Sec. Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is 
dieted to his hour. 

First Lord. That approaches apace ; I would 
gladly have him see his company anatomized, 
that he might take a measure of his own judge- 
ments, wherein so curiously he had set this coun- 
terfeit. 4° 

Sec. Lord. We will not meddle with him till 
he come ; for his presence must be the whip of the 
other. 

First Lord. In the mean time, what hear you 
of these wars? 

Sec. Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 

First Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace con- 
cluded. 

Sec. Lord. What will Count Rousillon do 
then? will he travel higher, or return again into 
France? 51 

First Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you 
are not altogether of his council. 

Sec. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir; so should I 
be a great deal of his acl. 

First Lord. Sir, his wife some two months 
since fled from his house : her pretence is a pil- 
grimage to Saint Jaques le Grand ; which holy 
undertaking with most austere sanctimony she 
accomplished ; and, there residing, the tenderness 
of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in 
fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she 
sings in heaven. 

Sec. Lord. How is this justified? 

First Lord. The stronger part of it by her 
own letters, which makes her story true, even to 
the point of her death: her death itself, which 
could not be her office to say is come, was faith- 
fully confirmed by the rector of the place. 69 

See. Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ? 

First Lord. Ay, and the particular confirm- 
ations, point from point, to the full arming of the 
verity. 

Sec. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he'll be 
glad of this. 



First Lord. How mightily sometimes we 
make us comforts of our losses ! 

Sec. Lord. And how mightily some other 
times we drown our gain in tears ! The great 
dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him 
shall at home be encountered with a shame as 
ample. 

First Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled 
yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be 
proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our 
crimes would despair, if they were not cherished 
by our virtues. 

Enter a Messenger. 
How now ! where 's your master? 

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of 
whom he hath taken a solemn leave : his lordship 
will next morning for France. The duke hath 
offered him letters of commendations to the king. 

Sec. Lord. They shall be no more than needful 
there, if they were more than they can commend. 

First Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the 
king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. 

Enter Bertram. 

How now, my lord ! is't not after midnight? 

Ber. I have to-night dispatched sixteen busi- 
nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract 
of success : I have congied with the duke, done 
my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, 
mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am 
returning ; entertained my convoy ; and between 
these main parcels of dispatch effected many 
nicer needs : the last was the greatest, but that I 
have not ended yet. 

Sec. Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, 
and this morning your departure hence, it re- 
quires haste of your lordship. 109 

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as 
fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we 
have this dialogue between the fool and the 
soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit 
module, has deceived me, like a double-meaning 
prophesier. 

Sec. Lord. Bring him forth : has sat i' the 
stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 

Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, 
in usurping his spurs so long. How does he 
carry himself? 120 

Sec. Lord. I have told your lordship already, 
the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you 
would be understood ; he weeps like a wench 
that had shed her milk : he hath confessed him- 
self to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, 
from the time of his remembrance to this very 
instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks : and 
what think you he hath confessed? 

Ber. Nothing of me, has a' ? 129 

Sec. Lord. His confession is taken, and it 
shall be read to his face : if your lordship be in't, 
as I believe you are, you must have the patience 
to hear it. 

Enter Parolles guarded, and First Soldier. 

Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
nothing of me : hush, hush ! 

First Lord. Hoodman comes ! Portotartarosa. 



Scene hi.] 



First Sold. He calls for the tomireT^haT 
will you say without 'em ? """res . what 

strCfm- i/ vfrTf 5 * W rf I kn ° W without c °n- 
no n"ore ' *""* ™ ^ * **** 1 c ™ -J 

First Sold. Bosko chimurcho. I41 

./W Lord Boblibindo chicurmurco. 

First Sold. You are a merciful general Our 
ouToTa note 70 " anSWer t0 What 1 fha11 as ' k yo" 

Par And truly, as I hope to live. 

rtrrt .SW& [Reads] < First demand of him how 

tTt n h y a t ? orse ke is strong -' What »™ y°« 

/W. Five or six thousand ; but very weak 
and unserviceable : the troops are all Stored 
and the commanders very poor rogue .u^on my 
reputation and credit and as I hop! to ive * 

Par' %" j^fV *" d °™ >-«■ --er so? 
and which^a/you^, ^ -"■"** "^ h ™ 
slates t4 U . ,S ° net0him - What a P«t-savin g 
.{***.£*>* You're deceived, my lord- this 
^Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militaris f-tha 
was h, 5 own phrase,-that had the whole heoric 

have^every thing in him by'wearing hTs^ppard 
First Sold. Well, that's set down. l6q 

wiilswtnr ° r T th °u USand horse > I said,—? 
! s^eak truth thereabouts > s « down, for'l'U 

BIT BufV . HC K - Very "T the truth in this. 
natorehe B d U eliveSit him D ° *"** ^ * the 
£* n . <?? or 'OS 1 "". I Pray you, sav 

Sv each m°in 1Ck ' and Gratii ' tW0 hundred Sd 
m,L » r ?. ineown company, Chitopher Vau- 
mond Bent,,, two hundred and fifty each s 

Sr,/ Wh v ts t aIl l bedonet ° h ^? 

ay you to th,s ? what do you know of it ? 



^ZZ'JT /FZZZ THAT ENDS WELL, 



2 73 



IWta,-** D ° >">" k »»» *h Capuln 

^wA u ?&&i s ° u,x "' ■" "» 

JL7' ■*** What is his "*«»"<» witt the 

rea^to^?^^^-'- P-P-: shall I 
Par. I do not know if it be it or no. 
J*er. Our interpreter does it well. 
First Lord. Excellently. 

^r That is not the duke's letter sir- that 
is an advertisement to a proper m-ii in v\ 

w°ho n S aThai: t C a - dan ? ero - »d lid W b y 
fry it K ° VlrgUUty *"* devours «P all the 

f' K . e Danin a bl e both-sides rogue I 

. ft . him dr °P gold, and take it • 
After he scores, he never pays the score ■ 

make^r 1 Wdl made; match , and well 
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before ; 
And say a sold.er, Dian, told thee this 
Men , are to mel with, boys are not to kiss: 
tor count of this, the count's a. fool, I know it 
Who pays before, but not when he does owe -it 
-Lnine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear 260 



your 



IN 



272 



ALL'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 



[Act iv. 



First Lord. He has much worthy blame laid 
upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so 
sweet a lady. 9 

Sec. Lord. Especially he hath incurred the 
everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even 
tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will 
tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly 
with you. 

First Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis 
dead, and I am the grave of it. 

Sec. Lord. He hath perverted a young gen- 
tlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste 
renown ; and this night he fleshes his will in the 
spoil of her honour : he hath given her his monu- 
mental ring, and thinks himself made in the 
unchaste composition. 

First Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion! 
as we are ourselves, what things are we ! 

Sec. Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as 
in the common course of all treasons, we still see 
them reveal themselves, till they attain to their 
abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives 
against his own nobility, in his proper stream 
o'erflows himself. 30 

First Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, 
to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We 
shall not then have his company to-night? 

Sec. Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is 
dieted to his hour. 

First Lord. That approaches apace ; I would 
gladly have him see his company anatomized, 
that he might take a measure of his own judge- 
ments, wherein so curiously he had set this coun- 
terfeit. • _ 40 

Sec. Lord. We will not meddle with him till 
he come ; for his presence must be the whip of the 
other. 

First Lord. In the mean time, what hear you 
of these wars? 

Sec. Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 

First Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace con- 
cluded. 

Sec. Lord. What will Count Rousillon do 
then ? will he travel higher, or return again into 
France? 51 

First Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you 
are not altogether of his council. 

Sec. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir; so should I 
be a great deal of his act. 

First Lord. Sir, his wife some two months 
since fled from his house : her pretence is a pil- 
grimage to Saint Jaques le Grand ; which holy 
undertaking with most austere sanctimony she 
accomplished; and, there residing, the tenderness 
of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in 
fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she 
sings in heaven. 

Sec. Lord. How is this justified? 

First Lord. The stronger part of it by her 
own letters, which makes her story true, even to 
the point of her death: her death itself, which 
could not be her office to say is come, was faith- 
fully confirmed by the rector of the place. 69 

Sec. Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ? 

First Lord. Ay, and the particular confirm- 
ations, point from point, to the full arming of the 
verity. 

Sec. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he'll be 
glad of this. 



First Lord. How mightily sometimes we 
make us comforts of our losses ! 

Sec. Lord. And how mightily some other 
times we drown our gain in tears ! The great 
dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him 
shall at home be encountered with a shame as 
ample. 

First L ord. The web of our life is of a mingled 
yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be 
proud, if our faults whipped them not ; and our 
crimes would despair, if they were not cherished 
by our virtues. 

Enter a Messenger. 
How now ! where 's your master? 

Serzi. He met the duke in the street, sir, of 
whom he hath taken a solemn leave : his lordship 
will next morning for France. The duke hath 
offered him letters of commendations to the king. 

Sec. Lord. They shall be no more than needful 
there, if they were more than they can commend. 

First Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the 
king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. 



Enter Bertram. 

How now, my lord ! is't not after midnight? 

Ber. I have to-night dispatched sixteen busi- 
nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract 
of success : I have congied with the duke, done 
my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, 
mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am 
returning ; entertained my convoy ; and between 
these main parcels of dispatch effected many 
nicer needs : the last was the greatest, but that I 
have not ended yet. 

Sec. Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, 
and this morning your departure hence, it re- 
quires haste of your lordship. 109 

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as 
fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we 
have this dialogue between the fool and the 
soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit 
module, has deceived me, like a double-meaning 
prophesier. 

Sec. Lord. Bring him forth : has sat i' the 
stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 

Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, 
in usurping his spurs so long. How does he 
carry himself? 120 

Sec. Lo7'd. I have told your lordship already, 
the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you 
would be understood; he weeps like a wench 
that had shed her milk : he hath confessed him- 
self to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, 
from the time of his remembrance to this very 
instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks: and 
what think you he hath confessed? 

Ber. Nothing of me, has a' ? 129 

Sec. Lord. His confession is taken, and it 
shall be read to his face : if your lordship be in't, 
as I believe you are, you must have the patience 
to hear it. 



Enter Parolles guarded, and First Soldier. 

Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
nothing of me : hush, hush ! 

First Lord. Hoodman comes ! Portotartaros-i. 



Scene hi.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



273 



First Sold. He calls for the tortures: what 
will you say without 'em? 

Par. I will confess what I know without con- 
straint : if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can gay 
no more. 141 

First Sold. Bosko chimurcho. 

First Lord. Boblibindo chicurnmrco. 

First Sold. You are a merciful general. Our 
general bids you answer to what I shall a 
out of a note. 

Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 

First Sold. [Reads] ' First demand of him how 
many horse the duke is strong.' What say you 
to that? 150 

Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak 
and unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, 
and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my 
reputation and credit and as I hope to live. 

First Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? 

Pur. Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how 
and which way you will. 

Per. All's one to him. What a past-saving 
slave is this ! 159 

First Lord. You're deceived, my lord: this 
is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, — that 
was his own phrase, — that had the whole theoric 
of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice 
in the chape of his dagger. 

Sec. Lord. I will never trust a man again 
for keeping his sword clean, nor believe he can 
have every thing in him by wearing his apparel 
neatly. 

First Sold. Well, that's set down. 169 

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — 1 
will say true, — or thereabouts, set down, for I '11 
speak truth. 

First Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the 
nature he delivers it. 

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 

First Sold. Well, that's set down. 

Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a 
truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. 179 

First Sold. [Reads] 'Demand of him, of what 
strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? 

Par. By my troth, sir, if 1 were to live this 
present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : 
Spurio, a hundred and fifty ; Sebastian, so many ; 
Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, 
Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and 
fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vau- 
mond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so 
that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my 
life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half 
of the which dare not shake the snow from 
off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to 
pieces. 

Ber. What shall be done to him? 

First Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. 
Demand of him my condition, and what credit I 
have with the duke. 

First Sold. Well, that's set down. [Reads] 



Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the 
particular of the inter'gatories : demand them 
singly. 

First Sold. Do you know this Captain 
Dumain? 2.10 

Par. I know him : a' was a botcher's ', 
in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting 
the shrieve's fool with child, — a dumb innocent, 
that could not say him nay. 

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; 
though I know his brains are forfeit to the next 
tile that falls. 

First Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke 
of Florence's camp? 219 

P<ir. Upon my knowledge, he is. and lousy. 

First Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we 
shall hear of your lordship anon. 

First Sold. What is his reputation with the 
duke? 

Par. The duke knows him for no other but 
a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other 
day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have 
his letter in my pocket. 

First Sold. Marry, we'll search. 229 

Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either 
it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's 
other letters in my tent. 

First Sold. Here 'tis ; here 's a paper : shall I 
read it to you? 

Par. I do not know if it be it or no. 

Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 

First Lord. Excellently. 

First Sold. [Reads] ' Dian, the count's a fool, 
and full of gold,' — 

Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that 
is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, 
one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one 
Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all 
that very ruttish : I pray you, sir, put it up again. 

First Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your 
favour. 

Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very 
honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the 
young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, 
who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the 
fry it finds. 250 

Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue ! 

First Sold. [Reads] ' When he swears oaths, bid 
him drop gold, and take it ; 
After he scores, he never pays the sc 
Half won is match well made; match, and well 
make it; 
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before ; 
And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 
Men are to mell with, boys arc not to kiss: 
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it. 
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 
Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, 260 
Par< 

Ber. He shall be whipped through the army 
with this rhyme in's forehead. 

Sec. Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, 



You shall demand of him, whether one Captain | the manifold linguist and the annipotent soldier 



Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman ; what his 
reputation is with the duke ; what his valour, 
honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he 
thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing 
1 sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.' What 
say you to this ? what do you know of it? 






Ber. 1 could endure any thing before but a 
Cat, and now he's a cat to me. 

First Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's 
looks, we shall be fain to hang you. 269 

Par. My life, sir, in any case: not th 
afraid to die ; but that, my offences being many, 



rs 



274 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act iv. 



I would repent out the remainder of nature : let 
me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or an) 

Wh Av;; ^ ay We'll see what maybe done so 
you confess freely; therefore, once more .to this 
Captain Dumain : you have answered to his repu 
tation with the duke and to his valour, whatsis 

hiS A°; eS Se will steal, sir, an egg out of a clois- 
ter : for rapes and ravishments he paral eh jNes- 
sus : he professes not keeping of oaths .mbeak 
ing 'em he is stronger than Hercules : he : wi 1 he 
1 sr with such volubility, that you would think 
ru'th were a fool : drunkenness is his best virtue 
for he will be swine-drunk; and m his sleep he 
does little harm, save to his .bed-clothes about 
him • but they know his conditions and lay him m 
straw I have but little more to say, sir, of his 
honesty : he has every thing that an honest man 
should not have ; what an honest man should 
have, he has nothing. 

First Lord. I begin to love him for this. 

Ber For this description of thine honesty.' 
A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. 

First Sold. What say you to his expertness 

"'Par. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the I 
Enelish tragedians ; to belie him, I will not, and 
mofe of hi? soldiership I know not; except in 
that country he had the honour to be the officer 
at a place there called Mile-end to instruct io 
the doubling of files: I would do the man what 
honour I can, but of this I am not certain. 

First Lord. He hath out-villained villany so 
far, that the rarity redeems him. 

Ber. A pox on him, he s a cat still. . 

First Sold. His qualities being at this poor 
price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt 

^"st for a quart d'ecu he will sell/the 
fee-simple of his salvation the inheritance of it; 
and cut the entail from all remainders, and apei- 
petual succession for it perpetually. 

First Sold. What's his brother, the other 
Captain Dumain? /•_, 

Sec. Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? 
First Sold. What's he? 

Par E'en a crowo' the same nest; not altoge- 
ther so great as the first in goodness but greater a 
| great de § al in evil; he excels his brother for a cow- 
\ £d vet his brother is reputed one of the best that 
i is : in a retreat he outruns any lackey ; marry, in 
1 coming on he has the cramp. 

' First Sold. If your life be saved, will you 
: undertake to betray the Florentine? 
\ Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count 

I R °FirstSold. I'll whisper with the general, and 

I know his pleasure. . 33° 

Par. [Aside] I'll no more drumming ; a plague 

'■ of all drums ! Only to seem to deserve wed, and 
to beguile the supposition of that ascivious young 
boy tie count, have I run into this danger. Yet 

I who would have suspetf ed an ambush where 1 
was taken? . , 

First Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you 
rrust die : the general says, you that have so 
traitorously discovered the secrets of your army 
and made such pestiferous reports of men very 



nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use ; 
therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off 

Wi 5^| S O^ord, sir, let me live, or let me see j 

^ArTsold. That shall you, and take your 
leave of all your friends- [ Unblmding him. • 

So, look about you : know you any here . 

Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 349 . 

Sec. Lord. God bless you, Captain Parolles. 
First Lord. God save you, noble captain. ( 

Sec Lord. Captain, what greeting will you 
tomyLordLafeu? I am for France. , 

First Lord. Good captain, will you give me a 
copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of 
the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, 
I 'Id compel it of you : but fare you well 

F [Exeunt Bertram and Lords. 

First Sold. You are undone, captain, all but 
vour scarf; that has a knot on't yet. 359 

'Par Who cannot be crushed with a plot. j 

First Sold. If you could find out at country , 
where but women were that had received sc .much 
shame you might begin an impudent nation. 
Far" ye well, sir ; I am for France too: we shall 
sneak of you there. [Exit, with Soldiers 

V Par Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great 
'Twould burst at this. Captain I '11 be no more , 
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
As captain shall : simply the thing I am 
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a brag- 
Let hfmfear this, for it will come to pass 
That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
Rust sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles live 
Safest In shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! 
There 's place and means for every man al ve. 
I '11 after them. ^ xu - 



Scene IV. Florence. The Widow's house. 

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. 
Hcl. That you may well perceive I have not 
wrong' d you, . . , 

One of the greatest in the Christian world 
Shallbe mylurety ; 'fore whose throne 'tisneedful, 
Ere I can perfect mine intents to kneel . 
Time was, I did him a desired office 
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, 
And answer, thanks ; I duly am inform d 
His grace is at Marseilles; to which place 
We have convenient convoy. You must know 
I am supposed dead : the army breaking, m 

My husffnd hies himhome ; where, hjaven "ding, 
And by the leave of my good lord the king, 
We'll be before our welcome. 

Wid Gentle madam, 

You never had a servant to whose trust 
Your business was more welcome^ ^ ^^ 

Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour 
To recompense your love ; doubt not : but hea ven 
Hath brought me up to be your daughter s dower 
As it hath fated her to be my motive 20 

And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! 
I That can such sweet use make of what they hate, 
When saucy trusting of the cozen\l thoughts 
Defiles diepitchy night; so lust doth play 



Scene iv.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



275 



With what it loathes for that which is away. 
But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, 
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
Something in my behalf. 

Dia- Let death and honesty 

Go with your impositions, I am yours 
Upon your will to suffer. 

Hel. Yet, I prav you : 30 

But with the word the time will bring on sum- 
mer, s 
When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; 
Our waggon is prepared, and time revives us: 
All's well that ends well: still the fine's 

the crown; 
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene V. Rousillon. The Count's palace. 
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 

La/. No, no, no, your son was misled with a 
snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron 
would have made all the unbaked and doughy 
youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in- 
law had been alive at this hour, and your son here 
at home, more advanced by the king than by that 
red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. 

Count. I would I had not known him ; it was 
the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that 
ever nature had praise for creating. If she had 
partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest 
groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a 
more rooted love. 

Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : 
we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on 
such another herb. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram 
of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. 

Laf. They are not herbs, you knave ; they are 
nose-herbs. 20 

Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I 
have not much skill in grass. 

Laf. Whether dost thcu profess thyself, a 
knave or a fool? 

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a 
knave at a man's. 

Laf. Your distinction? 

Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife and do 
his service. 

_ Laf. So you were a knave at his service, 
indeed. ' 

._ Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, 
sir, to do her service. 

Laf I will subscribe for thee, thou art both 
knave and fool. 

Clo. At your service. 
Laf No, no, no. 

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can 
serve as great a prince as you are. 

Laf Who's that? a Frenchman? 40 

Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but 
his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. 
Laf What prince is that? 
Clo The black prince, sir; alias, the prince 
of darkness; alias, the devil. 
Laf Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee 



not this to suggest thee from thy master thou 
talkest of; serve him still. 

' Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always 
loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of ever 
keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of 
the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I 
am for the house with the narrow gate, which I 
take to be too little for pomp to enter: some that 
humble themselves may; but the many will be 
too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery 
way that leads to the broad gate and the great 
fire. 

Laf Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of 
thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would 
not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my 
horses be well looked to, without any tricks. 

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they 
shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right 
by the law of nature. [Exit. 

Laf A shrewd knave and an unhappy. 
Count. So he is. My lord that's gone made 
himself much sport out of him : by his authority 
he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for 
his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace but 
runs where he will. ?I 

Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss. And I 
was about to tell you, since I heard of the good 
lady's death and that my lord your son was upon 
his return home, I moved the king my master to 
speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in 
the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a 
self-gracious remembrance, did first propose : his 
highness hath promised me to do it : and, to stop 
up the displeasure he hath conceived against your 
son, there is no fitter matter. How does your 
ladyship like it? 

Count. With very much content, my lord; 
and I wish it happily effected. 

Laf His highness comes post from Marseilles, 
of as able body as when he numbered thirty : he 
will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him 
that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. 

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see 
him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be 
here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to re- 
main with me till they meet together. 

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what man- 
ners I might safely be admitted. 

Count. You need but plead your honourable 
privilege. 

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; 
but I thank my God it holds yet. 

Re-enter Clown. 

Clo. O madam, yonder 's my lord your son 
with a patch of velvet on 's face : whether there 
be a scar under 't or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis 
a goodly patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek 
of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn 
bare. 

Laf A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a 
good livery of honour; so belike is that. 

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you: I 
long to talk with the young noble soldier. 100 

Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with deli- ! 
cate fine hats and most courteous feathers which 
bow the head and nod at every man. [Exeunt. 



S— ; 



276 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act v. 



ACT V. 
Scene I. Marseilles. A street. 

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two 
Attendants. 
Hel. But this exceeding posting day and night 
Must wear your spirits low ; we cannot help it : 
But since you have made the days and nights as one, 
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
Be bold you do so grow in my requital 
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; 

Enter a Gentleman. 
This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. 

Gent. And you. 

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 

Gent. I have been sometimes there. 11 

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, 
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
The use of your own virtues, for the which 
I shall continue thankful. 

Ge7it. What's your will? 

Hel. That it will please you 
To give this poor petition to the king, 
And aid me with that store of power you have 20 
To come into his presence. 

Gent. The king's not here. 

Hel. Not here, sir ! 

Gent. Not, indeed : 

He hence removed last night and with more haste 
Than is his use. 

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 

Hel. All's well that ends \fELi. yet, 
Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. 
I do beseech you, whither is he gone? 

Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; 
Whither I am going. 

Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 

Since you are like to see the king before me, 30 
Commend the paper to his gracious hand, 
Which I presume shall render you no blame 
But rather make you thank your pains for it. 
I will come after you with what good speed 
Our means will make us means. 

Gent. This I '11 do for you. 

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well 
thank'd, 
\ Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. 
Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Rousillon. Before the Count's palace. 
Enter Clown, and Parolles, following. 

Par. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord 
Lafeu this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better 
known to you, when I have held familiarity with 
fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in 
fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her 
strong displeasure. 

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will 
henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. 
Prithee, allow the wind. 10 

Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; 
I spake but by a metaphor. 



Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. 
Prithee, get thee further. 

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 

Clo. Foh ! prithee, stand away : a paper from 
fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, 
here he comes himself. 19 

Enter Lafeu. 
Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
— but not a musk-cat, — that has fallen into the 
unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he 
says, is muddied withal : pray you, sir, use the 
carp as yo\x may ; for he looks like a poor, decayed, 
ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his 
distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to 
your lordship. [Exit. 

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
cruelly scratched. 29 

Laf And what would you have me to do? 'Tis 
too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have 
you played the knave with fortune, that she should 
scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and 
would not have knaves thrive long under her? 
There 's a quart d'ecu for you : let the justices make 
you and fortune friends: I am for other business. 

Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one 
single word. 

Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, 
you shall ha't; save your word. 40 

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 

Laf. You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox 
my passion ! give me your hand. How does your 
drum ? 

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that 
found me ! 

Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that 
lost thee. 

Par. It lies in you, iny lord, to bring me in 
some grace, for you did bring me out. 50 

Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put 
upon me at once both the office of God and the 
devil? One brings thee in grace and the other 
brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's 
coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, in- 
quire further after me ; I had talk of you last 
night : though you are a fool arid a knave, you 
shall eat ; go to, follow. 

Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Rousillon. The Count's palace. 

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the 
two French Lords, with Attendants. 

King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem 
Was made much poorer by it : but your son, 
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
Her estimation home. 

Count. 'Tis past, my liege ; 

And I beseech your majesty to make it 
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ; 
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
O'erbears it and burns on. 

King. My honour'd lady, 

I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 
And watch'd the time to shoot. 

Laf. This I must say, 1 1 



Scene hi.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



277 



But first I beg my pa 'don, the young lord 
Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady 
Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife 
Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, 
Whose dear perfection hearts thatscorn'dto serve 
Humbly call'd mistress. 

King. Praising what is lost 

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him 
hither; 20 

We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill 
All repetition : let him not ask our pardon; 
The nature of his great offence is dead, 
And deeper than oblivion we do bury 
The incensing relics of it : let him approach, 
A stranger, no offender ; and inform him 
So 'tis our will he should. 

Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit. 

King. What says he to your daughter? have 
you spoke ? 

La/. All that he is hath reference to your 
highness. 

King. Then shall we have a match. I have 
letters sent me 30 

That set him high in fame. 

Enter Bertram. 
La/. He looks well on 't. 

King. I am not a day of season, 
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
In me at once : but to the brightest beams 
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth ; 
The time is fair again. 

Ber. My high-repented blames, 

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 

King. All is whole ; 

Not one word more of the consumed time. 
Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 40 
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time 
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember 
The daughter of this lord? 

Ber. Admiringly, my liege, at first 
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue 
Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
Which warp'd the line of every other favour; 
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen ; 50 
Extended or contracted all proportions 
To a most hideous object : thence it came 
That she whom all men praised and whom my- 
self, 
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye 
The dust that did offend it. 

King. Well excused : 

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores 

away 
From the great compt : but love that comes too 

late, 
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, 
To the great sender turns a sour offence, 
Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash 
faults 60 

Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
Not knowing them until we know their grave: 
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust: 



tOur own love waking cries to see what's done, 
While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. 
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay 
To see our widower's second marriage-day. 70 
Count. Which better than the first, O dear 
heaven, bless! 
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse ! 
La/ Come on, my son, in whom my house's 
name 
Must be digested, give a favour from you 
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, 
That she may quickly come. [Bertram gives a 

ring.] By my old beard, 
And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, 
Was a sweet creature : such a ring as this, 
The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
I saw upon her finger. 
Ber. Hers it was not. 80 

King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine 
eye, 
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. 
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
Necessitied to help, that by this token 
I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to 

reave her 
Of what should stead her most? 

Ber. My gracious sovereign, 

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, 
The ring was never hers. 

Count. Son, on my life, 

I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it go 
At her life's rate. 

La/ I am sure I saw her wear it. 

Ber. You are deceived, my lord ; she never 
saw it : 
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
Of her that threw it : noble she was, and thought 
I stood engaged : but when I had subscribed 
To mine own fortune and inform d her fully 
I could not answer in that course of honour 
As she had made the overture, she ceased 
In heavy satisfaction and would never 100 

Receive the ring again. 

King. Plutus himself, 

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, 
Hath not in nature's mystery more science 
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas 

Helen's, 
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know 
That you are well acquainted with yourself, 
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforce- 
ment 
You got it from her: she call'd the saints to 

surety 
That she would never put it from her finger, 
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, no 

Where you have never come, or sent it us 
Upon her great disaster. 
Ber. She never saw it. 

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine 
honour ; 
And makest conjectural fears to come into me, 
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove 
That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so ; — j 
And yet I know not : thou didst hate her deadly, ] 



27 3 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act v. 



And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, 
More than to see this ring. Take him away. 120 
[Guards seize Bertram. 
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
Shall tax my fears of little vanity, 
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him ! 
We '11 sift this matter further. 

Ber. If you shall prove 

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
Where yet she never was. [Exit, guarded. 

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Gent. Gracious sovereign, 

Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not : 
Here's a petition from a Florentine, 130 

Who hath for four or five removes come short 
To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know 
Is here attending: her business looks in her 
With an importing visage ; and she told me, 
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
Your highness with herself. 

King. [Reads] Upon his many protestations to 
marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say 
it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a 
widower : his vows are forfeited to me, and my 
honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, 
taking no leave, and I follow him to his country 
for justice: grant it me, O king ! in you it best 
lies ; otherwise a seducer nourishes, and a poor 
maid is undone. Diana Capilet. 

La/. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and 
toll for this : I '11 none of him. 

K in°. The heavens have thought well on thee, 
Lafeu, 150 

To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors : 
Go speedily and bring again the count. 
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, 
Was foully snatch'd. 

Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 

Re-enter Bertram, guarded. 

King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters 
to you, 

And that you fly them as you swear them lord- 
ship, 

Yet you desire to marry. 

Enter Widow and Diana. 

What woman's that? 
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
Derived from the ancient Capilet : 
My suit, as I do understand, you know, _ 160 
And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and 
honour 
Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
And both shall cease, without your remedy. 
King. Come hither, count ; do you know these 

women ? 
Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny 
But that I know them : do they charge me fur- 
ther? 



Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your 
wife? 

Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 

Dia. If you shall marry, 

You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 170 
You give away heaven's vows, and those are 

mine ; 
You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
For I by vow am so embodied yours, 
That she which marries you must marry me, 
Either both or none. 

La/. Your reputation comes too short for my 
daughter; you are no husband for her. 

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate 
creature, 
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with : let your 

highness 
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour 180 
Than for to think that I would sink it here. 

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them 
ill to friend 
Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your 

honour 
Than in my thought it lies. 

Dia. Good my lord, 

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
He had not my virginity. 

King. What say'st thou to her? 

Ber. She's impudent, my lord, 

And was a common gamester to the camp. 

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so, 
He might have bought me at a common price : 
Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, 
Whose high respecl and rich validity 
Did lack a parallel ; yet for all that 
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
If I be one. 

Count. Fie blushes, and 'tis it: 
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, 
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, 
Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife ; 
That ring's a thousand proofs. 

King. Methought you said 

You saw one here in court could witness it. 200 

Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
So bad an instrument : his name 's Parolles. 

La/. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 

King. Find him, and bring him hither. 

[Exit an A ttendant. 

Ber. What of him? 

He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, 
With all the spots o' the world tax'd and de- 

bosh'd ; 
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. 
Am I or that or this for what he '11 utter, 
That will speak any thing? 

King. She hath that ring of yours. 

Ber. I think she has : certain it is I liked her, 
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: 211 
She knew her distance and did angle for me, 
Madding my eagerness with her restraint, 
As all impediments in fancy's course 
Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine, 
Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, 
Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring; 
And I had that which any inferior might 
At market-price have bought. 

Dia. I must be patient : 

You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, 220 



Scene hi.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



279 



May justly diet me. I pray you yet ; 
Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband ; 
Send for your ring, I will return it home, 
And give me mine again. 

Ber. I have it not. 

King. What ring was yours, I pray you? 

Dia. Sir, much like 

The same upon your finger. 

King. Know you this ring? this ring was his 
of late. 

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being abed. 

King. The story then goes false, you threw it 
him 
Out of a casement. 

Dia. I have spoke the truth. 230 

Enter PAROLLES. 

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. 

King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather 
starts you. 
Is this the man you speak of? 

Dia. Ay, my lord. 

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I 
charge you, 
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, 
By him and by this woman here what know you ? 

Par. So please your majesty, my master hath 
been an honourable gentleman : tricks he hath 
had in him, which gentlemen have. 240 

King. Come, come, to the purpose : did he 
love this woman? 

Par. Faith, sir, he did love her ; but how ? 

King. How, I pray you? 

Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman 
loves a woman. 

King. How is that ? 

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 

King. As thou art a knave, and no knave. 
What an equivocal companion is this ! 250 

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
command. 

Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a 
naughty orator. 

Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage ? 

Par. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. 

King. But wilt thou not speak all thouknowest? 

Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go 
between them, as I said ; but more than that, he 
loved her : for indeed he was mad for her, and 
talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and 
I know not what : yet I was in that credit with 
them at that time that I knew of their going to 
bed, and of other motions, as promising her mar- 
riage, and things which would derive me ill will 
I to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I 
know. 

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless 
thou canst say they are married : but thou art too 
fine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. 270 
This ring, you say, was yours? 

Dia. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it 
you? 

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not 
buy it. 

King. Who lent it you ? 

Dia. It was not lent me neither. 



King. Where did you find it, then? 

Dia. I found it not. 

King. If it were yours by none of all these 
ways, 
How could you give it him? 

Dia. I never gave it him. 

Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord ; 
she goes off and on at pleasure. 

King. This ring was mine ; I gave it his first 
wife. 280 

Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught 
I know. 

King. Take her away ; I do not like her now ; 
To prison with her: and away with him. 
Unless thou rell'st me where thou hadst this ring, 
Thou dicst within this hour. 

Dia. I '11 never tell you. 

King. Take her away. 

Dia. I '11 put in bail, my liege. 

King. I think thee now some common cus- 
tomer. 

Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 

King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all 
this while? 289 

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty : 
He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to't ; 
I '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 

King. She does abuse our ears : to prison 
with her. 

Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, 
royal sir: [Exit Widow. 

The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, 
And he shall surety me. But for this lord, 
Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, 
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him : 
He knows himself my bed he hath defiled ; 301 
And at that time he got his wife with child : 
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick : 
So there's my riddle : one that's dead is quick : 
And now behold the meaning. 

Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 

King. Is there no exorcist 

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? 
Is't real that I see? 

Hel. No, my good lord ; 

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, 
The name and not the thing. 

Ber. Both, both. O, pardon! 

II cl. O my good lord, when I was like this 
maid, 310 

I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring ; 
And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 
'When from my finger you can get this ring 
And are by me with child,' &c. This is done : 
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? 

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know 
this clearly, 
I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 

Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue, 
Deadly divorce step between me and you ! 
O my dear mother, do I see you living? 3.-0 

Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep 
anon: 
[ To Paroi/es] Good Tom Drum, lend me a hand- 
kercher : so, 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act v. 



I thank thee : wait on me home, I '11 make sport 

with thee : 
Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. 
King. Let us from point to point this story 

know, 
To make the even truth in pleasure flow. 
[To Diana] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped 

flower, 
Choose thou thy husband, and I '11 pay thy dower ; 
For I can guess that by thy honest aid 
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. 330 
Of that and all the progress, more or less, 
Resolvedly more leisure shall express: 



All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet, 
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 

{Flourish. 
EPILOGUE. 
King. The king's a beggar, now the play is 
done: 
All is well ended, if this suit be won, 
That you express content ; which we will pay, 
With strife to please you, day exceeding day : 
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; 
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. ' 
[Exeunt. 340 



TWELFTH NIGHT; 

OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Orsino, Duke of Illyria. 
Sebastian, brother to Viola. 
Antonio, a sea captain, friend to Sebas- 
tian. 
A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. 
Valentine, 1 gentlemen attending on the 
Curio, Duke. 

Sir Toby Belch, uncle to Olivia. 
Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 
Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 



servants to Olivia. 



Fabian, 

Feste, a Clown, 
Olivia. 
Viola. 

MARIA, Olivia's woman. 
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and 

other Attendants. 

Scene: A city in Illyria, and tJte sea-coast 

near it. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Tfie Duke's palace. 

Etiter Duke, Curio, and other Lords; Mu- 
sicians attending. 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on; 
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, 
The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
That strain again ! it had a dying fall : 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. 
O spirit of love ! how quick and fresh art thou, 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 10 

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, 
Of what validity and pitch soe'er, 
But falls into abatement and low price, 
Even in a minute : so full of shapes is fancy 
That it alone is high fantastical. 

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 

Duke. What, Curio? 

Cur. The hart. 

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : 
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought she purged the air of pestilence ! 20 
That instant was I turn'd into a hart ; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
E'er since pursue me. 

Enter Valentine. 
How now ! what news from her? 
Val. So please my lord, I might not be ad- 
mitted ; 
But from her handmaid do return this answer: 
The element itself, till seven years' heat, 
Shall not behold her face at ample view ; 
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-offending brine : all this to season 30 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh 
And lasting in her sad remembrance. 

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine 
frame 



To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
That live in her; when liver, brain and heart. 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd 
Her sweet perfections with one self king ! 
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers : 40 

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The sea-coast. 
Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors. 
Vio. What country, friends, is this ? 
Cap. This is Illyria, lady. 
Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? 
My brother he is in Elysium. 
Perchance he is not drown'd : what think you, 
sailors ? 
Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were 

saved. 
Vio. O my poor brother ! and so perchance 

may he be. 
Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with 
chance, 
Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 
When you and those poor number saved with you 
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, n 
Most provident in peril, bind himself, 
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice, 
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea ; 
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there's gold: 
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 20 

The like of him. Know'st thou this country ? 
Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and 
born 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 
/ 'ii>. Who governs here? 
Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name. 
Vto. What is his name? 
Cap. Orsino. 



282 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act i. 



Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name 
him : 

He was a bachelor then. 

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late ; 30 
For but a month ago I went from hence, 
And then 'twas fresh in murmur, — as, you know, 
What great ones do the less will prattle of, — 
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she? _ 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving 

her 
In the protection of his son, her brother, 
Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, 
They say, she hath abjured the company 40 

And sight of men. 

Vio. O that I served that lady 

And might not be delivered to the world, 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
What my estate is ! 

Cap. That were hard to compass ; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 50 

With this thy fair and outward character. 

I prithee, and I '11 pay thee bounteously, 
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid 
For such disguise as haply shall become 
The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke : 
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him : 

I I may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing 
And speak to him in many sorts of music 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap to time I will commit ; 60 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I '11 be : 

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. 

Vio. I thank thee : lead me on. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Olivia's house. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to 
take the death of her brother thus? " I am sure 
care's an enemy to life. 

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come 
in earlier o' nights : your cousin, my lady, takes 
great exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. 

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
the modest limits of order. 9 

Sir To. Confine ! I '11 confine myself no finer 
than I am: these clothes are good enough to 
drink in ; and so be these boots too : an they be 
not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. 

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo 
you : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and 
of a foolish knight that you brought in one night 
here to be her wooer. 

Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek ? 

Mar. Ay, he. 

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. 

Mar. What's that to the purpose? 21 

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a 
year. 



Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these 
ducats : he's a very fool and a prodigal. 

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so ! he plays o' 
the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four Ian- \ 
guages word for word without book, and. hath 
all the good gifts of nature. 29 

Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural: for 
besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; , 
and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay ! 
the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among 
the prudent he would- quickly have the gift of a 
grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and 
substraclors that say so of him. Who are they? 

Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk 
nightly in your company. 39 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece : 
I '11 drink to her as long as there is a passage in 
my throat and drink in Illyria: he's a coward and 
a coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his 
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, 
wench 1 Castiliano vulgo ! for here comes Sir 
Andrew Agueface. 

Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir Toby 
Belch ! 

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew ! 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 50 

Mar. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir A nd. What 's that ? 

Sir To. My niece's chambermaid. 

Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better 
acquaintance. 

Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, — 

Sir To. You mistake, knight: 'accost' is front 
her, board her, woo her, assail her. 60 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake 
her in this company. Is that the meaning of 
'accost'? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 
would thou mightst never draw sword again. 

Sir A nd. An you part so, mistress, I would I 
might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
think you have fools in hand? 

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 70 

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and 
here's my hand. 

Mar. Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, 
bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink. 

Sir A nd. Wherefore, sweet-heart ? what 's your 
metaphor? 

Mar. It's dry, sir. 

Sir And. Why, I think so: I am not such an 
ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your 
jest? 80 

Alar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir A nd. Are you full of them? 

Mar. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: 
marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. 

[Exit. 

Sir To. O knight, thou lackesta cup of canary : 
when did I see thee so put down? 

Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless 
you see canary put me down. Methinks some- 1 
times I have no more wit than a Christian or an \ 
1 



Scene hi.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



283 



ordinary man has : but I am a great eater of beef 
and I believe that does harm to my wit. 91 

Sir To. No question. 

Sir And. An I thought that, 'l 'Id forswear it. 
I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. 

Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight? 

Sir And. What is 'pourquoi'? do or not do? 
I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues 
that I have in fencing, dancing and bear-baiting : 
O, had I but followed the arts ! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
of hair. 101 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my 
hair? 

Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will 
not curl by nature. 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, 
does't not? 

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a 
distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee 
between her legs and spin it off. no 

Sir And. Faith, I '11 home to-morrow, Sir Toby : 
your niece will not be seen ; or if she be, it's four 
to one she'll none of me : the count himself here 
hard by woos her. 

Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not 
match above her degree, neither in estate, years, 
nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's 
life in't, man. 

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. lama 
fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I delight 
in masques and revels sometimes altogether. 121 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, 
knight? 

Sir And. As any man in I llyria, whatsoever 
he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I 
will not compare with an old man. 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
knight? 

Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't 130 

Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick 
simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? 
wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? 
are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's 
picture? why dost thou not go to church in a 
galliard and come home in a coranto? My very 
walk should be a jig; I would not so much as 
make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou 
mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did 
think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, 
it was formed under the star of a galliard. 

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indiffe- 
rent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we 
set about some revels? 

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not 
born under Taurus? 

Sir And. Taurus ! That's sides and heart. 

Sir To. No, sir ; it is legs and thighs. Let 
me see thee caper ; ha ! higher : ha, ha ! excel- 
lent ! . [Exeunt. 151 

Scene IV. The Duke's palace. 
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. 

Val. If the duke continue these favours to- 
wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much ad- 



vanced : he hath known you but three days, and 
already you are no stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humour or my negli- 
gence, that you call in question the continuance 
of his love : is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 10 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 

Duke. Stand you a while aloof. Cesario. 
Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her ; 
Be not denied access, stand at her doors, 
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord, 

If she be so abandon' d to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 20 

Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what 
then? 

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith ; 
It shall become thee well to act my woes; 
She will attend it better in thy youth 
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 30 

That say thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
I know thy constellation is right apt 
For this affair. Some four or five attend him ; 
All, if you will; for I myself am best 
When least in company. Prosper well in this, 
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I'll do my best 40 

To woo your lady : [Aside] yet, a barful strife ! 
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. Olivia's house. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast 
been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a 
bristle may enter in way of thy excuse : my lady- 
will hang thee for thy absence. 

Clo. Let her hang me : he that is well hanged 
in this world needs to fear no colours. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer : I can tell thee 
where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.' 

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary? 11 

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold 
to say in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have 
it; and those that are fools, let them use their 
talents. 

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so 



284 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act 1. 



long absent; or, to be turned away, is not that 
as good as a hanging to you? 19 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad 
marriage ; and, for turning away, let summer bear 
it out. 

Mar. You are resolute, then ? 

Clo. Not so, neither ; but I am resolved on two 
points. 

Mar. That if one break, the other will hold ; 
or, if both break, your gaskins fall. 

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy 
way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou 
wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in 
Illyria. 3 1 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here 
comes my lady : make your excuse wisely, you 
were best. [Exit. 

Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good 
fooling ! Those wits, that think they have thee, 
do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I 
lack thee, may pass for a wise man : for what says 
Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish 
wit. ' 40 

Enter Lady Olivia with Malvolio. 
God bless thee, lady ! 

Oli. Take the fool away. 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away 
the lady. 

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool ; I '11 no more of 
you : besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and 
good counsel will amend : for give the dry fool 
drink, then is the fool not dry : bid the dishonest 
man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer 
dishonest ; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. 
Any thing that's mended is but patched : virtue 
that transgresses is but patched with sin ; and sin 
that amends is but patched with virtue. If that 
this simple syllogism will serve, so ; if it will not, 
what remedy ? As there is no true cuckold but 
calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade 
take away the fool ; therefore, I say again, take 
her away. 

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. 60 

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! Lady, 
cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much 
to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good 
madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 

Oli. Can you do it? 

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna. 

Oli. Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna : 
good my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 
bide your proof. 7I 

Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou? 

Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo,. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 

Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for 
your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away 
the fool, gentlemen. 

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? 
doth he not mend? 80 

Mai. Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death 
shake him : infirmity, that decays the wise, doth 
ever make the better fool. 

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for | 



the better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be 
sworn that I am no fox ; but he will not pass his 
word for two pence that you are no fool. 

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? 

Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in 
such a barren rascal : I saw him put down the 
other day with an ordinary fool that has no more 
brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of 
his guard already ; unless you laugh and minister 
occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take 
these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of 
fools,_no better than the fools' zanies. 

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
taste with a distempered appetite. To be gene- 
rous, guiltless and of free disposition, is to take 
those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon- 
bullets : there is no slander in an allowed fool, 
though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in 
a known discreet man, though he do nothingbut 
reprove. 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, 
for thou speakest well of fools ! 

Re-enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young 
gentleman much desires to speak with yo\i. 

Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it ? 

Mar. I know not, madam : 'tis a fair young 
man, and well attended. in 

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks no- 
thing but madman: fie on him ! [Exit Maria.] 
Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, 
I am sick, or not at home ; what you will, to dis- 
miss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, 
how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if 
thy eldest son should be a fool ; whose skull Jove 
cram with brains ! for, — here he comes, — one of 
thy kin has a most weak pia mater. 

Enter Sir Toby. 

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he 
at the gate, cousin ? 

Sir To. A gentleman. 

Oli. A gentleman ! what gentleman ? 

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here — a plague o' 
these pickle-herring ! How now, sot ! 

Clo. Good Sir Toby ! 130 

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so 
early by this lethargy ? 

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's 
one at the gate. 

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he ? 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I 
care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. 

[Exit. 

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? 

Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad 
man : one draught above heat makes him a fool; 
the second mads him ; and a third drowns him. 

Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let 
him sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of 
drink, he's drowned: go, look after him. 

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the 
fool shall look to the madman. [Exit. 



Scene v.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



285 



Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, yond young fellow swears he 
will speak with you. I told him you were sick ; 
he takes on him to understand so much, and there- 
fore comes to speak with you. I told him you 
were asleep ; he seems to have a foreknowledge 
of that too, and therefore comes to speak with 
you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's forti- 
fied against any denial. 

OH. Tell him he shall not speak with me. 

Mai. Has been told so; and he says, he'll 
stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the 
supporter to a bench, but he '11 speak with you. 

( Ui. What kind o' man is he ? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 160 

OH. What manner of man ? 

Mai. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with 
you, will you or no. 

Oli. Of what personage and years is he ? 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 'tis a 
peascod, or a. codling when 'tis almost an apple : 
'tis with him in standing water, between boy and 
man. He is very well-favoured and he speaks 
very shrewishly ; one would think his mother's 
milk were scarce out of him. 171 

OH. Let him approach: call in my gentle- 
woman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. 

Re-enter Maria. 

Oli. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er 
my face. 
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 

Enter Viola, and Attendants. 

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which 
is she? 

OIL Speak to me ; I shall answer for her. 
Your will? 180 

/ 'if. Most radiant, exquisite and unmatch- 
able beauty,— I pray you, tell me if this be the 
lady of the house, for I never saw her : I would 
be loath to cast away my speech, for besides that 
it is excellently well penned, I have taken great 
pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no 
scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least 
sinister usage. 

Oli. Whence came you, sir? 189 

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, 
and that question's out of my part. Good gentle 
one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady 
of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 

Oli. Are you a comedian? 

/ 'to. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the 
very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. 
Are you the lady of the house? 

OH. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

/ r u>. Most certain, if you are she, you do 
usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is 
not yours to reserve. But this is from my com- 
mission : I will on with my speech in your praise, 
and then show you the heart of my message. 

( )H. Come to what is important in 't : I forgive 
you the praise. 

/ 'to. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 
'tis poetical. 



OH. It is the more like to be feigned : I pray 
you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my 
gates, and allowed your approach rather to won- 
der at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, 
be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not 
that time of moon with me to make one in so 
skipping a dialogue. 

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your 
way. 

/ ~io. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a 
little longer. Some mollification for your giant, 
sweet lady. Tell me your mind : I am a mes- 
senger. 220 

( V*. Sure, you have some hideous matter to 
deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. 
Speak your office. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
overture of war, no taxation of homage : I hold 
the olive in my hand ; my words are as full of 
peace as matter. 

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? 
what would you? 229 

/ 'to. The rudeness that hath appeared in me 
have I learned from my entertainment. What I 
am, and what I would, are as secret as 1 
head ; to your ears, divinity, to any other's, pro- 
fanation. 

Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear 
this divinity. [Exeunt Maria and Attendants.] 
Now, sir, what is your text? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, — 

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may 
be said of it. Where lies your text? 240 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

Oli. In his bosom! In what chapter of his 
bosom? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of 
his heart. 

Oli. O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have 
you no more to say ? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord 
to negotiate with my face? You are now out of 
your text : but we will draw the curtain and show 
you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one I was 
this present: is 't not well done? [Unveiling. 

I 'io. Excellently done, if God did all. 

OH. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and 
weather. 

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and 
white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: 
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, 
If you will lead these graces to the grave 260 
And leave the world no copy. 

OIL O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted : I 
will give out divers schedules of my beauty : it 
shall be inventoried, and every particle and uten- 
sil labelled to my will : as, item, two lips, indifferent 
red ; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them ; 
item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you 
sent hither to praise me? 

Vio. I see you what you are, you are too 
proud ; 
Rut, if you were the devil, you are fair. 270 

.My lord and master loves you: O, such love 
Could be but recompensed, though you were 

crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 



286 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act ii. 



OIL How does he love me? 

Vio. With adorations, fertile tears, 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

OH. Your lord does know my mind ; I cannot 
love him : 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant; 
And in dimension and the shape of nature _ 280 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
In your denial I would find no sense ; 
I would not understand it. 

OH. Why, what would you? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills 291 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out ' Olivia ! ' O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth, 
But you should pity me ! * 

OIL You might do much. 

What is your parentage? 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman. 

Oil. Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 300 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your 
purse : 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love ; 
And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
Placed in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. 

{Exit. 

OIL ' What is your parentage ? ' 
'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art ; 310 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and 

spirit, 
Do give thee five-fold blazon: not "too fast: soft, 

soft! 
Unless the master were the man. How now ! 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? 
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections 
With an invisible and subtle stealth 
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. 
What ho, Malvolio ! 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

OIL Run after that same peevish messenger, 
The county's man : he left this ring behind him, 
Would I or not: tell him I'll none of it. 321 

Desire him not to flatter with his lord, 
Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him : 
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
I'll give him reasons for't : hie thee, Malvolio. 
. Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

OIL I do I know not what, and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe ; 
What is decreed must be, and be this so. [Exit. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. The sea-coast. 

Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you 
not that I go with you? 

Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine 
darkly over me : the malignancy of my fate might 
perhaps distemper yours ; therefore I shall crave 
of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone : 
it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay 
any of them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are 
bound. 10 

Seb. No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage 
is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so 
excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not 
extort from me what 1 am willing to keep in; 
therefore it charges me in manners the rather to 
express myself. You must know of me then, An- 
tonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rode- 
rigo. My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, 
whom I know you have heard of. He left behind 
him myself and a sister, both born in an hour: if 
the heavens had been pleased, would we had so 
ended ! but you, sir, altered that ; for some hour 
before you took me from the breach of the sea 
was my sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas the day ! 

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much 
resembled me, was yet of many accounted beau- 
tiful: but, though I could not with such estimable 
wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will 
boldly publish her; she bore a mind that envy 
could not but call fair. She is drowned already, 
sir, with salt water, though J seem to drown her 
remembrance again with more. 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 

Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, 
let me be your servant. 

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire 
it not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full 
of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of 
my mother, that upon the least occasion more 
mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to 
the Count Orsino's court: farewell. [Exit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with 
- thee! 
I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
Else would I very shortly see thee there. 
But, come what may, I do adore thee so, 
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 49 

[Exit. 

Scene II. A street. 
Enter Viola, Malvolio following. 

Mai. Were not you even now with the Countess 
Olivia? 

Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I 
have since arrived but hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir: you 
might have saved me my pains, to have taken it 
away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you 
should put your lord into a desperate assurance 
she will none of him : and one thing more, that 



Scene ii.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



287 



i you be never so hardy to come again in his af- 
! fairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of 
; this. Receive it so. 

Vio. She took the ring of me : I '11 none of it. 
Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to 

her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if 

! it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; 

j if not, be it his that finds it. ( Exit. 

Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this 

lady? 

Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her ! 
t She made good view of me ; indeed, so much, 20 
I That suremethought her eyes had lost her tongue, 
' For she did speak in starts distractedly. 

She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 

Invites me in this churlish messenger. 

None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 

I am the man : if it be so, as 'tis, 

Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 

Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 

Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 

How easy is it for the proper-false 30 

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ! 

For such as we are made of, such we be. 

How will this fadge ? my master loves her dearly ; 

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; 

And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 

What will become of this? As I am man, 

My state is desperate for my master's love ; 

As I am woman, — now alas the day ! — 

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! 

time ! thou must untangle this, not I ; 41 
It is too hard a knot for me to untie ! [Exit. 

Scene III. Olivia's house. 
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. 
Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew : not to be a-bed 
after midnight is to be up betimes ; and ' diluculo 
surgere,' thou know'st, — 

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but 

1 know, to be up late is to be up late. 

Sir To. A false conclusion : I hate it as 'an 
unfilled can. To be up after midnight and to go 
to bed then, is early : so that to go to bed after 
midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our 
life consist of the four elements? 10 

Sir And. Faith, so they say; but I think it 
rather consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat 
and drink, Marian, I say ! a stoup of wine ! 



[Enter Clown. 
Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. 
Clo. How now, my hearts! did you never 
: see the picture of ' we three ' ? 

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. 
Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excel- 
: lent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I 
had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as 
the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious 
fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogro- 
mitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of 
Queubus : 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee 
sixpence for thy leman : hadst it? 

Clo. I did impeticcsthygratillity ; forMalvolio's 
nose is no whipstock : my lady has a white hand, 
and the Myrmidons are no bottle-a!e houses. 



Sir And. Excellent! why, this is the best 
fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. 31 

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you : 
let's have a song. 

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one 
knight give a — 

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song 
of good life ? 

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
Sir And. Ay, ay: I care not for good life. 
Clo. [Sings] 
O mistress mine, where are you roaming? 40 
O, stay and hear ; your true love's coming, 

That can sing both high and low : 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
Journeys end in lovers meeting, 
Every wise man's son doth know. 
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. 
Sir To. Good, good. 
Clo. [Sings] 

What is love ? 'tis not hereafter : 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What's to come is still unsure : 50 

In delay there lies no plenty ; 
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, 
Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true 
knight. 

Sir To. A contagious breath. 
Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. 
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in 
contagion. But shall we make the welkin d.mce 
indeed? shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch 
that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall 
we do that ? 

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am 
dog at a catch. 

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 
Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, 
'Thou knave.' 

Clo. ' Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? 
I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, 
knight. 70 

Sir A?id. 'Tis not the first time I have con- 
strained one to call me knave. Begin, fool : it 
begins ' Hold thy peace.' 

Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. 
Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin. 

[Catch sung. 

Enter Maria. 

Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here ! 
If my lady have not called up her steward Mal- 
volio and bid him turn you out of doors, never 
trust me. 79 

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politi- 
cians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and ' Three 
merry men be we.' Am not I consanguineous? 
am I not of her blood? Tillyvally. Lady! [Sings] 
' There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady !' 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable 
fooling. 

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he he 
disposed, and so do I too: he does it with abetter 
grace, but I do it more natural. 

Sir To. [Sings] * O, the twelfth day of De- 
cember,' — 91 

Mar. For the love o' God, peace ! 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act ii. 



Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are 
you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, 
but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? 
Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that 
ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any 
mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect 
of place, persons, nor time in you ? 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
Sneck up ! 101 

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours 
you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your 
disorders. If you can separate yourself and your 
misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house ; 
if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, 
she is very willing to bid you farewell. 

Sir To. ' Farewell, dear heart, since I must 
needs be gone.' no 

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. 

Clo. ' His eyes do show his days are almost 
done.' 

Mai. Is't even so? 

Sir To. ' But I will never die.' 

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 

Mai. This is much credit to you. 

Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go?' 

Clo. ' What an if you do ? ' 

Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go, and spare not? ' j 

Clo. ' O no, no, no, no, you dare not.' 121 ! 

Sir To. Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any 
more than a steward ? Dost thou think, because 
thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes 
and ale ? 

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be 
hot i' the mouth too. 

Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub 
your chain with crums. A stoup of wine, Maria ! 

Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's 

j favour at any thing more than contempt, you 

would not give means for this uncivil rule : she 

shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit. 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 

Sir A nd. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink 
when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the 
field, and then to break promise with him and 
make a fool of him. 

Sir To. Do't, knight: I'll write thee a 
challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him 
by word of mouth. _ 141 

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night : 
since the youth of the count's was to-day with my 
lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur 
Malvolio, let me alone with him : if I do not gull 
him into a nayword, and make him a common re- 
creation, do not think I have wit enough to lie 
straight in my bed : I know I can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us some- 
thing of him. 150 

Mar. Marty, sir, sometimes he is a kind of 
puritan. 

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'ld beat him 
like a dog ! 

Sir To. What, for being a puritan? thy ex- 
quisite reason, dear knight? 

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but 
I have reason good enough. 

Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any 
thing constandy, butatime-pleaser ; an affeclioned 



ass, that cons state without book and utters it by 
great swarths : the best persuaded of himself, so 
crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it 
is his grounds of faith that all that look on him 
love him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge 
find notable cause to work. 

Sir To. What wilt thou do? 

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure 
epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his 
beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his 
gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and 
complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly 
personated. I can write very like my lady your 
niece : on a forgotten matter we can hardly make 
distinction of our hands. 

Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 

Sir And. I have 't in my nose too. 

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that 
thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, 
and that she's in love with him. 180 

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that 
colour. 

Sir And. And your horse now would make 
him an ass. 

Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable ! 

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know my 
physic will work with him. I will plant you two, 
and let the fool make a third, where he shall find 
the letter : observe his construction of it. For 
this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Fare- 
well. [Exit. 

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one 
that adores me : what o' that ? 

Sir A nd. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst 
need send for more money. 

Sir A nd. If I cannot recover your niece, I am 
a foul way out. 201 

Sir To. Send for money, knight: if thou hast 
her not i' the end, call me cut. 

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it 
how you will. 

Sir To. Come, come, I '11 go burn some sack ; 
'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight ; 
come, knight. [Exetmt. 



Scene IV. 



Duke's palace. 



Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Duke. Give me some music. Now, good 
morrow, friends. 
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
That old and antique song we heard last night : 
Methought it did relieve my passion much, 
More than light airs and recollected terms 
Of these most brisk and giddy -paced times : 
Come, but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, 
that should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it ? 10 

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that 
the lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He 
is about the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the 
while. [Exit Curio. Mitsic plays. 

Come hither, boy : if ever thou shalt love, 



Scene iv.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OK, WHAT YOU WILL. 



289 



In the sweet pangs of it remember me ; 
For such as I am all true lovers are, 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
Save in the constant image of the creature 
That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune? 
/ 'io. It gives a very echo to the seat 21 

Where Love is throned. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves: 
Hath it not, boy? 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Dicke. What kind of woman is't? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What 
years, i' faith? 

Vio. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven : let still the woman 
take 30 

An elder than herself; so wears she to him, 
So sways she level m her husband's heart: 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and \Vorn, 
Than women's are. 

Vio. I think it well, my lord. 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than 
thyself, 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent ; 
For women are as roses, whose fair flower 
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 40 

/ 'io. And so they are : alas, that they are so ; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 

Re-enter Curio and CLOWN. 
Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last 
night. 
Mark it. Cesario, it is old and plain ; 
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun 
And the free maids that weave their thread with 

bones 
Do use to chant it : it is silly sooth, 
\nd dallies with the innocence of love, 
Like the old age. 
Clo. Are you ready, sir? 50 

Duke. Ay ; prithee, sing. [.Music. 

Song. 
do. Come away, come away, death, 

And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
Fly away, fly away, breath ; 

I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it ! 
My part of death, no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 60 

On my black coffin let there be strown ; 
Not a friend, not a friend greet 

My poor corpse, where my bones shall 
be thrown : 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O, where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there ! 

Duke. There's for thy pains. 
Clo. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, 
r. 70 



Duke. I '11 pay thy pleasure then. 
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
time or another. 

Puke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 
Clo. Now, the melancholy god proteel thee ; 
and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable 
taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would 
have men of such constancy put to sea, that 
their business might be every thing and their 
intent every where; for that's it that always 
makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. 81 

.{Exit. 
Duke. Let all the rest give place. 

[Curio and Attendants retire. 
Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty : 
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems 
That nature pranks her in attracts my soul. 
/ ~it>. But if she cannot love you, sir? .. 

Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 
Vio. Sooth, but you must. 

Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ; 
You tell her so ; must she not then be answered? 

Duke. There is no woman's sides 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart ; no woman's heart 
So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite, 100 

No motion of the liver, but the palate, 
That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
And can digest as much : make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know — 

Duke. What dost thou know? 
I 'io. Too well what love women to men may 
owe: 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter loved a man, no 

As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 
Duke. And what's her history? 

Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her 
love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought, 
And with a green and yellow melancholy 
She sat like patience on a monument, 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? 
We men may say more, swear more: but in- 
deed 
Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
Much in our vows, but little in our love. 121 

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy'.'' 
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's 
house, 
And all the brothers too : and yet I know not. 
Sir, shall I to this lady? 

Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 

To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. 

[Exeunt 



19 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act ii. 



Scene V. Olivia's garden. 
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I 'II come : if I lose a scruple of 
this sport, let me be boiled to death with melan- 
choly. 

Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the 
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some not- 
able shame? 

Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he brought 
me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-bait- 
ing here. 10 

Sir To. To anger him we'll have the bear 
again ; and we will fool him black and blue : shall 
we not, Sir Andrew? 

Sir And. An we do- not, it is pity of our 
lives. 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. 

Enter Maria. 
How now, my metal of India ! 

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Mal- 
volio's coming down this walk: he has been 
yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to his own 
shadow this half hour : observe him, for the love 
of mockery ; for I know this letter will make a 
contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name 
of jesting ! Lie thou there [throws dozvn a let- 
ter] ; for here comes the trout that must be caugh t 
with tickling. [Exit. 

. Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria 
once told me she did affect me : and I have heard 
herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
should be one of my complexion. Besides, she 
uses me with a more exalted respect than any 
one else that follows her. What should I think 
on't? 

Sir To. Here 's an overweening rogue ! 

Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare 
turkey-cock of him: how he jets under his ad- 
vanced plumes ! 

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue ! 

Sir To. Peace, I say. 

Mai. To be Count Malvolio I 40 

Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, peace ! 

Mai. There is example for't ; the lady of the 
Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! 

Fab. O, peace ! now he s deeply in : look how 
imagination blows him. 

Mai. Having been three months married to 
her, sitting in my state, — 50 

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the 
eye! 

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my 
branched velvet gown ; having come from a day- 
bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping, — 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone !' 

Fab. O, peace, peace ! 

Mai. And then to have the humour of state ; 
and after a demure travel of regard, telling them 
I know my place as I would they should do theirs, 
to ask for my kinsman Toby, — 61 



Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 

Fab. O peace, peace, peace ! now, now. 

Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient 
start, make out for him : I frown the while ; and 
perchance wind up my watch, or play with my — 
some rich jewel. Toby approaches; courtesies 
there to me, — 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live? 

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us 
with cars, yet peace. 71 

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quench- 
ing my familiar smile with an austere regard of 
control, — 

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow 
o' the lips then? 

Mai. Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes 
having cast me on your niece give me this pre- 
rogative of speech,' — 

Sir To. What, what? 80 

Mai. 'You must amend your drunkenness.' 

Sir To. Out, scab ! 

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews 
of our plot. 

Mai. ' Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
time with a foolish knight,' — 

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. 

Mai. 'One Sir Andrew,' — 

Sir And. I knew 'twas I ; for many do call 
me fool. 90 

Mai. What employment have we here? 

[ Taking up the letter. 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 

Sir To* O, peace ! and the spirit of humours 
intimate reading aloud to him ! 

Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : 
these be her very C's, her U's and her T's; and 
thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt 
of question, her hand. 

Sir And. Her C's, her U's and her T's : why 
that? 100 

Mai. [Reads] ' To the unknown beloved, this, 
and my good wishes:' — her very phrases! By 
your leave, wax. Soft ! and the impressure her 
Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my 
lady. To whom should this be ? 

Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 

Mai. [Reads'] 

Jove knows I love: 

But who? 
Lips, do not move ; 
No man must know. no 

'No man must know.' What follows? the num- 
bers altered! 'No man must know:' if this 
should be thee, Malvolio? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! 

Mai. [Reads] 

I may command where I adore ; 
But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 

With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore : 
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. 

Fab. A fustian riddle ! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 120 

Mai. 'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, 
but first, let me see, let me see, let me see. 

Fab. What dish o' poison has she dressed him ! 

Sir To. And with what wing the staniel 
checks at it ! 

Mai. ' I may command where I adore.' Why, 
she may command me : I serve her ; she is my 



Scene v.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



291 



lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capac- 
ity ; there is no obstruction in this : and the 
end, — what should that alphabetical position por- 
tend? If I could make that resemble something 
in me,— Softly ! M, O, A, I,— 

Sir To. O, ay, make up that : he is now at a 
cold scent. 

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, 
though it be as rank as a fox. 

Mai. M,— Majvolio; M,— why, that begins 
my name. 

Fab. Did not I say he would work it out? the 
cur is excellent at faults. 140 

Mai. M, — but then there is no consonancy in 
the sequel ; that suffers under probation : A 
should follow, but O does. 
Fab. And O shall end, I hope. 
Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make 
him cry O ! 

Mai. And then I comes behind. 
Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, 
you might see more detraction at your heels than 
fortunes before you. 150 

Mai. M, O, A, I ; this simulation is not as 
the former : and yet, to crush this a little, it 
would bow to me, for every one of these letters 
are in my name. Soft! here follows prose. 
[Reads] 'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In 
my stars I am above thee ; but be not afraid of 
greatness: some are born great, some achieve 
greatness and some have greatness thrust upon 
'em. Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood 
and spirit embrace them ; and, to inure thyself to 
what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough 
and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, 
surly with servants ; let thy tongue tang argu- 
ments of state ; put thyself into the trick of sin- 
gularity : she thus advises thee that sighs for thee. 
Remember who commended thy yellow stock- 
ings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered : 
I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou 
desirest to be so ; if not, let me see thee a stew- 
ard still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy 
tu touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that 
would alter services with thee, 

The Fortunate-Unhappy.' 
Daylight and champain discovers not more : this 
is open. I will be proud, I will read politic 
authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off 
gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the 
very man. I do not now fool myself, to let ima- 
gination jade me; for every reason excites to 
this, that my lady loves me. She did commend 
my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my 
leg being cross-gartered ; and in this she mani- 
fests herself to my love, and with a kind of in- 
junction drives me to these habits of her liking. 
I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, 
stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, 
even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and 
my stars be praised ! Here is yet a postscript. 
[Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I 
am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear 
in thy smiling ; thy smiles become thee well ; 
therefore in my presence still smile, dear my 
sweet, I prithee.' 

Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do 

everything that thou wilt have me. [Exit. 

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for 



a pension of thousands to be paid from the 
Sophy. 

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this 
device. 

Sir And. So could I too. 200 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her 
but such another jest. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 

Re-enter Maria. 

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? 

Sir And. Or o' mine either? 

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 
and become thy bond-slave ? 

Sir And. V faith, or I either? 209 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a 
dream, that when the image of it leaves him he 
must run mad. 

Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon 
him? 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitse with a midwife. 

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the 
sport, mark his first approach before my lady : he 
will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a 
colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion 
she detests ; and he will smile upon her, which 
will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, 
being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that 
it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. 
If you will see it, follow me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most 
excellent devil of wit ! 

Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Olivia's garden. 

Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : dost 
thou live by thy tabor? 

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 

Clo. No such matter, sir : I do live by the 
church ; for I do live at my house, and my house 
doth stand by the church. 

Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a 
beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or, the 
church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by 
the church. n 

Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age ! A 
sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: 
how quickly the wrong side may be turned out- 
ward ! 

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally 
nicely with words may quickly make them 
wanton. 

Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had 
no name, sir. 20 

Vio. Why, man? 

Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to 
dally with that word might make my sister wan- 
ton. But indeed words are very rascals since 
bonds disgraced them. 

Vio. Thy reason, man? 

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
words; and words are grown so false, I am loath , 
to prove reason with them. 



i«;-2 



2Q2 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act hi. 



Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and 
carest for nothing. 31 

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something ; but 
in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you : if 
that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would 
make you invisible. 

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? 

Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the Lady Olivia has no 
folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be mar- 
ried ; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards 
are to herrings ; the husband 's the bigger : I am 
indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. 

Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. 

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb 
like the sun, it shines every where. I would be 
sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your 
master as with my mistress : I think I saw your 
wisdom there. 

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no 
more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. 

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of 
hair, send thee a beard ! 51 

Vio. By my troth, I '11 tell thee, I am almost 
sick for one ; [A side] though I would not have it 
grow on my chin. Is thy lady within ? 

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? 

Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to 
use. 

Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, 
sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 

Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged. 

Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, 
begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. 
My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them 
whence you come ; who you are and what you 
would are outof my welkin, I might say'element,' 
but the word is over-worn. [Exit. 

Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the 
fool; 
And to do that well craves a kind of wit : 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
The quality of persons, and the time, 70 

And, like the haggard, check at every feather 
That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
As full of labour as a wise man's art : 
For folly that he wisely shows is fit ; 
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. 

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 

Vio. Et vous aussi ; votre serviteur. 

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am 
yours. 81 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my 
niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade 
be to her. 

Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir ; I mean, 
she is the list of my voyage. 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir; put them to mo- 
tion. 

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, 
than I understand what you mean by bidding me 
taste my legs. 91 

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. 

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance. 
But we are prevented. 



Enter Olivia and Maria. 
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens 
rain odours on you ! 

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain 
odours;' well. 

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to 
your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. 100 

Sir And. 'Odours,' ' pregnant ' and 'vouch- 
safed :' I'll get 'em all three all ready. 

OH. Let the garden door be shut, and leave 
me to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir An- 
drezu, a7id Maria.] Give me your hand, sir. 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble ser- 
vice. 

Oli. What is your name ? 

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair prin- 
cess. 

Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world 
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : no 
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth. 

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be 
yours : 
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his 
thoughts, 
Would they were blanks, rather than nll'd with 
me ! 

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle 
thoughts 
On his behalf. 

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you, 

I bade you never speak again of him : 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you to solicit that 120 

Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, — 

Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you : so did I abuse 
Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you: 
Under your hard construction must I sit, 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, 
Which you knew none of yours : what might you 

think? 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 130 
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your 

receiving 
Enough is shown : a cypress, not a bosom, 
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak. 

Vio. I pity you. 

Oli. That's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a grize ; for 'tis a vulgar proof, 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, meihinks 'tis time to smile 
again. 
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
If one should be a prey, how much the better 
To fall before the lion than the wolf! 140 

[Clock strikes. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. 
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
Your wife is like to reap a proper man : 
There lies your way, due west. 

Vio. Then westv/ard-ho ! Grace and good dis- 
position 
Attend your ladyship ! 
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? 



Scene i.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 






Oli. Stay: 
I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me. 150 

/ 'io. That you do think you are not what you 
are. 

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

/ 'io. Then think you right : I am not what I 
am. 

Oli. I would you were as I would have you he ! 

J'io. Would it be better, madam, than 1 am? 
1 wish it might, for now I am your fool. 

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid : love's night is 
noon. * 160 

Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 
By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing, 
1 love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, 
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause ; 
But rather reason thus with reason fetter, 
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. 

/ 'io. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom and one truth, 170 
And that no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam : never more 
Will 1 my master's tears to you deplore. 

Oli. Yet come again ; for thou perhaps mayst 
move 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Olivia's house. 

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 

Sir And. No, faith, I '11 not stay a jot longer. 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy 
reason. 

Fab. You must needs yield your reason, Sir 
Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more 
favours to the count's serving-man than ever she 
bestowed upon me ; I saw 't i' the orchard. 

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? 
tell me that. 10 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
toward you. 

Sir And. 'Slight, will you make an ass o' me? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the 
oaths of judgement and reason. 

Sir To. And they have been grand-jurymen 
since before Noah was a sailor. 

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in 
your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your 
dormouse valour, to put lire in your heart, and 
brimstone in your liver. You should then have 
accosted her ; and with some excellent jests, fire- 
new from the mint, you should have banged the 
youth into dumbness. This was looked for at 
your hand, and this was balked : the double gilt 
bf this opportunity you let time wash off, and you 
are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; 
where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutch- 
man's beard, unless you do redeem it by some 
laudable attempt either of valour or policy. 31 

Sir And. An't be any way, it must be with 



valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a 
Brownist as a politician. 

Sir To. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon 
the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's 
youth to fight with him ; hurt him in eleven places : 
my niece shall take note of it; and assure thy- 
self, there is no love-broker in the world can 
more prevail in man's commendation with woman 
than report of valour. 41 

Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a chal- 
lenge to him? 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be 
curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be 
eloquent and full of invention : taunt him with the 
license of ink : if thou thou'st him some thrice, it 
shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in 
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big 
enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em 
down : go, about it. Let there be gall enough in 
thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no 
matter : about it. 

Sir And. Where shall I find you? 

Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go. 
[Exit Sir Andrew. 

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, some 
two thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: 
but you'll not deliver 't? 61 

Sir To. Never trust me, then; and by all 
means stir on the youth to an answer. I think 
oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. 
For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so 
much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a 
flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in 
his visage no great presage of cruelty. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of 
nine comes. 71 

Alar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull 
Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for 
there is no Christian, that means to be saved 
by believing rightly, can ever believe such im- 
possible passages of grossness. He's in yellow 
stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered? 79 

Liar. Most villanously; like a pedant that 
keeps a school i' the church. I have dogged 
him, like his murderer. He does obey every 
point of the letter that I dropped to betray him : 
he does smile his face into more lines than is 
in the new map with the augmentation of the 
Indies: you have not seen such a thing as 'tis. 
I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I 
know my lady will strike him: if she do, he'll 
smile and take't for a great favour. 

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 
[Exeunt. 90 

Scene III. A street. 
Enter Sebastian and Antonio. 

Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you : 
Hut, since y<ui make your pleasure of your pains, 
1 will no further chide you. 



294 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act hi. 



Ant. I could not stay behind you : my desire, 
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; 
And not all love to see you, though so much 
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, 
But jealousy what might befall your travel, 
Being skilless in these parts ; which to a stranger, 
Unguided and unfriended, often prove 10 

Rough and unhospitable : my willing love, 
The rather by these arguments of fear, 
Set forth in your pursuit. 

Seb. My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make but thanks, 

t And thanks ; and ever oft good turns 

Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay : 
But, were my worth as is my conscience firm, 
You should find better dealing. What's to do? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this town? 

Ant. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your 
lodging. 20 

Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night : 
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
With the memorials and the things of fame 
That do renown this city. 

Ant. Would you 'Id pardon me; 

I do not without danger walk these streets : 
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his galleys 
I did some service ; of such note indeed, 
That were I ta'en here it would scarce be 
answer'd. 

Seb. Belike you slew great number of his 
people. 

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody 
nature ; 30 

Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel 
Might well have given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them ; which, for traffic's sake, 
Most of our city did : only myself stood out ; 
For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 
I shall pay dear. 

Seb. Do not then walk too open. 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's 
my purse. 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, 40 

Whiles you, beguile the time and feed your 

knowledge 
With viewing of the town: there shall you 
have me. 

Seb. Why I your purse ? 

Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy 
You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 

Seb. I '11 be your purse-bearer and leave you 
For an hour. 

Ant. To the Elephant. 

Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Olivia's garden. 
Enter Olivia and Maria. 
Oli. I have sent after him : he says he'll come; 
How shall I feast him? what bestow of him? 
For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or 

borrow'd. 
I speak too loud. 

Where is Malvolio? he is sad and civil, 
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes: 
Where is Malvolio? 



Mar. He's coming, madam; but in very 
strange manner. He is, sure, possessed, madam. 

Oli. Why, what's the matter? does he rave? 

Mar. No, madam, he does nothing but smile : 
your ladyship were best to have some guard 
about you, if he come; for, sure, the man is 
tainted in's wits. 

Oli. Go call him hither. [Exit Maria.] I 
am as mad as he, 
If sad and merry madness equal be. 

Re-enter Maria, with Malvolio. 
How now, Malvolio ! 

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 

Oli. Smilest thou ? 
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. co 

Mai. Sad, lady ! I could be sad : this does 
make some obstruction in the blood, this cross- 
gartering; but what of that? if it please the eye 
of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is, 
'Please one, and please all.' 

Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the 
matter with thee? 

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow 
in my legs. It did come to his hands, and com- 
mands shall be executed: I think we do know 
the sweet Roman hand. 31 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? 

Mai. To bed! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll come 
to thee. 

Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile 
so and kiss thy hand so oft? 

Mar. How do you, Malvolio? 

Mai. At your request! yes; nightingales 
answer daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous 
boldness before my lady? 41 

Mai. ' Be not afraid of greatness : ' 'twas well 
writ. 

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? 

Mai. ' Some are born great,' — 

Oli. Ha ! 

Mai. ' Some achieve greatness,' — 

Oli. What sayest thou? 

Mai. 'And some have greatness thrust upon 
them.' 50 

Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 

Mai. ' Remember who commended thy yellow 
stockings,' — 

Oli. Thy yellow stockings ! 

Mai. 'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.' 

Oli. Cross-gartered ! 

Mai. ' Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest 
to be so ; ' — 

Oli. Am I made? 59 

Mai. ' If not, let me see th«e a servant still.' 

Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the 
Count Orsino's is returned : I could hardly en- 
treat him back: he attends your ladyship's 
pleasure. 

Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] 
Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. 
Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my 
people have a special care of him : I would not 
have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. 70 
[Exeunt Olivia and Maria. 



Scene iv.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



Mai. O, ho! do you come near me now? no 
worse man than Sir Toby to look to me ! This 
concurs directly with the letter: she sends him 
on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him ; 
for she incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast 
thy humble slough,' says she ; ' be opposite with 
a kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue 
tang with arguments of state; put thyself into 
the trick of singularity;' and consequently sets 
down the manner how ; as, a sad face, a reverend 
carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir 
of note, and so forth. I have limed her; but it is 
Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful ! And 
when she went away now, ' Let this fellow be 
looked to:' fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my 
degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres 
together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of 
a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe 
circumstance — What can be said? Nothing that 
can be can come between me and the full prospect 
of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of 
this, and he is to be thanked. 

Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby and Fabian. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of 
I sanctity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in 
little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll 
speak to him. 

Fab. Here he is, here he is. How is't with 
you, sir? how is't with you, man? 

Mai. Go off ; I discard you : let me enjoy my 
private : go off. 100 

Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within 
him ! did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady 
prays you to have a care of him. 
Mai. Ah, ha ! does she so? 
Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace ; we must 
deal gently with him : let me alone. How do 
you, Malvolio? how is't with you? What, man! 
defy the devil: consider, he's an enemy to man- 
kind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say? no 

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, 
how he takes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not 
bewitched ! 
Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 
Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow 
morning, if I live. My lady would not lose him 
for more than I'll say. 

Mai. How now, mistress ! 
Mar. O Lord ! 

Sir To. Prithee, hold thy peace; this is not 

the way : do you not see you move him ? let me 

| alone with him. 122 

Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : 

I the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 

Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock! how 

I dost thou, chuck? 

; Mai. Sir ! 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, 

! man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit 

' with Satan : hang him, foul collier ! 130 

Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir 

Toby, get him to pray. 

j Mai. My prayers, minx 1 

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of 
i godliness. 
, Mai. Go. hang yourselves all ! you are idie 



shallow things: I am not of your element: you 
shall know more hereafter. [Exit. 

Sir To. Is't possible? 

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I 
could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 141 

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the in- 
fection of the device, man. 

Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device 
take air and taint. 

Fab. Why, we shall make him mad indeed. 

Mar. The house will be the quieter. 

Sir To.- Come, we'll have him in a dark room 
and bound. My niece is already in the belief 
that he's mad : we may carry it thus, for our 
pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, 
tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on 
him : at which time we will bring the device to 
the bar and crown thee for a finder of madmen. 
But see, but see. 

Enter Sir Andrew. 

Fab. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it: I 
warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't. 

Fab. Is't so saucy? 

Sir And. Ay, is't, I warrant him: do but 
read. x 6i 

Sir To. Give me. [Reads'} 'Youth, what- 
soever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.' 

Fab. Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. [Reads} 'Wonder not, nor admire not 
in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show 
thee no reason for't.' 

Fab. A good note ; that keeps you from the 
blow of the law. ^9 

Sir To. [Reads'] 'Thou comest to the lady 
Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly: 
but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter 
I challenge thee for.' 

Fab. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense 
—less. 

Sir To. [Reads] ' I will waylay thee going 
home; where if it be thy chance to kill me,' — 

Fab. Good. 

Sir To. [Reads] ' Thou killest me like a rogue 
and a villain.' j8o 

Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the 
law: good. 

Sir To. [Reads] 'Fare thee well; and God ; 
have mercy upon one of our souls ! He may have 
mercy upon mine ; but my hope is better, and so 
look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, 
and thy sworn enemy, Andrew Aguecheek.' 
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: I'll 
give't him. 

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't : 
he is now in some commerce with my lady, and 
will by and by depart. 

Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew ; scout me for him 
at the corner of the orchard like a bum-baily : so 
soon as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as thou ! 
drawest, swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft 
that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent 
sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approb- 
ation than ever proof itself would have earned 
him. Away ! 200 

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. 

[Exit. 

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for 



296 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act m. 



[ the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him 

! out to be of good capacity and breeding; his em- 

! ployment between his lord and my niece confirms 

no less : therefore this letter, being so excellently 

ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth : he 

i will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I 

will deliver his challenge by word of mouth ; set 

upon Aguecheek a notable report of valour ; and 

drive the gentleman, as I know his youth will 

: aptly receive it, into a most hideous opinion of 

i his rage, skill, fury and impetuosity. This will 

so fright them both that they will kill one another 

! by the look, like cockatrices. 

Re-enter Olivia, with Viola. 
Fab. Here he comes with your niece : give 
them way till he take leave, and presently after 
j him. 

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some 
| horrid message for a challenge. 220 

{Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. 
OH. I have said too much unto a heart of 
stone 
j And laid mine honour too unchary out : 
j There's something in me that reproves my fault; 
j But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
That it but mocks reproof. 

Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion 
bears 
Goes on my master's grief. 

OIL Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my 
picture ; 
Refuse it not ; it hath no tongue to vex you ; 
And I beseech you come again to-morrow. 230 
What shall you ask of me that I '11 deny, 
That honour saved may upon asking give? 

Vio. Nothing but this; your true love for my 

master. 
OH. How with mine honour may I give him 
that 
I Which I have given to you ? 

Vio. I will acquit you. 

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee 
well: 
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Sir Toby and Fabian. 
Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 
Vio. And you, sir. 239 

Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee 
j to't: of what nature the wrongs are thou hast 
: done him, I know not ; but thy intercepter, full of 
'■ despite, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the 
orchard-end : dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy 
I preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful and 
deadly. 

Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man 
hath any quarrel to me : my remembrance is very 
free and clear from any image of offence done to 
any man. 250 

Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you : 
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, be- 
take you to your guard ; for your opposite hath 
in him what youth, strength, skill and wrath can 
furnish man withal. 

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he? 
Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhatched 
rapier and on carpet consideration ; but he is a 



devil in private brawl : souls and bodies hath he 
divorced three ; and his incensement at this mo- 
ment is so implacable, that satisfaction can be 
none but by pangs of death and sepulchre. Hob, 
nob, is his word; give't or take't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house and 
desire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. 
I have heard of some kind of men that put quar- 
rels purposely on others, to taste their valour: 
belike this is a man of that quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself 
out of a very competent injury : therefore, get 
you on and give him his desire. Back you shall 
not to the house, unless you undertake that with 
me which with as much safety you might answer 
him: therefore, on, or strip your sword stark 
naked; for meddle you must, that's certain, or 
forswear to wear iron about you. 

Vio. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech 
you, do me this courteous office, as to know of 
the knight what my offence to him is : it is some- 
thing of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. 

Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay 
you by this gentleman till my return. [Exit. 

"Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this 
matter? 

Fab. I know the knight is incensed against 
you, even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing 
of the circumstance more. 

Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is 
he? 289 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to 
read him by his form, as you are like to find him 
in the proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the 
most skilful, bloody and fatal opposite that you 
could possibly have found in any part of Ulyria. 
Will you walk towards him? I will make your 
peace with him if I can. 

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I 
am one that had rather go with sir priest than sir 
knight : I care not who knows so much of my 
mettle. [Exeunt. 300 

Re-enter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have 
not seen such a firago. I had a pass with him, 
rapier, scabbard and all, and he gives me the stuck 
in with such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable ; 
and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your 
feet hit the ground they step on. They say he 
has been fencer to the Sophy. 

Sir And. Pox on't, I '11 not meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : 
Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 310 

Sir A nd. Plague on 't, an I thought he had 
been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'Id have 
seen him damned ere I 'Id have challenged hiin. 
Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him my 
horse, grey Capilet. 

Sir To. I '11 make the motion : stand here, 
make a good show on 't : this shall end without 
the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, I'll ride 
your horse as well as I ride you. 319 

Re-enter Fabian and Viola. 

[To Fab.] I have his horse to take up the quar- 
rel : I have persuaded him the youth's a devil. 
Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; and 



Scene iv.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



297 



pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his 
heels. 

Sir To. [To Vio.~\ There's no remedy, sir; 
he will fight with you for's oath sake : marry, he 
hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he 
finds that now scarce to be worth talking of: 
therefore draw, for the supportance of his vow ; 
he protests he will not hurt you. 330 

Vio. [Aside] Pray God defend me ! A little 
thing would make me tell them how much I lack 
of a man. 

Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 

Sir To. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no re- 
medy; the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, 
have one bout with you ; he cannot by the duello 
avoid it : but he has promised me, as he is a gen- 
tleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come 
on; to't. 340 

Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath ! 

/ ~io. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. 

[ TJiey draw. 

Enter Antonio. 
Ant. Put up your sword. If this young gen- 
tleman 
I Have done offence, I take the fault on me : 
i If you offend him, I for him defy you. 

Sir To. You, sir ! why, what are you ? 
Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do 
more 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 

Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am 
for you. [They draw. 350 

Enter Officers. 

Fab. O good Sir Toby, hold ! here come the 
officers. 

Sir To. I '11 be with you anon. 

Vio. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you 
please. 

Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; and, for that I 
promised you, I '11 be as good as my word : he 
will bear you easilv and reins well. 

First Off. This is the man ; do thy office. 

Sec. Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of 
Count Orsino. 361 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 

First Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your fa- 
vour well, 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. 
Take him away : he knows I know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. [To Vio.] This comes 
with seeking you : 
But there 's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
What will you do, now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse ? It grieves me 
Much more for what I cannot do for you 370 
Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed ; 
But be of comfort. 

Sec. Off. Come, sir, away. 

Ant. I must entreat of you seme of that money. 

Vio. What money, sir? 
For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, 
And, part, being prompted by your present 
trouble, 
1 Out of my lean and low ability 
I I '11 lend you something : my having is not much ; 
I I '11 make division of my present with you : 3S0 
Hold, there's half my coffer. 



Ant. Will you deny me now? 

Is't possible that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, 
Lest that it make me so unsound a man 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
That I have done for you. 

/ ~io. I know of none ; 

Nor know I you by voice or any feature : 
I hate ingratitude more in a man 
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, 
Or any taint of vice wh >se strong corruption 390 
Inhabits our frail blood. 
A >it. O heavens themselves ! 

Sec. Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. 
Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that 
you see here 
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death, 
Relieved him with such sanctity of love, 
And to his image, which methought did promise 
Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
First Off. What's that to us? The time goes 

by : away ! 
Ant. But O how vile an idol proves this god ! 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. 
In nature there's no blemish but the mind ; 401 
None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind : 
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil 
Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil. 
First Off. The man grows mad : away with 

him ! Come, come, sir. 
Ant. Lead me on. [Exit with Officers. 

Vio. Methinks his words do from such pas- 
sion fly, 
That he believes himself: so do not I. 
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true, 
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 410 
Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, 
Fabian : we '11 whisper o'er a couplet or two of 
most sage saws. 

Vio. He named Sebastian : I my brother know 
Yet living in my glass ; even such and so 
In favour was my brother, and he went 
Still in thrs fashion, colour, ornament, 
For him I imitate : O, if it prove, 
Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love. 

[Exit. 
Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and 
more a coward than a hare : his dishonesty ap- 
pears in leaving his friend here in necessity and 
denying him ; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. 
Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, re- 
ligious in it. 

Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat 
him. 

Sir To. Do ; cuff him soundly, but never 
draw thy sword. 

Sir And. An I do not, — [Exit. 430 

Fab. Come, let's see the event. 
Sir To. 1 dare lay any money 'twill be no- 
thing yet. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Before Olivia's house. 

Enter Sebastian and Clown. 

Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not 
sent fur you? 



298 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act iv. 



Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow : 
Let me be clear of thee. 

Clo. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not 
know you ; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, 
to bid you come speak with her ; nor your name 
is not Master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose 
neither. Nothing that is so is so. 

Seb. I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else : 
Thou know'st not me. n 

Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heard that word 
of some great man and now applies it to a fool. 
Vent my folly ! I jam afraid this great lubber, 
the world, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, 
ungird thy strangeness and tell me what I shall 
vent to my lady ; shall I vent to her that thou 
art coming? 

Seb. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me : 
There's money for thee : if you tarry longer, 20 
I shall give worse payment. 

Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. 
These wise men that give fools money get them- 
selves a good report — after fourteen years' pur- 
chase. 
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 

Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? 
there's for you. 

Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and 
there. 
Are all the people mad? 

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger 
o'er the house. 31 

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight : I would 
not be in some of your coats for two pence. {.Exit. 

Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone : I'll go another 
way to work with him ; I '11 have an action of bat- 
tery against him, if there be any law in Illyria : 
though I struck him first, yet it's no matter 
for that. 

Seb. Let go thy hand. 40 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. 
Come, my young soldier, put up your iron : you 
are well fleshed ; come on. 

Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
thou now ? 
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword. 

Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must 
have an ounce or two of this malapert blood 
from you. 

Enter Olivia. 

OIL Hold, Toby ; on thy life I charge thee, 
hold ! 

Sir To. Madam ! 50 

OIL Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, 
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 
Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of my 

sight ! 
Be not offended, dear Cesario. 
Rudesby, be gone ! 

{Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir And?-eiv, and Fabian. 
I prithee, gentle friend, 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, 
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 60 
Mayst smile at this : thou shalt not choose but go : 
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me, 



He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 

Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream ? 
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 

OIL Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst 
be ruled by me ! 

Seb. Madam, I will. 

OIL O, say so, and so be ! {Exeunt. 

Scene II. Olivia's house. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, I prithee, put 011 this gown and 
this beard ; make him believe thou art Sir Topas 
the curate : do it quickly ; I '11 call Sir Toby the 
whilst. {Exit. 

Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
myself in 't; and I would I were the first that 
ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall 
enough to become the function well, nor lean 
enough to be thought a good student ; but to be 
said an honest man and a good housekeeper goes 
as fairly as to say a careful man and a great 
scholar. The competitors enter. 

Enter Sir Toby and Maria. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master Parson. 

Clo. Bonos dies, Sir Toby: for, as the old 
hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 
very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 
'That that is is;' so I, being master Parson, am 
master Parson; for, what is 'that' but 'that,' 
and 'is' but 'is'? 

Sir To. To him, Sir Topas. 20 

Clo. What, ho, I say ! peace in this prison ! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good 
knave. 

Mai. [ Within] Who calls there ? 

Clo. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit 
Malvolio the lunatic. 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, 
go to my lady. 

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou 
this man ! talkest thou nothing but of ladies? 30 

Sir To. Well said, master Parson. 

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged : 
good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad: they 
have laid me here in hideous darkness. 

Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Satan ! I call thee 
by the most modest terms ; for I am one of those 
gentle ones that will use the devil himself with 
courtesy: sayest thou that house is dark? 

Mai. As hell, Sir Topas. 39 

Clo. Why, it hath bay windows transparent 
as barricadoes, and the clearstores toward the 
south north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet 
complainest thou of obstruction? 

Mai. I am not mad, Sir Topas : I say to you, 
this house is dark. 

Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no 
darkness but ignorance ; in which thou art more 
puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. 

Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I 
say, there was never man thus abused. I am no 
more mad than you are : make the trial of it in 
any constant question. 



Scene ii.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



299 



Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras con- 
cerning wild fowl ? 

Mai. That the soul of our grandam might 
haply inhabit a bird. 

Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
approve his opinion. 60 

Clo. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in 
darkness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pytha- 
goras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill 
a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy 
grandam. Fare thee well. 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas ! 

Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas ! 

Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. 

Mar. Thou mightst have done this without 
thy beard and gown : he sees thee not. 70 

Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring 
me word how thou findest him : I would we were 
well rid of this knavery. If he may be con- \ 
veniently delivered, I would he were, for I am 
now so far in offence with my niece that I can- 
not pursue with any safety this sport to the up- 
shot. Come by and by to my chamber. 

[Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria. 

Clo. [Singing] 'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how thy lady does.' 

Mai. Fool ! 80 

Clo. 'My lady is unkind, perdy.' 

Mai. Fool ! 

Clo. 'Alas, why is she so?' 

Mai. Fool, I say ! 

Clo. 'She loves another' — Who calls, ha? 

Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve 
well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, 
ink and paper: as I am a gentleman, I will 
live to be thankful to thee for't. 

Clo. Master Malvolio? 90 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five 
wits? 

Mai. Fool, there was never man so noto- 
riously abused : I am as well in my wits, fool, as 
thou art. 

Clo. But as well? then you are mad indeed, 
if you be no better in your wits than a fool. 

Mai. They have here propertied me ; keep 
me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and 
do all they can to face me out of my wits. 101 

Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister 
is here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the hea- 
vens restore ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave 
thy vain bibble babble. 

Mai. Sir Topas ! 

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. 
Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, good Sir 
Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will 

Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say ! no 

Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? 
I am shent for speaking to you. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to some light and 
some paper: I tell thee, I am as well in my wits 
as any man in Illyria. 

Clo. Well-a-day that you were, sir ! 

Mai. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some 
ink, paper and light ; and convey what I will set 
down to my lady : it shall advantage thee more 
than ever the bearing of letter did. 120 

Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, 



are you not mad indeed? or do you but counter- 
feit? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. 
Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I 
see his brains. I will fetch you light and paper 
and ink. 

Mai. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest de- 
gree : I prithee, be gone. 

Clo. [Singing] I am gone, sir, 130 

And anon, sir, 
I '11 be with you again, 
In a trice, 

Like to the old Vice, 
Your need to sustain; 
Who, with dagger of lath, 
In his rage and his wrath, 

Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: 
Like a mad lad, 

Pare thy nails, dad ; 140 

t Adieu, good man devil. [Exit. 

Scene III. Olivia's garden. 
Enter Sebastian. 

Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun ; 
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't; 
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, 
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then? 
I could not find him at the Elephant : 
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, 
That he did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service ; 
For though my soul disputes well with my sense, 
That this may be some error, but no madness, 10 
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes 
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me 
To any other trust but that I am mad 
Or else the lady's mad: yet, if 'twere so, 
She could not sway her house, command her fol- 
lowers, 
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch 
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing 
As I perceive she does: there's something in 't 20 
That is deceiveable. But here the lady comes. 

Enter Olivia and Priest. 

OIL Blame not this haste of mine. If you 
mean well, 
Now go with me and with this holy man 
Into the chantry by: there, before him, 
And underneath that consecrated roof, 
Plight me the full assurance of your faith; 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
May live at peace. He shall conceal it 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, 
What time we will our celebration keep 30 

According to my birth. What do you say? 
Seb. 1 '11 follow this good man, and go with 
you; 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
Oliv. Then lead the way, good father; and 
heavens so shine, 
That they may fairly note this a<5l of mine ! 

[Exeunt. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[A_CT V. 



ACT V. 
Scene I. Before Olivia's house. 
Enter Clown and Fabian. 
Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his 
letter. 

Clo. Good Master Fabian, grant me another 
request. 

Fab. Any thing. 

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 
Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recom- 
pense desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords. 

Duke. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? 

Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 10 

Duke. I know thee well : how dost thou, my 
good fellow? 

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the 
worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy 
friends. 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be? 

Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an 
ass of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an 
ass : so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the know- 
ledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused : 
so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four 
negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, 
the worse for my friends and the better for my 
foes. 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please 
you to be one of my friends. 

D7ike. Thou shalt not be the worse for me : 
there's gold. 3 1 

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, 
I would you could make it another. 

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for 
this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be 
a double-dealer : there's another. 

Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; 
and the old saying is, the third pays for all : the 
triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the 
bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind ; 
one, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me 
at this throw : if you will let your lady know I am 
here to speak with her, and bring her along with 
you, it may awake my bounty further. 

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I 
come again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you 
to think that my desire of haying is the sin of 
covetousness : but, as you say, sir, let your bounty 
take a nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit. 

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue 



Enter Antonio and Officers. 
Duke. That face of his I do remember well; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd 
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war : 
A bawbling vessel was he captain of, 
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable ; 
With which such scathful grapple did he make 



With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 60 

That very envy and the tongue of loss 

Cried fame and honour on him. What's the 

matter ? 
First Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio 
That took the Phoenix and her fraught from 

Candy ; 
And this is he that did the Tiger board, 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, 
In private brabble did we apprehend him. 

Vio. He did me kindness, sir, drew on 

my side; 
But in conclusion put strange speech upon me: 70 
I know not what 'twas but distraction. 

Dztke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief! 
What foolish boldness brought thee to their 

mercies, 
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 
Hast made thine enemies ? 

Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 

Be pleased that I shake off these names you 

give me : 
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, 
Though I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : 
That most ingrateful boy there by your side, 80 
From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth 
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was: 
His life I gave him and did thereto add 
My love, without retention or restraint, 
All his in dedication ; for his sake 
Did I expose myself, pure for his love, 
Into the danger of this adverse town; 
Drew to defend him when he was beset : 
Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
Not meaning to partake with me in danger, go 
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
And grew a twenty years removed thing 
While one would wink; denied me mine own 

purse, 
Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hour before. 

Vio. How can this be? 

Duke. When came he to this town ? 

Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months 

before, 
No interim, not a minute's vacancy, 
Both day and night did we keep company. 

Enter Olivia and Attendants. 
Duke. Here comes the countess : now heaven 
walks on earth. 100 

But for thee, fellow ; fellow, thy words are mad- 
ness: 
Three months this youth hath tended upon me; 
But more of that anon. Take him aside. 

OIL What would my lord, but that he may 
not have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
Vio. Madam ! 
Duke. Gracious Olivia, — 
OIL What do you say, Cesario? Good my 
lord, — 109 

Vio. My lord would speak ; my duty hushes me. 
OIL If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
As howling after music. 



Scene l] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



3-i 



Duke. Still so cruel? 

Oli. Still so constant, lord. 
Duke. What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfuU'st offerings hath breathed out 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do? 
Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall 

become him. 
Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart 
to do it, 120 

Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, 
Kill what I love? — a savage jealousy 
That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this : 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your 

favour, 
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still ; 
But this your minion, whom I know you love, 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 130 

Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. 
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in 

mischief : 
I '11 sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. 

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

Oli. Where goes Cesario ? 

Vio. After him I love 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. 
If I do feign, you witnesses above 140 

Punish my life for tainting of my love ! 

Oli. Ay me, detested ! how am I beguiled ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you 
wrong? 

Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long? 
Call forth the holy father. 

Duke. Come, away ! 

Oli. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband ! 

Oli. Ay, husband: can he that deny? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ! 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 150 

Fear not, Cesario ; take thy fortunes up ; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
As great as that thou fear'st. 

Enter Priest. 

O, welcome, father ! 
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold, though lately we intended 
To keep in darkness what occasion now 
Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know 
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 160 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 
Strengthen' d by interchangement of your rings; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony: 
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward 

my grave 
I have travell'd but two hours. 
Duke. O thou dissembling cub! what wilt 
thou be 



When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? 170 
Farewell, and take her; but direct; thy feet 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest — 

Oli. O, do not swear ! 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 

Enter Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon! 
Send one presently to Sir Toby. 

OIL What's the matter? 

Sir And. He has broke my head across and 
has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the 
love of God, your help ! I had rather than forty 
pound I were at home. 181 

Oli. Who has done this, Sir Andrew? 

Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: 
we took him for a coward, but he 's the very devil 
incardinate. 

Duke. My gentleman, Cesario? 

Sir And. 'Od's lifelings, here he is ! You 
broke my head for nothing ; and that that I did, 
I was set on to do't by Sir Toby. 

Vio. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt 
you : 190 

You drew your sword upon me without cause ; 
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you 
have hurt me : I think you set nothing by a 
bloody coxcomb. 

Enter Sir Toby and Clown. 
Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear 
more: but if he had not been in drink, he would 
have tickled you othergates than he did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman ! how is't with 
you? 200 

Sir To. That's all one : has hurt me, and 
there's the end on't. Sot, didst see Dick sur- 
geon, sot? 

Clo. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; 
his eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 

Sir To. Then he's a rogue, fand a passy mea- 
sures panyn : I hate a drunken rogue. 

Oli. Away with him ! Who hath made this 
havoc with them? 

Sir And. I'll help you, Sir Toby, because 
we'll be dressed together. 211 

Sir To. Will you help? an ass-head and a 
coxcomb and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull ! 

Oli. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd 

to. [Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby, and 

Sir Andrew. 

Enter Sebastian. 
Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your 
kinsman ; 
But, had it been the brother of my blood. 
I must have done no less with wit and safety. 
Yon throw a strange regard upon me, and by that 
I do perceive it hath offended you : 220 

Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
We made each other but so late ago. 
Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and 
two persons, 
A natural perspective, that is and is not ! 
Seb. Antonio, my dear Antonio ! 



3°2 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act v. 



How have the hours rack'd and tortured me, 
Since I have lost thee ! 
Ant. Sebastian are you? 

Seb. Fear' st thou that, Antonio? 

Ant. How have you made division of your- 
self? 
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 230 

Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? 
OIL Most wonderful ! 

Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a bro- 
ther ; 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature, 
Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd. 
Of charity, what kin are you to me ? 
What countryman? what name? what parentage? 
Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father ; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 240 

So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
You come to fright us. 

Seb. A spirit I am indeed ; 

But am in that dimension grossly clad 
Which from the womb I did participate. 
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, 
And say 'Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola !' 
Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 
Seb. And so had mine. 250 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her 
birth 
Had number'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
He finished indeed his mortal act 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
Do not embrace me till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump 
That I am Viola : which to confirm, 260 

I'll bring. you to a captain in this town, 
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle 

help 
I was preserved to serve this noble count. 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 
Seb. [ To Olivia] So comes it, lady, you have 
been mistook : 
But nature to- her bias drew in that. 
You would have been contracted to a maid; 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived, 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. _ 270 
Duke. Be not amazed; right noble is his 
blood. 
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
T shall have share in this most happy wreck. 
[ To Viola] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand 

times 
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 

Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; 
And all those swearings keep as true- in soul 
As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 

Duke. Give me thy hand ; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 280 
Vio. The captain that did bring me first on 
shore 
Hath my maid's garments : he upon some action 
Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, 



A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

Oli. He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio 
hither: 
And yet, alas, now I remember me, 
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 

Re-enter Clown with a letter, and Fabian. 
A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
From my remembrance clearly banish' d his. 
How does he, sirrah? 290 

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the 
staves's end as well as a man in his case may do : 
has here writ a letter to you ; I should have given 
't you to-day morning, but as a madman's epistles 
are no gospels, so it skills not much when they 
are delivered. 

Oli. Open 't, and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edified when the 
fool delivers the madman. [Reads] ' By the Lord, 
madam,' — 300 

Oli. How now ! art thou mad ? 

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an 
your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you 
must allow Vox. 

Oli. Prithee, read i' thy right wits. 

Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right 
wits is to read thus: therefore perpend, my prin- 
cess, and give ear. 

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [ To Fabian. 

Fab. [Reads] ' By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
me, and the world shall know it : though you 
have put me into darkness and given your drunken 
cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my 
senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own 
letter that induced me to the semblance I put on ; 
with the which I doubt not but to do myself much 
right, or you much shame. Think of me as you 
please. I leave my duty a little unthought of and 
speak out of my injury. 

The madly-used Malvolio.' 

Oli. Did he write this? 320 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 

Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him 

hither. [Exit Fabian. 

My lord, so please you, these things further 

thought on, 
To think me as well a sister as a wife, 
One day shall crown the alliance on 't, so please 

you, 
Here at my house and at my proper cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace 
your offer. 
[To Viola] Your master quits you ; and for your 

service done him, 
So much against the mettle of your sex, 330 

So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
And since you call'd me master for so long, 
Here is my hand : you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

Oli. A sister ! you are she. 

Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio. 

Duke. Is this the madman? 

Oli. Ay, my lord, this same. 

How now, Malvolio ! 

Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, 

Notorious wrong. 

Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. 



Scene i.J 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



303 



Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that 
letter. 
You must not now deny it is your hand : 
Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase ; 340 
Or say 'tis not your seal, not your invention : 
You can say none of this : well, grant it then 
And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 
Why you have given me such clear lights of 

favour, 
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you, 
To put on yellow stockings and to frown 
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; 
And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 350 
And made the most notorious geek and gull 
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why. 

Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
Though, I confess, much like the character:" 
But out of question 'tis Maria's hand. 
And now I do bethink me, it was she 
First told me thou wast mad; then earnest in 

smiling, 
And in such forms which here were presupposed 
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content : 
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon 

thee; 360 i 

But when we know the grounds and authors of it, 
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
Of thine own cause. 

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak, 

And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come 
Taint the condition of this present hour, 
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not, 
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
Set this device against Malvolio here, 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceived against him : Maria writ 370 ; 
The letter at Sir Toby's great importance ; 
In recompense whereof he hath married her. 
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd 
That have on both sides pass'd. 
Oli. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled 
thee! 



Clo. Why, ' some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir 
Topas, sir; but that's all one. 'By the Lord, 
fool, I am not mad.' But do you remember? 
'Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? 
an you smile not, he's gagged:' and thus the 
whirligig of time brings in his revci 

Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of 
you. _ [Exit. 

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abused. 

Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace : 
He hath not told us of the captain yet : 390 

When that is known and golden time convents, 
A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, 
^ o will not part from hence. Cesario, come ; 
For so you shall be, while you are a man; 
But when in other habits you arc seen, 
Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen. 

% [Exeunt all, except Clown. 

Clo. [Si?igs\ 

When that I was and a little tiny boy, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy, 400 

For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came to man's estate, 

With hey, ho, &c. 
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their 
gate, 

For the rain, &c. 

But when I came, alas ! to wive, 

With hey, ho, &c. 
By swaggering could I never thrive, 

For the rain, &c. 

But when I came unto my beds, 410 

With hey, ho, &c. 
With toss-pots still had drunken heads, 

For the rain, &c. 

A great while ago the world begun, 

With hey, ho, &c. 
But that's all one, our play is done, 

And we '11 strive to please you every day. 
[Exit. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Leontes, king of Sicilia. 
Mamillius, young prince of Sicilia. 
Camillo, ) 
Antigonus, ( Four Lords f Sidlk 

ClEOMENES, 

Dion, ) 

Polixenes, king of Bohemia. 
Florizel, prince of Bohemia. 
Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia. . 
Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita. 
Clown, his son. 
Autolycus, a rogue. 
A Mariner. 



A Gaoler. 

Hermione, queen to Leontes. 

Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 

Paulina, wife to Antigonus. 

Emilia, a lady attending on Hermione. 

Dor'cas, } Shepherdesses. 

Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, and 
Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses. 

Time, as Chorus. 

Scene: Sicilia, and Bohemia. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Antechamber in Leontes' palace. 

Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 

Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit 
Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my 
services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have 
said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and 
your Sicilia. 

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the King 
of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation 
which he justly owes him. 

Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame 
us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed — 

Cam. Beseech you, — n 

Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of 
my knowledge : we cannot with such magnifi- 
cence — in so rare — I know not what to say. We 
will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, 
unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though 
they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for 
what's given freely. 19 

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my under- 
standing instructs me and as mine honesty puts 
it to utterance. 

Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind 
to Bohemia. The)' were trained together in 
their childhoods ; and there rooted betwixt them 
then such an affection, which cannot choose but 
branch now. Since their more mature dignities 
and royal necessities made separation of their 
society, their encounters, though not personal, 
have been royally attorneyed with interchange 
of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have 
seemed to be together, though absent, shook 
hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, 
from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens 
continue their loves ! 

Arch. I think there is not in the world either 
malice or matter to alter it. You have an un- 
speakable comfort of your young prince Mamil- 



lius : it is a gentleman of the greatest promise 
that ever came into my note. 40 

Cam. I very well agree with you in the 
hopes of him : it is a gallant child ; one that 
indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts 
fresh: they that went on crutches ere he was 
born desire yet their life to see him a man. 

Arch. Would they else be content to die? 

Cam. Yes ; if there were no other excuse 
why they should desire to live. 

Arch. If the king had no son, they would 
desire to live on crutches till he had one. 50 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room of state in the same. 

Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius, 
Polixenes, Camillo, and Attendants. 

Pol. Nine changes of the watery star hath 
been 
The shepherd's note since we have left our throne 
Without a burthen : time as long again 
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
And yet we should, for perpetuity, 
Go hence in debt : and therefore, like a cipher, 
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply 
With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe 
That go before it. 

Leon. Stay your thanks a while ; 

And pay them when you part. 

Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. 10 

I am question' d by my fears, of what may chance 
Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow 
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 
'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have 

stay'd 
To tire your royalty. 

Leon. We are tougher, brother, 

Than you can put us to't. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Leon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 



Scene ii.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



Leon. We'll part the time between's then; 
and in that 
I'll no gainsaying. 

Pol. Press me not, beseech you, so. 

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' 
the world, 20 

So soon as yours could win me : so it should now, 
Were there necessity in your request, although 
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs 
I >o even drag me homeward: which to hinder 
Were in your love a whip to me ; my stay 
. To you a charge and trouble : to save both, 
I Farewell, our brother. 

Leon. Tongue-tied our queen ? speak you. 

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my 
peace until 
You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. 
You, sir, 
i Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure 30 
J All in Bohemia's well ; this satisfaction 
! The by-gone day proclaim'd : say this to him, 
! He's beat from his best ward. 

L.eon. Well said. Hermione. 

Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were 
strong : 
But let him say so then, and let him go; 
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. 
Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure 
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
You take my lord, I'll give him my com- 
mission 40 
To let him there a month behind the gest 
Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes, 
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind 
What lady-she her lord. You'll stay? 

Pol. No, madam. 

Her. Nay, but you will ? 
Pol. I may not, verily. 

Her. Verily ! 
You put me oft with limber vows; but I, 
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars 

with oaths, 
Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, 
You shall not go : a lady's 'Verily' 's 50 

As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? 
Force me to keep you as a prisoner, 
Not like a guest ; so you shall pay your fees 
When you depart, and save your thanks. How 

say you? 
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 

'Verily,' 
One of them you shall be. 

Pol. Your guest, then, madam: 

To be your prisoner should import offending ; 
Which is for 111c less easy to commit 
Than you to punish. 

Her. Not your gaoler, then, 59 

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you 
1 )f my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys : 
You were pretty Lordings then? 

Pol. We were, fair queen. 

Two lads that thought there was no more behind 
Bul such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
And to be boy eternal. 

Her. Was not my lord 

The verier wag o' the two? 

/ ','/. We were as twinn'd lamb9 that did frisk 
i' the sun, 



7" 



And b!eat the one at the other : what we changed 
Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd 
That any did. Had we pursued that life, 
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared 
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 

heaven 
Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clearM 
Hereditary ours. 

Her. By this we gather 

You have tripp'd since. 

Pol. O my most sacred lady ! 

Temptations have since then been born to's; for 
In those unfledged days was my wife a girl ; 
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
Of my young play-fellow. 

Her. Grace to boot! 80 

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say 
Your queen and I are devils: yet go on; 
The offences we have made you do we'll answer, 
If you first sinn'd with us and that with us 
You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not 
With any but with us. 

Leon. Is he won yet? 

Her. He'll stay, my lord. 

Leon. At my request he would not. I 

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest 
To better purpose. 

Her. Never? 

Leon. Never, but once. 

Her. What! have I twice said well? when 
was't before? 90 

I prithee tell me ; cram's with praise, and make's 
As fat as tame things: one good deed dying 
tongueless „. 

Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. 
Our praises are our wages : you may ride 's 
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere 
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal : 
My last good deed was to entreat his stay : 
What was my first? it has an elder sister, 
Or I mistake you : O, would her name were 

Grace ! 
But once before I spoke to the purpose: when? 
Nay, let me have't; I long. 

Leon. W'hy, that was when 101 

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to 

death. 
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand 
And clap thyself my love: then didst thou ntter 
'I am yours for ever.' 

Her. 'Tis grace indeed. 

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose 

twice : 
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; 
The other for some while a friend. 

Leon. • ] Too hot, too hot ! 

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me : my heart dances : 
But not for joy ; notjoy. This entertainment in 
May a free face put on, derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, 
And well become the a^ent; 't may, 1 grant ; 
But to be paddling palms ana pinching fin . 
As now they are, and making practised smiles. 
As in a looking glass, and then to 
The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows ! Mamillius, 
Art thou my boy? 



3°6 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act i. 



Mam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. I' fecks ! 120 

Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd 

thy nose? 
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, cap- 
tain, 
We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, cap- 
tain: 
And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf 
Are all call'd neat. — Still virginalling 
Upon his palm ! — How now, you wanton calf! 
Art thou my calf? 

Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash and the 
shoots that I have, 
To be full like me : yet they say we are 
Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, 130 

That will say any thing : but were they false 
As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false 
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes 
No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, 
Look on me with your welkin eye : sweet villain! 
Most dear'st! my collop ! Can thy dam? — may't 

be?— 
Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre : 
Thou dost make possible things not so held, 
Communicatest with dreams ; — ho^v can this be ? — 
With what's unreal thou coaftive art, 141 

And fellow'st nothing : then 'tis very credent 
Thou mayst co-join with something ; and thou 

dost, 
And that beyond commission, and T find it, 
And that to the infection of my brains 
And hardening of my brows. 

Pol. What means Sicilia ? 

Her. He something seems unsettled. 

Pol. How, my lord ! 

What cheer? how is't with you, best brother? 

Her. You look 

As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
Are you moved, my lord ? 

Leon. No, in good earnest. 150 

How sometimes nature will betray its folly, 
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil 
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, 
In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, 
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, 
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous : 
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, 
Will you take eggs for money? 161 

Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. 

Leon. You will! why, happy man be's dole! 
My brother, 
Are you so fond of your young prince as we 
Do seem to be of ours? 

Pol. If at home, sir, 

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, 
Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy, 
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
He makes a July's day short as December, 
And with his varying childness cures in me 170 
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 

Leon. So stands this squire 

Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord. 
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, 



How thou lovest us, show in our brother's wel- 
come ; 
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap : 
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's 
Apparent to my heart. 

Her. If you would seek us, 

We are yours i' the garden: shall 's attend you 
there ? 
Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll 
be found, 
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling 
now, 180 

Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
Go to, go to ! 

How she holds up the neb, the bill to him ! 
And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
To her allowing husband ! 

[Exeimt Polixenes, Hermione, and 
Atte?idants. 
Gone already ! 
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd 

one ! 
Go, play, boy, play : thy mother plays, and I 
Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue 
Will hiss me to my grave : contempt and clamour 
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There 
have been, 190 

Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now; 
And many a man there is, even at this present, 
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, 
That little thinks she has been sluiced in's 

absence 
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
Sir Smile, his neighbour : nay, there's comfort in't 
Whiles other men have gates and those gates 

open'd, 
As mine, against their will. Should all despair 
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is 
none ; 200 

It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
Where 'tis predominant ; and 'tis powerful, 

think it, 
From east, west, north and south : be it concluded, 
No barricado for a belly ; know't ; 
It will let in and out the enemy 
With bag and baggage : many thousand on's ' 
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy ! 
Mam. I am like you, they say. 
Leon. Why, that's some comfort. 

What, Camillo there? 

Cam. Ay, my good lord. 210 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest 
man. \_Exit Mamilliics. 

Camillo, this great sir will yet- stay longer. 

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor 
hold: 
When you cast out, it still came home. 

Leon. Didst note it? 

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; 
made 
His business more material. 

Leon. Didst perceive it? 

[Aside] They're here with me already, whisper- 
ing, rounding 
' Sicilia is a so-forth :' 'tis far gone, 
When I shall gust it last. How came 't, Camillo, 
That he did stay? 

Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 220 



Scene ii.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



3°7 



Leon. At the queen's be't: 'good' should be 
pertinent ; 
But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
By any understanding pate but thine? 
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
More than the common blocks: not noted, is't, 
But of the finer natures? by some several- 
I Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes 
, Perchance are to this business purblind? say. 
Ca»i. Business, my lord ! I think most un- 
derstand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 
Leon. Ha ! 

Cam. Stays here longer. 230 

Leon. Ay, but why? 

Cam. To satisfy your highness and the en- 
treaties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy ! 

The entreaties of your mistress ! satisfy! 
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou 
Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed 
Thy penitent reform' d : but we have been 
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived 240 

In that which seems so. 

Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 

Leon. To bide upon 't, thou art not honest, or, 
If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward, 
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining 
From course required ; or else thou must be 

counted 
A servant grafted in my serious trust 
And therein negligent ; or else a fool 
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake 

drawn, 
And takest it all for jest. 

Cam. My gracious lord, 

I may be negligent, foolish and fearful ; 250 

In every one of these no man is free, 
But that his negligence, his folly, fear. 
Among the infinite doings of the world, 
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, 
If ever I were wilful-negligent, 
It was my folly ; if industriously 
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
Whereof the execution did cry out 260 

Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
Which oft infects the wisest : these, my lord, 
Are such allow' d infirmities that honesty 
Is never free of. But, beseech your grace, 
Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass 
By its own visage : if I then deny it, 
'Tis none of mine. 

Leon. Ha' not you seen, Camillo, — 

But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye- 
glass 
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn, — or heard, — 
For to a vision so apparent rumour 270 

Cannot be mute, — or thought, — for cogitation 
Resides not in that man that does not think, — 
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, 
Or else be impudently negative, 
To havo nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say 
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to 



Before her troth-plight: say't and justify 't. 

Cam. I would not be a stander-by to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 280 
My present vengeance taken : 'shrew my heart, 
You never spoke what did become you less 
Than this ; which to reiterate were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 

Leon. Is whispering nothing? 

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting h 
Kissing with, inside lip? stopping the career 
Of laughing with a sigh? — a note infallible 
Of breaking honesty — horsing foot on foot? 
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? 
Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes 
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only. 
That would unseen be wicked? is tin's nothing? 
Why, then the world and all that's in't is 

nothii 
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing: 
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these 

nothings, 
If this be nothing. 

Cam. Good my lord, be cured 

Of this diseased opinion, and betimes ; 
For 'tis most dangerous. 

Leofi. Say it be, 'tis true. 

Cam. No, no, my lord. 

Leon. It is; 3-011 lie, you lie: 

I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee, 300 
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver 
Infecled as her life, she would not live 
The running of one glass. 

Cam. Who does infect her? 

Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal, 
hanging 
About his neck, Bohemia : who, if I 
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
To see alike mine honour as their profits, 310 
Their own particular thrifts, the)' would do that 
Which should undo more doing : ay, and thou, 
His cup-bearer, — whom I from meaner form 
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship, who mayst 

see 
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees 

heaven, 
How I am galled, — mightst bespicc a cup, 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
Which draught to me were cordial. 

Cam. Sir. my lord, 

I could do this, and that with no rash potion, 
But with a lingering dram that should not work 
Maliciously like poison: but I cannot 321 

Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have loved thee, — 

Leon. tMake that thy question, and go rot! 
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, 
To appoint myself in this vexation, sully 
The purity and whiteness of my sheets, 
Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted 
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps, 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, 
Who I do think is mine and love as mine, 331 
Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? 
Could man so blench? 

Cam. I must believe you, sir : 

2~— 2 



-?o8 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act i. 



I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for't ; 
Provided that, when he's removed, your highness 
Will take again your queen as yours at first, 
Even for your son's sake ; and thereby for sealing 
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 

Leon. Thou dost advise me 

Even so as I mine own course have set down : 340 

; I '11 give no blemish to her honour, none. 
Cam. My lord, 

! Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 

j As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia 
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer: 
If from me he have wholesome beverage, 

I Account me not your servant. 

Leon. This is all : 

Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart; 

, Do't not, thou split'st thine own. 

Cam. I'll do't, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast ad- 
vised me. [Exit. 350 
Cam. O miserable lady ! But, for me, 
What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't 
Is the obedience to a master, one 
Who in rebellion with himself will have 
All that are his so too. To do this deed, 
Promotion follows. If I could find example 
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings 
And flourish'd after, I 'Id not do't ; but since 
Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one, 
Let villany itself forswear 't. I must 361 
Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain 
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now ! 
Here comes Bohemia. 

Re-enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange : methinks 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? 
Good day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir ! 

Pol. What is the news i' the court? 

Ca7!i. None rare, my lord. 

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance 
As he had lost some province and a region 
Loved as he loves himself: even now 1 met him 
With customary compliment ; when he, 371 

Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling 
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and 
So leaves me to consider what is breeding 
That changeth thus his manners. 

Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 

Pol. How ! dare not ! do not. Do you know, 
and dare not? 
Be intelligent to me : 'tis thereabouts ; 
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, 
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 380 
Your changed complexions are to me a mirror 
Which shows me mine changed too ; for I must be 
A party in this alteration, finding 
Myself thus alter'd with't. 

Cam. There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper, but 
I cannot name the disease ; and it is caught 
Of you that yet are well. 

Pol. How ! caught of me ! 

Make me not sighted like the basilisk: 
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the 
better 



By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, — 
As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto 391 
Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns 
Our gentry than our parents' noble names, 
In whose success we are gentle, — I beseech you, 
If you know aught which does behove my know- 
ledge 
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison 't not 
In ignorant concealment. 

Cam. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! 
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man 400 

Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the 

least 
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare 
What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near; 
Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 
If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I will tell you ; 

Since I am charged in honour and by him 
That I think honourable : therefore mark my 

counsel, 
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as 
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me 410 
Cry lost, and so good night ! 

Pol. On, good Camillo. 

Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. 

Pol. By whom, Camillo? 

Cam. By the king. 

Pol. For what? 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he 
swears, 
As he had seen't or been an instrument 
i To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen 
Forbiddenly. 

Pol. O, then my best blood turn 

To an infected jelly and my name 
Be yoked with his that did betray the B;st ! 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 420 

A savour that may strike the dullest nostril 
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, 
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
That e'er was heard or read ! 

Cam. Swear his thought over 

By each particular star in heaven, and 
By all their influences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon 
As or by oath remove or counsel shake 
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation 
Is piled upon his faith and will continue 430 

The standing of his body. 

Pol. , > How should this grow? 

Cam. I know not : but I am sure 'tis safer to 
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. 
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, 
That lies enclosed in this trunk which you 
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night ! 
Your followers I will whisper to the business, 
And will by twos and threes at several posterns 
Clear them o' the city. For myself, I '11 put 
My fortunes to your service, which are here 440 
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; 
For, by the honour of my parents, I 
Have utter'd truth : which if you seek tq prove, 
I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, 
thereon 



Scene ii.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



: 



His execution sworn. 

Pol. I do believe thee : 

I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand : 
Be pilot to me and thy places shall 
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and 
My people did expect my hence departure 450 
Two days ago. This jealousy 
Is for a precious creature : as she's rare. 
Must it be great, and as his person's mighty, 
Must it be violent, and as he does conceive 
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me : 
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
fThe gracious queen, part of his theme, but 

nothing 
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Carni!!. • : 460 
I will respect thee as a father if 
Thou bear'st my life off hence : let us avoid. 

Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
The keys of all the posterns : please your highness 
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, av 

[Ea 

ACT II. 
Scene I. A room in Leontes' palace. 

Enter Hekmione, Mamiixius, and ] 

Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
'Tispast enduring. 

First Lady. Come, my gracious lord. 
Shall I be your playfellow? 

Maw. No. I'll none of you. 

First Lady. Why, my sweet lord? 

Mam. You'll kiss me hard and speak to 
me as if 
I were a baby still. I love you better. 

Sec. Lady. And why so, my lord ? 

Mam. Not for because 

Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say, 
Become some women best, so that there be not 
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle, 10 

Or a half-moon made with a pen. 

Sec. Lady. Who taught you this? 

Mam. I learnt it out of women's faces. 
Pray now 
What colour are your eyebrows ? 

First Lady. Blue, my lord. 

Mam. Nay, that's a mock : I have seen a 
lady's nose 
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 

First Lady. Hark ye ; 

The queen your mother rounds apace : we shall 
Present our services to a fine new prince 
One of these days ; and then you 'Id wanton 

with us, 
If we would have you. 

Sec. Lady. She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk : good time encounter her ! 20 

Her. Wiiat wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, 
sir, now 
I am for you again : pray you, sit by us, 
And tell's a tale. 

Main. Merry or sad shall 't be ? 

Her. As merry as you will. 

Mam. A sad tale's best for winter: I have one 
Of sprites and goblins. 

Her. Let's have that, good sir. 



Come on, sit down : come on, and do your best 
To fright me with vour sprites; you're powerful 
at it. 
•:. There was a man — 
Her. Nay, dome, sit down ; then on. 

I Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it 
softly ; 
Yond crickets shall not hear it. 

Come on, then, 
And give't me in mine ear. 



Enter Leontes, with Antigonu: 
and others. 



Lords, 



Leon. Was he met there? his train? Camillo 

with him? 
First Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met 
them ; never 
Saw I men scour so on their way: I eved them 
Even to their shij's. 

Leon. How blest am I 

In my just censure, in my true opinion ! 
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! how accursed 
In being so blest ! There may be in the cup 
A spider stecp'd, and one may drink, depart, 40 
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge 
Is not infected : but if one present 
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye. make known 
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his 

sides, 
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen 

the spider. 
Camillo was his help in this, his pander: 
There is a plot against my life, my crown : 
All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain 
Whom I employ' d was pre-employ'd by him: 
He has discover'd my design, and I ' 50 

Remain a pinch'd thing ; yea, a very trick 
For them to play at will. How came the posterns 
So easily open? 

First Lord. By his great authority ; 
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so 
On your command. 

Leon. I know't too well. 

Give me the boy : I am glad you did not nurse 

him : 
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
Have too much blood in him. 
Her. What is this ? sport ? 

Leon. Bear the boy hence ; he shall not come 
about her ; 
Away with him ! and let her sport herself 60 

With that she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes 
Has made thee swell thus. 

Her. But I 'Id say he had not. 

And I '11 be sworn ycu would believe m* s 
Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 

Leon. You. my lords, 

Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
To say ' she is a goodly lady," and 
The justice of your hearts will thereto add 
' 'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable :' 
Praise her but for this her without door form, 
Which on my faith deserves high speech/and 
straight ?0 

The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands 
That calumny doth use — O, I am out — 
That mercy does, for calumnv will sear 
Yirtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's. 



3 io 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act ii. 



When you have said 'she's goodly,' come 

between 
Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be't known, 
From him that has most cause to grieve it 

should be, 
She's an adulteress. 

Her. Should a villain say so, 

The most replenish'd villain in the world, 
He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 80 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 

Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing ! 
Which 1 '11 not call a creature of thy place, 
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, 
Should a like language use to all degrees 
And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
Betwixt the prince and beggar : I have said 
She's an adulteress ; I have said with whom: 
More, she's a traitor and Camillo is 
A federary with her, and one that knows go 

What she should shame to know herself 
But with her most vile principal, that she's 
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her. No, by my life, 

Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, 
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord, 
You scarce can right me throughly then to say 
You did mistake. 

Leon. No ; if I mistake 100 

In those foundations which I build upon, 
The centre is not big enough to bear 
A school-boy's top. Away with her ! to prison ! 
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty 
But that he speaks. 

Her. There's some ill planet reigns : 

I must be patient till the heavens look 
With an aspect more favourable. Good my 

lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew 
Perchance shall dry your pities : but I have no 
That honourable grief lodged here which burns 
Worse than tears drown : beseech you all, my 

lords, 
With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me ; and so 
The king's will be perform'd ! 

Leon. Shall I be heard? 

Her. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech 
your highness, 
My women may be with me ; for you see 
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
There is no cause : when you shall know your 

mistress 
Has deserved prison, then abound in tears 120 
As I come out : this action T now go on 
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord: 
I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now 
I trust I shall. My women, come; you have 
leave. 

Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence ! 

[Exit Queen, guarded; with Ladies. 

First Lord. Beseech your highness, call the 
queen again. 

Ant. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your 
justice 



Prove violence; in the which three great ones 

suffer, 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 

First Lo?'d. For her, my lord, 

I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir, 130 
Please } r ou to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean, 
In this which you accuse her. 

Ant. If it prove 

t She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
I lodge my wife ; I'll go in couples with her ; 
Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her ; 
For every inch of woman in the world, 
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, 
If she be. 

Leon. Hold your peaces. 

First Lo7-d. Good my lord, — 

Ant. It is for you we' speak, not for ourselves : 
You are abused and by some putter-on 141 

That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the 

villain, 
tl would land-damn him. Be she honour- flaw' d, 
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven; 
The second and the third, nine, and some five ; 
If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine 

honour, 
I '11 geld 'em all ; fourteen they shall not see, 
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs; 
And I had rather glib myself than they 
Should not produce fair issue. 

Leon. Cease ; no more. 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 151 
As is a dead man's nose : but I do see't and feel 't, 
As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 
The instruments that feel. 

Ant. If it be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty : 
There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten 
Of the whole dungy earth. 

Leon. What ! lack I credit? 

First Lord. I had rather you did lack than I, 
my lord, 
Upon this ground ; and more it would content me 
To have her honour true than your suspicion, 160 
Be blamed for't how you might. 

Leon. Why, what need we 

Commune with you of this, but rather follow 
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative 
Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness 
Imparts this; which if you, or stupified 
Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not 
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves 
We need no more of your advice : the matter, 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on 't, is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege, 170 

You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
Without more overture. 

Leon. How could that be? 

Either thou art most ignorant by age, 
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, 
Added to their familiarity, 

Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation 
But only seeing, all other circumstances 
Made up to the deed, doth push on this pro- 
ceeding : 
Yet, for a greater confirmation, 180 

F< ir in an act of this importance 'twere 



SCENE I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



3" 



Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post 
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
Of stuff'd sufficiency : now from the oracle 
The}' will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had, 
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? 

First Lord. Well done, my lord. 

Leon. Though I am satisfied and need no 
more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 190 

Give rest to the minds of others, such as he 
Whose ignorant credulity will not 
Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good 
From our free person she should be confined, 
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us : 
We are to speak in public ; for this business 
Will raise us all. 

Ant. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it, 
If the good truth were known. {Exeunt. 

Scene II. A prison. 

Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, and Attendants. 

Paul. The keeper of the p.ison, call to him: 

Let him have knowledge who I am. [Exit Gent. 

Good lady, 
No court in Europe is too good for thee ; 
What dost thou then in prison? 

Re-enter Gentleman, with the Gaoler. 
Now, good sir, 
You know me, do you not ? 

Gaol. For a worthy lady 

And one whom much I honour. 

Paul. Pray you then, 

Conduct me to the queen. 

Gaol. I may not, madam : 

To the contrary I have express commandment. 

Paul. Here's ado, 
To lock up honesty and honour from 10 

The access of gentle visitors ! Is't lawful, pray 

you, 
To see her women? any of them? Emilia? 

Gaol. So please you, madam, 
To put apart these your attendants, I 
Shall bring Emilia forth. 

Paul. I pray now, call her. 

Withdraw yourselves. 

[Exeunt Gentleman and A ttendants. 

Gaol. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 

Paul. Well, be't so, prithee. [Exit Gaoler. 
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain 
As passes colouring. 

Re-enter Gaoler, with Emilia. 

Dear gentlewoman, 20 

How fares our gracious lady? 

Emil. As well as one so great and so forlorn 
May hold together: on her frights and griefs, 
Which never tender lady hath borne greater, 
She is something before her time deliver'd. 

Paul. A boy? 

Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe, 

Lusty and like to live: the queen receives 
Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, 
I am innocent as you. 1 

Paul. ! dare be sworn: 



These dangerous unsafe ltmes i' the king, be- 
shrew them ! 30 

He must be told on't, and he shall : the office 
Becomes a woman best ; I '11 take 't upon me : 
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister 
And never to my red-look'd anger be 
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, 
Commend my best obedience to the queen : 
If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
I "11 show't the king and undertake to be 
Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know 
How he may soften at the sight o' the child: 40 
The silence often of pure innocence 
Persuades when speaking fails. 

E m il. M <> s t worthy m adam, 

Your honour and your goodness is so evident 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving issue : there is no lady living 
So meet for this great errand. Please your lady- 
ship 
To visit the next room, I'll presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; 
Who but to-day hainmer'd of this design, 
But durst not tempt a minister of honour, 50 

Lest she should be denied. 

Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 

I'll use that tongue I have : if wit flow from't 
As boldness from my bosom, let't not be d 
I shall do good. 

Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 

I '11 to the queen : please you, come something 
nearer. 

Gaol. Madam, if't please the queen to scud 
the babe, 
I know not what I shall incur to pass it, 
Having no warrant. 

Paul. You need not fear it. sir: 

This child was prisoner to the womb and is 
By law and process of great nature thence 60 
Freed and enfranchised, not a party to 
The anger of the king nor guilty of, 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 

Gaol. I do believe it. • 

Paul. Do not you fear : upon mine honour, I 
Will stand betwixt you and danger. [Exeunt, j 

Scene III. A room in Leontes' palace. 

Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and 
Servants. 

Leon. Nor night nor day no rest : it is but 
weakness 
To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If 
The cause were not in being, — part o' the cause, 
She the adulteress ; for the harlot king 
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she 
I can hook to me : say that she were gone, 
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
Might come to me again. Who's there? 

First Ser-z'. My lord'.' 

Leon. How does the boy? 

First .9<vt'. He took good rest to-night ; 10 
"lis hoped his sickness is discharged. 

Leon. To see his nobleness ! 
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, 
He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply, 
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself. 
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, ' ; - 



3 12 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act ii. 



And downright languished. Leave me solely: go, 
See how he fares. [Exit Serv.\ Fie, fie ! no 

thought of him : 
The very thought of my revenges that way 
Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty, 20 

And in his parties, his alliance ; let him be 
Until a time may serve : for present vengeance, 
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow : 
They should not laugh if 1 could reach them, nor 
Shall she within my power. 

Enter Paulina, -with a child. 

First Lord. You must not enter. 

Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second 
to me : 
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 
Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul, 
More free than he is jealous. 

Ant. That's enough. 30 

Sec. Serv. Madam, he hath not slept to-night ; 
commanded 
None should come at him. 

Paul. Not so hot, good sir : 

I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, 
That creep like shadows by him and do sigh 
At each his needless heavings, such as you 
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I 
Do come with words as medicinal as true, 
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What noise there, ho? 

Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful confer- 
ence 40 
About some gossips for your highness. 

Leon. How ! 

Away with that audacious lady ! Antigonus, 
I charged thee that she should not come about me : 
I knew she would. 

Ant. I told her so, my lord, 

On your displeasure's peril and on mine, 
She should not visit you. 

Leon. What, canst not rale her? 

Paul. From all dishonesty he can : in this, 
Unless he take the course that you have done, 
Commit me for committing honour, trust it, 
He shall not rule me. 

Ant. La you now, you hear : 50 

When she will take the rein I let her run ; 
But she'll not stumble. 

Paul. Good my liege, I come ; 

And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess 
! Myself your loyal servant, your physician, 
Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare 
Less appear so in comforting your evils, 
Than such as most seem yours : I say, I come 
From your good queen. 

Lecn. Good queen ! 

Paul. Good queen, my lord, 

Good queen ; I say good queen ; 
And would by combat make her good, so were I 
A man, the worst about you. 61 

Leon. Force her hence. 

Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes 
First hand me : on mine own accord I'll off; 
But first I '11 do my errand. The good queen, 
j For she isgood, hath brought you forth a daughter ; 
I Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. 

[Laying down the child. 



Leon. Out ! 

A mankind witch ! Flence with her, out o' door : 
A most intelligencing bawd ! 

Paul. Not so : 

I am as ignorant in that as you 
In so entitling me, and no less honest 70 

Than you are mad ; which is enough, I '11 warrant, 
As this world goes, to pass for honest. 

Leon. Traitors ! 

Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. 
Thou dotard ! thou art woman-tired, unroosted 
By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard ; 
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. 

Paul. For ever 

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
Takest up the princess by that forced baseness 
Which he has put upon't ! 

Leon. He dreads his wife. 

Paul. So I would you did ; then 'twere past 
all doubt £0 

You 'Id call your children yours. 

Leon. A nest of traitors ! 

Ant. I am none, by this good light. 
Paul. Nor I, nor any 

But one that's here, and that's himself, for he 
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, 
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and 

will not — ■ 
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
He cannot be compell'd to't — once remove 
The root of his opinion, which is rotten 
As ever oak or stone was sound. 

Leon. A callat 90 

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her 

husband 
And now baits me ! This brat is none of mine ; 
It is the issue of Polixenes: 
Hence with it, and together with the dam 
Commit them to the fire ! 

Paul. It is yours ; 

And, might wp lay the old proverb to your charge, 
So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, 
Although the print be little, the whole matter 
And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip, 
The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley, 
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, 101 
His smiles, 

The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger : 
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast 

made it 
So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, 
Her children not her husband's ! 

Leon. A gross hag ! 

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, 
That wilt not stay her tongue. 

Ant. Hang all the husbands no 

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
Hardly one subject. 
Leon. Once more, take her hence. 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
Can do no more. 
Leon. I'll ha' thee burnt. 

Paid. I care not : 

It is an heretic that makes the fire, 
Not she which burns in't. I '11 not call you tyrant ; 
But this most cruel usage of your queen, 



Scene hi. J 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



3*3 



Not able to produce more accusation 

Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something 

savours 
Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, 120 

Yea, scandalous to the world. 

Leon. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her ! Were 1 a tyrant, 
Where were her life ? she durst not call me so, 
If she did know me one. Away with her! 

P<Z2il. I pray you, do not push me; I '11 be gone. 
Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove 

send her 
A better guiding spirit ! What needs these hands ? 
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
Will never do him good, not one of you. 
So, so : farewell ; we are gone. [Exit. 130 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to 
this. 
My child ? away with 't ! Even thou, that hast 
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence 
And see it instantly consumed with fire ; 
Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight : 
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
And by good testimony, or I '11 seize thy life, 
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse 
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; 140 

For thou set'st on thy wife. 

Ant. I did not, sir: 

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
Can clear me in 't. 

Lords. We can : my royal liege, 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 
Leon. You're liars all. 

Eirst Lord. Beseech your highness, give us 
better credit : 
We have always truly served you, and beseech you 
So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg, 
As recompense of our dear services 150 

Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, 
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue : we all kneel. 

Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : 
Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel 
And call me father ? better burn it now 
Than curse it then. But be it ; let it live. 
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither ; 
You that have been so tenderly officious 
With Lady Margery, your midwife there, 160 
To save this bastard's life, — for 'tis a bastard, 
So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you ad- 
venture 
To save this brat's life ? 

Ant. Any thing, my lord, 

That my ability may undergo 
And nobleness impose : at least thus much : 
I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left 
To save the innocent : any thing possible. 
Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this 
sword 
Thou wilt perform my bidding. 

Ant. I will, my lord.' 

Leon. Mark and perform it, see'st thou' for 
the fail 170 

Of any point in 't shall not only be 
Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife, 
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, 
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry 



This female bastard hence and that thou bear it 
To some remote and desert place quite out 
Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it, 
Without more mercy, to its own protection 
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, 180 
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, 
That thou commend it stiangely to some place 
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. 

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present 
death 
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe : 
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
Casting their savageness aside have done 
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous 
In more than this deed does require ! And blessing 
Against this cruelty fight on thy side, 191 

Poor thing, condemn' d to i 

[Exit with the child. 

Leon. ^ _ No, I'll not rear 

Another's issue. 

Enter a Servant. 
^ Serv. ^ Please your highness, posts 
From those you sent to the oracle are come 
An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed, 
Hasting to the court. 

Eirst Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 
Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty three days 

They have been absent : 'tis good speed ; foretells 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 200 

The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ; 
Summon a session, that we may arraign 
Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath 
Been publicly accused, so shall she have 
A just and open trial. While she lives 
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me. 
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 
Scene I. A sea-port in Sicilia. 
Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 

Cleo. The climate's delicate, the air most 
sweet, 
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it bears. 

Dion. I shall report, 

For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
Methinks I so should term them, and the rever- 
ence 
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! 
How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly 
It was i' the offering ! 

Cleo. But of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening v.iice o' the oracle. 
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, 10 
That I was nothing. 

Dion. If the event o' the journey 

Prove as successful to the queen, — O be't so ! — 
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, 
The time is worth the use on't. 

Cleo. Great Apollo 

Turn all to the best ! These proclamations. 
So forcing faults upon Hermione, 



314 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act in. 



I little like. 

Dion. The violent carriage of it 
Will clear or end the business: when the oracle, 
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up, 
Shall the contents discover, something rare 20 
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh 

horses ! 
And gracious be the issue ! [Exeicut. 

Scene II. A court of Justice. 
Enter Leontes, Lords, and Officers. 
Leon. This sessions, to our great grief we 
pronounce, 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart : the party tried 
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one 
Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd 
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
Proceed injustice, which shall have due course, 
Even to the guilt or the purgation. 
Produce the prisoner. 

Off. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen 
Appear in person here in court. Silence ! 10 

Enter Hermione guarded ; Paulina and 
Ladies attending: ' 

Leon. Read the indictment. 

Off. [Reads] Hermione, queen to the worthy 
Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused 
and arraigned of high treason, in committing 
adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and 
conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of 
our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband : 
the pretence whereof being by circumstances 
partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the 
faith and allegiance of a true subject, didst coun- 
sel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly 
away by night. 

Her. Since what I am to say must be but 
_ that 
Which contradicts my accusation and 
The testimony on my part no other 
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot 

me 
To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
Be so received. But thus : if powers divine 
Behold our human actions, as they do, 30 

I doubt not then but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know, 
Who least will seem to do so, my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
Than history can pattern, though devised 
And play'd to take spectators. For behold me 
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing 41 
To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore 
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it 
As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for 

honour, 
'Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
And only that I stand for. I appeal 
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
How merited to be so ; since he came, 
With what encounter so uncurrent I 5-. 



Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond 
The bound of honour, or in act or will 
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts 
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
Cry fie upon my grave ! 

Leon. I ne'er heard yet 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less impudence to gainsay what they did 
Than to perform it first. 

Her. That 's true enough ; 

Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 

Leon. You will not own it. 

Her. fMore than mistress of 60 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
With whom I am accused, I do confess 
I loved him as in honour he required, 
With such a kind of love as might become 
A lady like me, with a love even such, 
So and no other, as yourself commanded : 
Which not to have done I think had been in me 
Both disobedience and ingratitude 
To you and toward your friend, whose love had 
spoke, 70 

Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely 
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd 
For me to try how : all I know of it 
Is that Camillo was an honest man ; 
And why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
What you have underta'en to do in's absence. 

Her. Sir, 80 

You speak a language that I understand not : 
My life stands in the level of your dreams, 
Which I'll lay down. 

Leon. Your actions are my dreams; 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all 

shame, — 
Those of your fact are so — so past all truth : 
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as 
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, — which is, indeed, 
More criminal in thee than it, — so thou 90 

Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage 
Look for no less than death. 

Her. Sir, spare your threats : 

The bug which you would fright me with I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity : 
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone, 
But know not how it went. My second joy 
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence 
I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third com- 
fort, 
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, ico 
The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth, 
Haled out to murder : myself on every post 
Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred 
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion ; lastly, hurried 
Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, 
Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
That I should fear to die ? Therefore proceed. 
But yet hear this ; mistake me not; no life, no 
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour. 



Scene ii.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



3*5 



Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else 
But what your jealousies awake. 1 tell you 
'Tis rigour and not law. Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle : 
Apollo be my judge ! 

First Lord. This your request 

Is altogether just: therefore bring forth, 
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 

[Exeunt certain Officers. 

Her. The Emperor of Russia was my father: 
O that he were alive, and here beholding 121 

His daughter's trial ! that he did but sec 
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge ! 

Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes and~Diox. 
Off. You here shall swear upon this sword of 
justice, 
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
Been both at Dclphos, and from thence have 

brought 
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
Of great Apollo's priest and that since then 
You have not dared to break the holy seal 130 
Nor read the secrets in't. 

Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. 

Leon. Break up the seals and read. 
Off. [Reads] Hermione is chaste ; Polixenes 
blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a 
jealous tyrant ; his innocent babe truly begotten ; 
and the king shall live without an heir, if that 
which is lost be not found. 
Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 
Her. Praised ! 

Leon. Hast thou read truth? 
Off. Ay, my lord ; even so 

As it is here set down. 140 

Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle : 
The sessions shall proceed : this is mere falsehood. 

Enter Servant. 
Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 
Leon. ' What is the business? 

Sera. O sir, I shall be hated to report it ! 
Th: prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
Of the queen's speed, is gone. 
Leon. How ! gone ! 

Serv. Is dead. 

Leon. Apollo's an gry ; and the heavens them- 
selves 
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione swoons.] 
How now there ! 
Paul. This news is mortal to the queen: look 
down 
And see what death is doing. 

Leon. Take her hence : 150 

Her heart is but o'ercharged ; she will recover : 
I have too much believed mine own suspicion : 
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life. 
[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, -with Hermione. 

Apollo, pardon 
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! 
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes. 
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, 
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy ; 
For, being transported by my jealousies 

[y thoughts and to revenge, I chose 160 



Camillo for the minister to poison 

My friend Polixenes : which had been done, 

But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 

My swift command, though I with death and with 

Reward did threaten and encourage him, 

Not doing 't and being done : he, most humane 

And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 

Cnclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here, 

Which you knew great, and to the hazard 

'- )f all incertainties himself commended, 17 j 

No richer than his honour: how he glisters 

Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 

Does my deeds make the blacker ! 

Re-enter Paulina. 
Paul. Woe the while ! 

O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, 
Break too ! 
First Lord. What fit is this, good lady? 
Paul. What studied termeius, tyrant, hast 
for me? 
What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? 
in leads or oils? what old or newer torture 
Must I receive, whose every word deserves 
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny 1S0 
Together working with thy j 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
For girls of nine, O, think what they have done 
And then run mad indeed, stark mad ! for all 
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
That thou betray 'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing ; 
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant 
And damnable ingrateful : nor was't much, 
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, 
To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses, 1 .0 

More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter 
To be or none or little ; though a devil 
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't: 
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 
Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts, 
Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart 
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no, 
'.aid to thy answer: but the last. — O lords, 200 
When I have said, cry ' woe ! ' — the queen, tiie 

queen, 
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and ven- 
geance for't 
Not dropp'd down yet. 

First Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 

Paul. I say she's dead; I'll swear 't. If 
word nor oath 
Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring 
Tindlure or lustre in her lip, her eye, 
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you 
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! 
Do uot repent these things, for they are heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee 
To nothing but despair. A thousand kne 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 

Levi. Go on, go on : 

n -t not speak too much ; I have deserved 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 

First Lord. Say no more : 

Howe'er the bus y< a have made far.lt 



3 io 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act ii 



I' the boldness of your speech. 

Paul. I am sorry for't : 

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
I do repent. Alas ! I have show'd too much 221 
The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd 
To the noble heart. What's gone and what 's 

past help 
Should be past grief: do not receive affliction 
At my petition ; I beseech you, rather 
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, 
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: 
The love I bore your queen — lo, fool again ! — ■ 

'11 speak of her no more, nor of your children ; 
I '11 not remember you of my own lord, 231 

Who is lost too : take your patience to you, 
And I '11 say nothing. 

Leon. Thou didst speak but well 

When most the truth ; which I receive much better 
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me 
To the dead bodies of my queen and son : 
One grave shall be for both : upon them shall 
The causes of their death appear, unto 
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit 
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there 
Shall be my recreation : so long as nature 241 
Will bear up with this exercise, so long 
I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me 
Unto these sorrows. [Exeunt. 

Scene IIT. Bohemia. A desert country near 

the sea. 

Enter Antigonus with a Child, and a Mariner. 

Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath 
touch'd upon 
The deserts of Bohemia? 

Mar. _ Ay, my lord ; and fear 

We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly 
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, 
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry 
And frown upon 's. 

Ant. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get 
aboard ; 
Look to thy bark : I '11 not be long before 
I call upon thee. 

Mar. Make your best haste, and go not 10 
Too far i' the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ; 
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
Of prey that keep upon't. 

Ant. Go thou away: 

I'll follow instantly. 

Mar. I am glad at heart 

To be so rid o' the business. [Exit. 

Ant. Come, poor babe : 

I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o' the 

dead 
May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
\ Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream 
So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; 
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 21 

So fill'd and so becoming : in pure white robes, 
Like very sanctity, she did approach 
My cabin where I lay ; thrice bow'd before me, 
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
Did this break from her : 'Good Antigonus, 
Since fate, against thy better disposition, 



Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 

Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, 30 

Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 

There weep and leave it crying ; and, for the babe 

Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 

I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business, 

Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 

Thy wife Paulina morf\' And so, with shrieks, 

She melted into air. Affrighted much, 

I did in time collect myself and thought 

This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys : 

Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, 40 

I will be squared by this. I do believe 

Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that 

Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 

Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, 

Either for life or death, upon the earth 

Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! 

There lie, and there thy character : there these ; 

Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, 

pretty, 
And still rest thine. The storm begins : poor 

wretch, 
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed 50 
To loss and what may follow ! Weep I cannot, 
But my heart bleeds ; and most accursed am I 
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell ! 
The day frowns more and mere : thou 'rt like to 

have 
A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour ! 
Well may I get aboard ! This is the chase : 
I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. 
Enter a Shepherd. 
Shep. I would there were no age between 
sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would 
sleep out the rest ; for there is nothing in the 
between but getting wenches with child, wrong- 
ing the ancientry, stealing, fighting— Hark you 
now ! Would any but these boiled brains of 
nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? 
They have scared away two of my best sheep, 
which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the 
master : if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea- 
side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy 
will ! what have we here ? Mercy on's, a barne ; 
a very pretty barne ! A boy or a child, I wonder? 
A pretty one ; a very pretty one : sure, some 
'scape : though I am not bookish, yet I can read 
waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has 
been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some 
behind-door-work: they were warmer that got 
this than the poor thing is here. I '11 take it up 
for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hal- 
looed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa 1 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 80 

Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a 
thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, 
come hither. What ailest thou, man? 

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and 
by land ! but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is 
now the sky : betwixt the firmament and it you 
cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 

Shep. Why, boy, how is it? 

Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, 
how it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but 
that 's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry 



i Scene hi.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not 
to see 'em ; now the ship boring the moon with 
her main-mast, and anon swallowed with vest 
and froth, as you 'Id thrust a cork into a hogs- 
head. And then for the land-service, to see how 
the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried 
to me for help and said his name was Antigonus, 
a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to 
see how the sea flap-dragoned it : but, first, how 
the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; 
and how the poor gentleman roared and the bear 
mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or 
weather. 

She//. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? 

Clo. Now, now : I have not winked since I 
saw these sights : the men are not yet cold under 
water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman : 
he's at it now. 

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped 
the old man ! 1 1 1 

Clo. I would you had been by the ship side. 
to have helped her : there your charity would 
have lacked footing. 

Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but 
look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself : thou 
mettest with things dying, I with things new- 
born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a 
bearing-cloth for a squire's child ! look thee here ; 
take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see: 
it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. 
This is some changeling: open't. What's within, 
boy? 

Clo. You're a made old man: if the sins of 
your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. 
Gold ! all gold ! _ 

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill 
prove so : up with't, keep it close : home, home, 
the next way. We are lucky, boy ; and to be 
so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my 
sheep go : come, good boy, the next way home. 

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings. 
I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentle- 
man and how much he hath eaten: they are 
never curst but when they are hungry : if there 
be any of him left, I '11 bury it. 

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou may est 
discern by that whicii is left of him what he is, 
fetch me to the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put 
him i' the ground. 141 

Shep. "Pis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do 
good deeds on't. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. Scene i. 
Enter Time, the Chorus. 

Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy 
and terror 
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me or my swift passage, that I slide 
O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried 
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power 
To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour 
To plant and overwhelm custom. Let me pass 
The same I am, ere ancient' st order was ro 

Or what is now reci i ~s to 



The times that brought them in ; so shall 1 do 
To the freshest things now reigning and make 

stale 
The glistering of this present, as my tale 
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
I turn my glass and give my scene such growing 
As you had slept between : Leontes leaving, 
The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving 
That he shuts up himself, imagine me, 
( rentle spectators, that I now may be 20 

In fair Bohemia; and remember well, 
I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel 
I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
Equal with wondering: what of her ensues 
I list not prophesy ; but let Time's news 
Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's 

daughter, 
And what to her adheres, which follows after, 
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow, 
J f ever you have spent time worse ere now ; 30 
If never, yet that Time himself doth say 
He wishes earnestly yo.u never may. [Exit. 

Scene II. Bohemia. The palace oj 'Pouxenes. 
Enter Polixenes and Camillo. 

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more 
importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any 
thing ; a death to grant this. 

Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my 
country : though I have for the most part been 
aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. 
Besides, the penitent king, my m lister, hath sent 
for me ; to whose feeling sorrows I might be 
some allay, or I o'erwecn to think so, which is 
another spur to my departure. 10 

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not 
out the rest of thy services by leaving me now : 
the need I have of thee thine own goodness 
hath made ; better not to have had thee than 
thus to want thee : thou, having made me busi- 
nesses which none without thee can sufficiently 
manage, must either stay to execute them thy- 
self or take away with thee the very services 
thou hast done; which if I have not enough con- 
sidered, as too much I cannot, to be more thank- 
ful to thee shall be my study, and my profit 
therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal 
country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more ; whose 
very naming punishes me with the remembrance 
of that penitent, as thou callest him, and recon- 
ciled king, my brother ; whose loss of his most 
precious queen and children are even now to be 
afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou 
the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no le.^s 
unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than 
they are in losing them when they ha\ e a] 
their virtues. 

Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the 
prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to 
me unknown : but I have missingly noted, he is 
of late much retired from court and is U 
quent to his princely exercises than formerly he 
hath appeared. 

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and 
with some care ; so far that I have eyes under 
my service which look upon his removedness; 
from whom 1 have this i itt I at he is 



3i8 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act iv. 



seldom from the house of a most homely shep- 
herd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, 
and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is 
grown into an unspeakable estate. 

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who 
hath a daughter of most rare note : the report of 
her is extended more than can be thought to 
begin from such a cottage. 50 

Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence ; 
but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. 
Thou shalt accompany us to the place ; where 
we will, not appearing what we are, have some 
question with the shepherd ; from whose sim- 
plicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of 
my son's resort thither. Prithee, be my present 
partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts 
of Sicilia. 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Pol. My best Camiiio ! We must disguise 
ourselves. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A road near the Shepherd's cottage. 
Enter Autolycus, singing. 

When daffodils begin to peer, 

With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, 

Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; 
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 

With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing ! 

Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark, that tirra-lyra chants, 

With heigh ! with heigh ! the thrush and the jay, 
Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 11 

While we lie tumbling in the hay. 

I have served Prince Florizel and in my time 
wore three-pile ; but now I am out of service : 

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear ? 

The pale moon shines by night : 
And when I wander here and there, 

I then do most go right. 

If tinkers may have leave to live. 

And bear the sow-skin budget, 20 

Then my account I well may give, 

And in the stocks avouch it. 

My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; 
who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was 
likewise a> snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. 
With die and drab I purchased this caparison, 
and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and 
knock are too powerful on the highway : beating 
and hanging are terrors to me : for the life to 
come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize ! a 
prize ! 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Let me see : every 'leven wether tods ; 
every tod yields pound and odd shilling ; fifteen 
hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? 

Aut. {Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's 
mine. 

Clo. I cannot do't without counters. Let me 
see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing 



feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of cur- 
rants, rice, — what will this sister of mine do with 
rice? But my father hath made her mistress of 
the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me 
four and twenty nosegays for the shearers, three- 
man-song-men all, and very good ones; but they 
are most of them means and bases ; but one puri- 
tan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn- 
pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden 
pies ; mace ; dates ? — none, that 's out of my note ; 
nutmegs, seven ; a race or two of ginger, but that 
I may beg ; four pound of prunes, and as many 
of raisins o' the sun. 

A nt. O that ever I was born ! 

[Grovelling on the ground. 

Clo. V the name of me — 

Attt. O, help me, help me ! pluck but off these 
rags ; and then, death, death ! 

Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more 
rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 

A nt. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends 
me more than the stripes I have received, which 
are mighty ones and millions. 61 

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating 
may come to a great matter. 

Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money 
and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
things put upon me. 

Clo. What, by a horseman, or a footman? 

Aut. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. 

Clo. -Indeed, he should be a footman by the 
garments he has left with thee : if this be a horse- 
man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend 
me thy hand, I '11 help thee : come, lend me thy 
hand. 

A nt. O, good sir, tenderly, O ! 

Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 

A nt. O, good sir, softly, good sir ! I fear, 
sir, my shoulder-blade is out. 

Clo. How now ! canst stand? 

Aut. [Picking his pocket] Softly, dear sir; 
good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable 
office. Si 

Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little 
money for thee. 

Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, 
sir : I have a kinsman not past three quarters of 
a mile hence, unto whom I was going ; I shall 
there have money, or any thing I want : offer me 
no mone}', I pray you ; that kills my heart. 

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that 
robbed you? 90 

Ant. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go 
about with troll-my-dames : I knew him once a 
servant of the prince : I cannot tell, good sir, for 
which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly 
whipped out of the court. 

Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no 
virtue whipped out of the court : they cherish it 
to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but 
abide. 99 

Aut. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man 
well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a 
process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a 
motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tin- 
ker's wife within a mile where my land and living 
lies ; and, having flown over many knavish pro- 
fessions, he settled only in rogue : some call him 
Autolycus. 



SCENE III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



3i9 



Clo. Out upon him ! prig, for my life, prig : 
he haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings. 

Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the 
rogue that put me into this apparel. in 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bo- 
hemia : if you had but looked big and spit at him, 
he 'Id have run. 

Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no 
fighter : I am false of heart that way ; and that 
he knew, I warrant him. 

Clo. How do you now? 

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I 
can stand and walk: I will even take my leave 
of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? 

Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. 

Clo. Then fare thee well : I must go buy 
spices for our sheep-shearing. 

Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! [Exit Clcnv?i.] 
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your 
spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing 
too: if I make not this cheat bring out another 
and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled 
and my name put in the book of virtue ! 131 

[Sings] Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
And merrily hent the stile-a : 
A merry heart goes all the day, 

Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. 

Scene IV. The Shepherd's cottage. 
Enter Floriz^l and Perdita. 

Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part 
of you 
Do give a life : no shepherdess, but Flora 
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
And you the queen on't. 

Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 

To chide at your extremes it not becomes me : 
O, pardon, that I name them ! Your high self, 
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured 
With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, 
Most goddess-like prank'd up : but that our feasts 
In every mess have folly and the feeders 11 

Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
To see you so attired, sworn, I think, 
To show myself a glass. 

Flo. I bless the time 

When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground. 

Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 

To me the difference forges dread ; your greatness 
Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble 
To think your father, by some accident, 
Should pass this way as you did : O, the Fates ! 20 
How would he look, to see his work so noble 
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how 
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
The sternness of his presence ? 

Flo. Apprehend 

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-robed god, 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 30 

As I seem now. Their transformations 
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, 



Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires 
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 

Per. O, but, sir, 

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king: 
One of these two must be necessities, 
Which then will speak, that you must change 

this purpose, 
Or I my life. 

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 40 

With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not 
The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, 
Or not my father's. For I cannot be 
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 
I be not thine. To this I am most constant, 
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle ; 
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing 
That you behold the while. Your guests are 

coming : 
Lift up your countenance, as it were the day 
Of celebration of that nuptial which 50 

We two have sworn shall come. 

Per. O lady Fortune, 

Stand you auspicious ! 

Flo. See, your guests approach : 

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
And let's be red with mirth. 

Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and 
others, -with Polixenes and Camillo dis- 
guised. 

Shep. Fie, daughter ! when my old wife j 

lived, upon 
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, 
Both dame and servant ; welcomed all, served all; 1 
Would sing her song and dance her turn ; now j 

here, 
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle; 
On his shoulder, and his ; her face o' fire 60 

With labour and the thing she took to quench it, 
She would to each one sip. You are retired, 
As if you were a feasted one and not 
The hostess of the meeting : pray you, bid 
These unknown friends to's welcome ; for it is 
A way to make us better friends, more known. 
Come, quench your blushes and present yourself 
That which you are, mistress o' the feast : 

come on, 
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
As your good flock shall prosper. 

Per. [To Pol.] Sir, welcome : 70 

It is my father's will I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the day. [To Cam.] You're 

welcome, sir. 
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend 

sirs, 
For you there 's rosemary and rue ; these keep 
Seeming and savour all the winter long: 
Grace and remembrance be to you both, 
And welcome to our shearing ! 

Pol. Shepherdess, — 

A fair one are you — well you fit our ages 
With flowers of winter. 

Per. Sir. the year growing ancient, 

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 80 
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the 

season 
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, 



320 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act iv. 



Vv hich some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not 
lo get slips of them. 

- r> /W - , „ , Wherefore, gentle maiden, 

Do you neglect them? 

Per - . For I have heard it said 

Ihere is an art which in their piedness shares 
With great creating nature. 

P° l - Say there be; 

V et nature is made better by no mean 
wu- n u ture makes that mean : so, over that art go 
Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
lhat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we 

marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock, 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race : this is an art 
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but 
The art itself is nature. 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make j'our garden rich in gillyvors, 
Aid do not call them bastards. 

/'"• . I'll not put 

1 he dibble m earth to set one slip of them ; ioo 
No more than were I painted I would wish 
This youth should say 'twere weil and 

therefore 
Desire to breed by me. Here 's flowers for you ; 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun 
And with him rises weeping : these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and I think they are given 
To men of middle age. You're very welcome. 
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your 
nock, 



I Id have you do it ever : when you sin^ 

I Id have you buy and sell so, so give atms 

Fray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 

I o sing them too : when you do dance, I wish you 

A wave o the sea, that you might ever do 'i . i 

Nothing but that; move still, still so, 

And own no other function : each your doinu 

bo singular in each particular, 

Crowns what you are doing in the present deed, 

l nat all your arts are queens. 

Per - . ODoricles, 

\ our praises are too large : but that your youth, 
And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't 
Do plainly g 1V e you out an unstain'd shepxherd, 
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, i«> 

You^woo'd me the false way. 

I think you have 



only 



And only live by gazing. 

„ Pe ,r- Out, alas! II0 

You Id be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you through and through. Now, 

my fair'st friend, 
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that 

might 
Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours, 
1 hat wear upon your virgin branches yet 
Your maidenheads growing : O Proserpina, 
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall 
From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
I he winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 
but sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes 121 

Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
bright Phoebus in his strength— a malady 
Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips and 
The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack 
1 o make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,' 
1 o strew him o'er and o'er ! 

F J°- AT ,., What, like a corse? 

xt TA °' llke a bank for Iove t0 lie and play on 
Not like a corse; or If, not to be buried, i V 

but quick and in mine arms. Come, take youi 

flowers : 
Methinks I play as I have seen them do 
In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine 
Does change my disposition, 
G P \ t What you do 

otill betters what is done. When you speak, 



Flo 
As little skill to fear as I have purpose 
1 o put you to 't. But come ; our dance, I pray : 
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, 
1 hat never mean to part. 

£/' tu' • t I 'II swear for 'em. 

rol. ihis is the prettiest low-born lass that 
ever 
Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or 

seems 
But smacks of something greater than herself, 
i. 00 noble for this place. 

£<?"• , , , , He tells her something 

I hat makes her blood look out : good sooth, she is 
I he queen of curds and cream. x fa 

J° • Come on, strike up ! 

■L>or. Aiopsa must be your mistress: marry 
garlic, 
To mend her kissing with ! 
%&■ Now, in good time ! 

Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our 
manners. 
Come, strike up ! 

[Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and 
D . Shepherdesses. 

fol. _ Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is 
this 
Which dances with your daughter? 

She*. They call him Doricles; and boasts 
himself 
To have a worthy feeding: but I have it 
Upon his own report and I believe it; 170 

He looks like sooth. He says he loves my 

_ daughter: 
I think so too; for never gazed the moon 
Upon tne water as he'll stand and read 
As twere my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain 
I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
Who loves another best. 
Po /- She dances featly. 

bhep. So she does any thing; though I re- 
port it, 
That should be silent: if voung Doricles 
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
W hich he not dreams of. 1 s a 

Enter Servant. 
Serv O master, if you did but hear the ped- 
lar at the door, you would never dance again 
after a tabor and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not 
move you : he sings several tunes faster than 
you II tell money ; he utters them as he had eaten 
oahads and all men's ears grew to his tunes. 



Scene rv.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



Clo. He could never come better ; he shall 
come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it 
be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very 
pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. 190 

Serv. He hath songs for man or woman, of 
all sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
gloves : he has the prettiest love-songs for maids ; 
so without bawdry, which is strange ; with such 
delicate burthens' of dildos and fadings, 'jump 
her and thump her;' and where some stretch- 
mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief 
and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the 
maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good 
man;' puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, 
do me no harm, good man.' 201 

Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable 
conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? 

Serv- He hath ribbons of all the colours 
i' the rainbow ; points more than all the lawyers in 
Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come 
to him by the gross : inkles, caddisses, cambrics, 
lawns : why, he sings 'em over as they were gods 
or goddesses ; you would think a smock were a 
she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and 
the work about the square on 't. 

Clo. Prithee bring him in; and let him ap- 
proach singing. 

Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous 
words in 's tunes. [Exit Serva7it. 

Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have 
more in them than you 'Id think, sister. 

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 

Etiter Autolycus, singi7ig. 

Lawn as white as driven snow ; 220 

Cyprus black as e'er was crow ;. 

Gloves as sweet as damask roses ; 

Masks for faces and for noses ; 

Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, 

Perfume for a lady's chamber ; 

Golden quoifs and stomachers, 

For my lads to give their dears : 

Pins and poking-sticks of steel, 

What maids lack from head to heel : 

Come buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ; 

Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 231 

Come buy. 

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
shouldst take no money of me ; but being en- 
thralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of 
certain ribbons and gloves. 

Mop. I was promised them against the feast ; 
but they come not too late now. 

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, 
or there be liars. 240 

Mof>. He hath paid you all he promised you : 
may be, he has paid you more, which wili shame 
you to give him again. 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? 
will they wear their plackets where they should 
bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, 
when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to 
whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle- 
tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are 
whispering: clamour your tongues, and not a 
word more. 251 

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me 
a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves. 



Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened 
by the way and lost all my money ? 

A :it. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners 
abroad ; therefore it behoves men to be wary. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose no- 
thing here. 

A ut. I hope so, sir ; for I have about me 
many parcels of charge. 261 

Clo. What hast here ? ballads ? 

Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in 
print o' life, for then we are sure they are true. 

Aut. Here's one .to a very doleful tune, how 
a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty 
money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to 
eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed. 

Mop. Is it true, think you ? 

Aut. Very true, and but a month old. 270 

Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! 

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one 
Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives 
that were present. Why should I carry lies 
abroad ? 

Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 

Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see 
moe ballads ; we '11 buy the other things anon. 

Aut. Here's another ballad of a fish, that 
appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the four- 
score of April, forty thousand fathom above water, 
and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of 
maids : it was thought she was a woman and was 
turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange 
flesh with one that loved her : the ballad is very 
pitiful and as true. 

Dor. Is it true too, think you? 

Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses 
more than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay it by too : another. 290 

A ut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty 
one. 

Mop. Let's have some merry ones. 

Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one and 
goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man :' 
there 's scarce a maid westward but she sings it ; 
'tis in request, I can tell you. 

Mop. We can both sing it: if thou 'It bear a 
part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. 

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. 300 

Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know 'tis 
my occupation ; have at it with you. 

Song. 
A . Get you hence, for I must go 
Where it fits not you to know. 

D. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither?. 
M. It becomes thy oath full well, 
Thou to me thy secrets tell. 
D. Me too, let me go thither. 
M. Or thou goest to the grange or mill. 
D. If to either, thou dost ill. 310 

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A: Neither. 
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be. 
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : 

Then whither goest? say, whither? 
Clo. We'll have this song out anon by our- 
selves : my father and the gentlemen are in sad 
talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring 
away thy pack after me. Wenches, I '11 buy for 
you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. 
Follow me, girls. [Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act iv. 



A ui. And you shall pay well for 'em. 

[Follows singing. 

Will you buy any tape, 

Or lace for your cape, 
My dainty duck, my dear-a? 

Any silk, any thread, 

Any toys for your head, 
Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? 

Come to the pedlar ; 

Money 's a medler, 
That doth utter all men's ware-a. {Exit. 330 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv. Master, there is three carters, three 
shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, 
that have, made themselves all men of hair, they 
call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance 
which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, 
because they are not in't; but they themselves 
are o' the mind, if it be not too rough for some 
that know little but bowling, it will please plenti- 
fully. 339 

S/iep. Away! we'll none on't: here has been 
too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, 
we weary you. 

Pol. You weary those that refresh us : pray, 
let's see these four threes of herdsmen. 

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, 
sir, hath danced before the king; and not the 
worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a 
half by the squier. 

Shep. Leave your prating: since these good 
men are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly 
now. 351 

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. {Exit. 

Here a dance of twelve Satyrs. 

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here- 
after. 
[To Cam.] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to 

part them. 
He's simple and tells much. [To Flor.~\ How 

now, fair shepherd ! 
Your heart is full of something that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was 

young 
And handed love as you do, I was wont 
To load my she with knacks : I would have ran- 
sack' d 360 
The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it 
To her acceptance ; you have let him go 
And nothing marted with him. If your lass 
Interpretation should abuse and call this 
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited 
For a reply, at least if you make a care 
Of happy holding her. 

Flo. Old sir, I know 

She prizes not such trifles as these are: 
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd 
Up in my heart; which I have given already, 370 
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life 
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
Hath sometime loved ! I take thy hand, this hand, 
As soft as dove's down and as white as it, 
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's 

bolted 
By the northern blasts twice o'er. 
Pol. What follows this? 



How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
The hand was fair before ! I have put you out : 
But to your protestation ; let me hear 
What you profess. 

Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 3S0 

Pol. And this my neighbour too? 

Flo. And he, and more 

Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all : 
That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth 
That ever made eye swerve, had force and know- 
ledge 
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them 
Without her love ; for her employ them all ; 
Commend them and condemn them to her service 
Or to their own perdition. 

Pol. Fairly offer'd. 

Cam. This shows a sound affection. 

SJiep. But, my daughter, 390 

Say you the like to him? 

Per. I cannot speak 

So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better : ' 
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
The purity of his. 

Shep. Take hands, a bargain ! 

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness 

to 't: 
I give my daughter to him, and will make 
Her portion equal his. 

Flo. O, that must be 

I' the virtue of your daughter : one being dead, 
I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on, 400 
Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 

Shep. Come, your hand ; 

And, daughter, yours. 

Pol. "Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you ; 

Have you a father ? 

Flo. I have : but what of him ? 

Pol. Knows he of this ? 

Flo. He neither does nor shall. 

Pol. Methinks a father 
Is at the nuptial of his son a guest 
That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, 
Is not your father grown incapable , » 

Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid 
With age and altering rheums? can he speak? 
hear? 410 

Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? 
Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing 
But what he did being childish? 

Flo. No, good sir ; 

He has his health and ampler strength indeed 
Than most have of his age. 

Pol. By my white beard, 

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
Something unfilial : reason my son 
Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason 
The father, all whose joy is nothing else 
But fair posterity, should hold some counsel 420 
In such a business. 

Flo. I yield all this ; 

But for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
My father of this business. 

Pol. Let him know' t. 

Flo. He shall not. 

Pol. Prithee, let him. ■ 

Flo. • No, he must not. 






Scene iv.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



3 2 3 



Shep. Let him, my son : he shall not need to 
grieve 
At knowing of thy choice. 

Flo. Come, come, he must not. 

Mark our contract. 

Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[Discovering himself. 
Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
To be acknowledged : thou a sceptre's heir, 430 
That thus affecYst a sheep-hook ! Thou old traitor, 
I am sorry that by hanging thee I can 
But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh 

piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know 
The royal fool thou copest with, — 

Shep. O, my heart! 

Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, 
and made 
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, 
If 1 may ever know thou dost but sigh 
That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never 
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession ; 
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, 441 
Far than Deucalion oft": mark thou my words: 
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
From the dead blow of it. And you, enchant- 
ment, — 
Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too, 
That makes himself, but for our honour therein, 
Unworthy thee, — if ever henceforth thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open, 
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 450 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee 
As thou art tender to 't. [Exit. 

Per. Even here undone ! 

I was not much afeard ; for once or twice 
I was about to speak and tell him plainly, 
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court 
Hides not his visage from our cottage but 
Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone? 
I told you what would come of this : beseech you, 
Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, — 
Being now awake, I '11 queen it no inch farther, 
But milk my ewes and weep. 461 

Cam. Why, how now, father ! 

Speak ere thou diest. 

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, 

Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir ! 
You have undone a man of fourscore three, 
That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, 
To die upon the bed my father died, 
To lie close by his honest bones: but now 
Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me 
Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, 
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst ad- 
venture 470 
To mingle faith with him ! Undone ! undone ! 
If I might die within this hour, I have lived 
To die when I desire. [Exit. 
Flo. Why look you- so upon me? 
I am but sorry, not afeard ; delayM, 
But nothing alter'd : what I was, I arn ; 
More straining on for plucking back, not fol- 
lowing 
My leash unwillingly. 

Cam. Gracious my lord, 

You know your father's temper: at this time 
He will allow no speech, which I do guess 



You do not purpose to him; and as hardly 480 
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
Come not before him. 

Flo. I not purpose it. 

I think, Camillo? 

Cam. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have I told you 'twould be 
thus! 
How often said, my dignity would last 
But till 'twere known ! 

Flo. It cannot fail but by 

The violation of my faith ; and then 
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together 
And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks : 
From my succession wipe me, father ; I 491 

Am heir to my affection. 

Cam. Be advised. 

Flo. I am, and by my fancy : if my reason 
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; 
If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, 
Do bid it welcome. 

Cam. This is desperate, sir. 

Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ; 
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or 500 
The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides 
In unknown fathoms, will 1 break my oath 
To this my fair beloved : therefore, I pray you, 
As you have ever been my father's honour'd 

friend, 
When he shall miss me, — as, in faith, I mean not 
To see him any more, — cast your good counsels 
Upon his passion : let myself and fortune 
Tug for the time to come. This you may know 
And so deliver, I am put to sea 
With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; 510 
And most opportune to our need I have 
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared 
For this design. What course I mean to hold 
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
Concern me the reporting. 

Cam. O my lord ! 

I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
Or stronger for your need. 

Flo. Hark, Perdita [Drawing her aside. 

I '11 hear you by and by. 

Cam. He's irremoveable, 

Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn, 520 
Save him from danger, do him love and honour, 
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia 
And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
I so much thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Camillo ; 

I am so fraught with curious business that 
I leave out ceremony. 

Cam. Sir, I think 

You have heard of my poor services, i' the love 
That I have borne your father? 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have you deserved : it is my father's music 
To speak your deeds, not little of his care 530 
To have them recompensed as thought on. 

Cam. Well, my lord, 

If you may please to think I love the king 
And through him what is nearest to him, which is 
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction : 



?T- 



324 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act iv. 



If your more ponderous and settled project 

May suffer alteration, on mine honour, 

I '11 point you where you shall have such receiving 

As shall become your highness ; where you may 

Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, 

There's no disjunction to be made, but by — 540 

As heavens forefend ! — your ruin ; marry her, 

And, with my best endeavours in your absence, 

Your discontenting father strive to qualify 

And bring him up to liking. 

• Flo. How, Camillo, 

May this, almost a miracle, be done ? 

That I may call thee something more than man 

And after that trust to thee. 

Cam. Have you thought on 

A place whereto you'll go ? 

Flo. Not any yet : 

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty 
To what we wildly do, so we profess 550 

Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies 
Of every wind that blows. 

Cam. Then list to me : 

This follows, if you will not change your purpose 
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, 
And there present yourself and your fair princess, 
For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes : 
She shall be habited as it becomes 
The partner of your bed. Methinks I see 
Leontes opening his free arms and weeping 559 
His welcomes forth ; asks thee the son forgiveness, 
As 'twere i' the father's person ; kisses the hands 
Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides him 
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness ; the one 
He chides to hell and bids the other grow 
Faster than thought or time. 

Flo. _ Worthy Camillo, 

What colour for my visitation shall I 
Hold up before him ? 

Cam. Sent by the king your father 

To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, 
The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
What you as from your father shall deliver, 570 
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you 

down: 
The which shall point you forth at every sitting 
What you must say ; that he shall not perceive 
But that you have your father's bosom there 
And speak his very heart. 

Flo. I am bound to you : 

There is some sap in this. 

Cam. A cause more promising 

Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most cer- 
tain 
To miseries enough ; no hope to help you, 
But as you shake off one to take another : 580 
Nothing so certain as your anchors, who 
Do their best office, if they can but stay you 
Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know 
Prosperity's the very bond of love, 
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together 
Affliction alters. 

Per. One of these is true : 

I think affliction may subdue the cheek, 
But not take in the mind. 

Cam. Yea, say you so? 

There shall not at your father's house these seven 

years 
Be born another such. 



Flo. My good Camillo, 590 

She is as forward of her breeding as 
fShe is i' the rear our birth. 

Cam. I cannot say 'tis pity 

She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress 
To most that teach. 

Per. Your pardon, sir ; for this 

I '11 blush you thanks. 

Flo. My prettiest Perdita ! 

But O, the thorns we stand upon ! Camillo, 
Preserver of my father, now of me, 
The medicine of our house, how shall we do? 
We are not furnish' d like Bohemia's son, 
Nor shall appear in Sicilia. 

Cam. My lord, 600 

Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes 
Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
To have you royally appointed as if 
The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, 
That you may know you shall not want, one word. 
[ They talk aside. 

Re-enter Autolycus. 

Aut. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and 
Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentle- 
man ! I have sold all my trumpery ; not a coun- 
terfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, 
brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, 
shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack 
from fasting : they throng who should buy first, 
as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought 
a benediction to the buyer: by which means I 
saw whose purse was best in picture ; and what I 
saw, to my good use I remembered. My clown, 
who wants but something to be a reasonable man, 
grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he 
would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune 
and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to 
me that all their other senses stuck in ears : you 
might have pinched a placket, it was senseless ; 
'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I 
could have filed keys off that hung in chains : no 
hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and ad- 
miring the nothing of it. So that in this time of 
lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival 
purses ; and had not the old man come in with a 
whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's 
son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had 
not left a purse alive in the whole army. 631 

[Camillo, Florisel, and Perdita come forward. 

Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means 
being there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 

Flo. And those that you'll procure from King 
Leontes — 

Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 

Per. Happy be you ! 

All that you speak shows fair. 

Cam. Who have we here ? 

[Seeing- A utolycus. 
We'll make an instrument of this, omit 
Nothing may give us aid. 

Ant. If they have overheard me now, why, 
hanging. 640 

Cam. How now, good fellow! why shakest 
thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm in- 
tended to thee. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 

Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will 



Scene iv.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



325 



steal that from thee : yet for the outside of thy 
poverty we must make an exchange ; therefore 
disease thee instantly, — thou must think there 's 
a necessity in't, — and change garments with this 
gentleman : though the pennyworth on his side 
be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know 
ye well enough. 

Cam. Nay, prithee, dispatch : the gentleman 
is half flayed already. 

Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? [Aside] I 
smell the trick on't. 

Flo. Dispatch, I prithee. 

Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I can- 
not with conscience take it. 660 
Cain. Unbuckle, unbuckle. 
[Florizel and A u to lye us exchange garments. 
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
Come home to ye ! — you must retire yourself 
Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat 
And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, 
Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken 
The truth of your own seeming ; that you may — 
For I do fear eyes over — to shipboard 
Get undescried. 

Per. I see the play so lies 

That I must bear a part. 

Cam. No remedy. 670 

Have you done there? 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat. 

[Giving it to Perdita. 
Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. 
Aut. ■ Adieu, sir. 

Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot ! 
Pray you, a word. 

Cam. [Aside] What I do next, shall be to 
tell the king 
Of this escape and whither they are bound ; 
Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail 
To force him after : in whose company 
I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight 680 

I have a woman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed us ! 

Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. 
Cam. The swifter speed the better. 

[Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camilla. 
Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : to 
have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble 
hand, is necessary for a cut-purse ; a good nose 
is requisite also, to smell out work for the other 
senses. I see this is the time that the unjust 
man doth thrive. What an exchange had this 
been without boot ! What a boot is here with 
this exchange ! Sure the gods do this year 
connive at us, and we may do any thing ex- 
tempore. The prince himself is about a piece 
of iniquity, stealing away from his father with 
his clog at his heels : if I thought it were a piece 
of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would 
not do't: I hold it the more knavery to con- 
ceal it; and therein am I constant to my pro- 
fession. 

Rc-rnter Clown and Shepherd. 
Aside, aside ; here is more matter for a hot 
brain : every lane's end, every shop, church, 
session, hanging, yields a careful man work. 701 



Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! 
J. here is no other way but to tell the king 
she's a changeling and none of your flesh and 
blood. 

Sliep. Nay, but hear me. 
Clo. Nay, but hear me. 

Shep. Go to, then. 709 

Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, 
your flesh and blood has not offended the king ; 
and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished 
by him. Show those things you found about 
her, those secret things, all but what she has 
with her : this being done, let the law go whistle : 
I warrant you. 

Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, 
yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, 
is no honest man, neither to his father nor to 
me, to go about to make me the king's brother- 
in-law. 721 
Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest 
off you could have been to him and then your 
blood had been the dearer by I know how much 
an ounce. 

Aid. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies ! 
Shep. Well, let us to the king: there is that 
in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. 

Aut. [Aside] I know not what impediment 
this complaint may be to the flight of my master. 
Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. 731 

Aut. [Aside] Though I am not naturally 
honest, I am so sometimes by chance : let me 
pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off 
his false heard.] How now, rustics ! whither are 
you bound? 

Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 
Aut. Your affairs there, what, with whom, 
the condition of that fardel, the place of your 
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, 
breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be 
known, discover. 

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
A ut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy. Let 
me have no lying: it becomes none but trades- 
men, and they often give us soldiers the lie : but 
we pay them for it with stamped coin, not 
stabbing steel ; therefore they do not give us 
the lie. 

Clo. Your worship had like to have given 
us one, if you had not taken yourself with the 
manner. 
Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? 
Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a 
courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court 
in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the 
measure of the court? receives not thy nose 
court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy base- 
ness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I 
insinuate, or \ toaze from thee thy business, I am 
therefore no courtier'/ I am courtier cap-a-pe ; 
and one that will either push on or pluck back 
thy business there : whereupon I command thee 
to open thy affair. 

Sliep. My business, sir, is to the king. 
Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? 
Shep. 1 know not, an't like you. 
Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a phea- 
sant : say you have none. 

Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock 
nor hen. 771 



326 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act v. 



A ut. How blessed are we that are not simple 
men! 
Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
Therefore I will not disdain. 

Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 

She/'. His garments are rich, but he wears 
them not handsomely. 

Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being 
fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know by 
the picking on 's teeth. 780 

Attt. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? 
Wherefore that box? 

Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel 
and box, which none must know but the king; 
and which he shall know within this hour, if I 
may come to the speech of him. 

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 

Shep. Why, sir? 

Aut. The king is not at the palace ; he is gone 
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air 
himself: for, if thou beest capable of things se- 
rious, thou must know the king is full of grief. 

Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that 
should have married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let 
him fly : the curses he shall have, the tortures he 
shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart 
of monster. 

Clo. Think you so, sir? 799 

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can 
make heavy and vengeance bitter ; but those that 
are germane to him, though removed fifty times, 
shall all come under the hangman : which though 
it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old 
sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to 
have his daughter come into grace ! Some say 
he shall be stoned ; but that death is too soft for 
him, say I : draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! 
all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. 

Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you 
hear, an't like you, sir? 811 

Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive ; 
then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of 
a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters 
and a dram dead; then recovered again with 
aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion ; then, raw 
as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication 
proclaims, shall he be set against a brick -wall, the 
sun looking with a southward eye upon him, 
where he is to behold him with flies blown to 
death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, 
whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences 
being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be 
honest plain men, what you have to the king: 
being something gently considered, I'll bring you 
where he is aboard, tender your persons to his 
presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be 
in man besides the king to efferTt your suits, here 
is man shall do it. 829 

Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close 
with him, give him gold ; and though authority 
be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose 
with gold : show the inside of your purse to the 
outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember 
'stoned,' and ' flayed alive.' 

Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the 
business for us, here is that gold I have: I'll 
make it as much more and leave this young man 
in pawn till I bring it you. 



A ut. After I have done what I promised ? 840 

Shep. Ay, sir. 

Aut. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a 
party in this business? 

Clo. In some sort, sir : but though my case be 
a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 

Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son : 
hang him, he'll be made an example. 

Clo. Comfort, good comfort ! We must to the 
king and show our strange sights : he must know 
'tis none of your daughter nor my sister ; we are 
gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this 
old man does when the business is performed, 
and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be 
brought you. 

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward 
the sea-side ; go on the right hand : I will but 
look upon the hedge and follow you. 

Clo. We are blest in this man, as I may say, 
even blest. 

Shep. Let's before as he bids us : he was pro- 
vided to do us good. 861 
[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 

Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see For- 
tune would not suffer me : she drops booties in 
my mouth. I am courted now with a double oc- 
casion, gold and a means to do the prince my 
master good ; which who knows how that may 
turn back to my advancement? I will bring these 
two moles, these blind ones, aboard him : if he 
think it fit to shore them again and that the com- 
plaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, 
let him call me rogue for being so far officious ; 
for I am proof against that title and. what shame 
else belongs to't. To him will I present them : 
there may be matter in it. {Exit. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. A room in Leontes' palace. 

Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, 
and Servants. ■ 

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have 
perform'd 
A saint-like sorrow : no fault could you make, 
Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid down 
More penitence than done trespass : at the last, 
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil ; 
With them forgive yourself. 

Leoit. Whilst I remember 

Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
My blemishes in them, and so still think of 
The wrong I did myself; which was so much, 
That heirless it hath made my kingdom and 10 
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man 
Bred his hopes out of. 

Paul. True, too tru£, my lord : 

If, one by one, you wedded all the world, 
Or from the all that are took something good, 
To make a perfedl woman, she you kilrd 
Would be unparallel'd. 

Leon. I think so. KilPd ! 

She I kill'd ! I did so : but thou strikest me 
Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter 
Upon thy tongue as in my thought: now, good 

now, 
Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. ' Not at all, good lady : 20 



Scene i.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



327 



You might have spoken a thousand things that 

would 
Have done the time more benefit and graced 
Your kindness better. 

Paul. You are one of those 

Would have him wed again. 

Dion. If you would not so, 

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
Of his most sovereign name ; consider little 
J What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, 

May drop upon his kingdom and devour 
[ Incertain lookers on. What were more holy 

Than to rejoice the former queen is well? 30 

j What holier than, for royalty's repair, 
I For present comfort and for future good, 
To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to't? 

Paul. There is none worthy, 

Respjcling her that's gone. Besides, the gods 
Will have fulfill' d their secret purposes; 
For has not the divine Apollo said, 
Is't not the tenour of his oracle, 
That King Leontes shall not have an heir 
Till his lost child be found? which that it shall, 
Is all as monstrous to our human reason 41 

As my Antigonus to break his grave 
j And come again to me ; who, on my life, 
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel 
My lord should to the heavens be contrary, 
Oppose against their wills. [To Leontes.] Care 

not for issue ; 
The crown will find an heir : great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
Was like to be the best. 

Leon. Good Paulina, 

Who hast the memory of Hermione, 50 

I know, in honour, O, that ever I 
Had squared me to thy counsel ! then, even now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, 
Have taken treasure from her lips — 

Paul. And left them 

More rich for what they yielded. 

Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 

No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one 

worse, 
And better used, would make her sainted spirit 
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, 
Where we 're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd, 
fAnd begin, 'Why to me?' 

Paul. Had she such power, 60 

She had just cause. 

Leon. She had ; and would incense me 

To murder her I married. 

Paul. I should so. 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I 'Id bid you mark 
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't 
You chose her ; then I 'Id shriek, that even your 

ears 
Should rift to hear me ; and the words that fol- 

low'd 
Should be ' Remember mine.' 

Leon. Stars, stars, 

And all eyes else dead coals ! Fear thou no wife ; 
I '11 have no wife, Paulina. 

Paul. Will you swear 

Never to marry but by my free leave ? 70 

Leon. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit ! 
Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to 
his oath. 



Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 

Paul. _ Unless another, 

As like Hermione as is her picture, 
Affront his eye. 

Cleo. Good madam, — 

Paul. I have done. 

Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir. 
No remedy, but you will, — give me the office 
To choose you a queen: she shall not be so 

young 
As was your former ; but she shall be such 
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take 
joy _ 80 

To see her in your arms. 

Leon. My true Paulina, 

We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. 

Paul. That 

Shall be when your first queen's again in breath ; 
Never till then. 

Enter a Gentleman. 
Gent. One that gives out himself Prince 
Florizel, 
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she 
The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. What with him? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness : his approach, 
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells, us go 
'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced 
By need and accident. What train ? 

Gent. But few, 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? 

Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I 
think, 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. 

Paul. O Hermione, 

As every present time doth boast itself 
Above a better gone, so must thy grave 
Give way to what's seen now ! Sir, you yourself 
Have said and writ so, but your writing now 
1 s colder than that theme, ' She had not been, 100 
Nor was not to be equall'd ;' — thus your verse 
Flow'd with her beauty once : 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, 
To say you have seen a better. 

Gent. Pardon, madam : 

The one I have almost forgot, — your pardon, — 
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, 
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, 
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Of all professors else, make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow. 

Paul. How ! not women ? 

Gent. Women will love her, that she is a 
woman 1 10 

More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
The rarest of all women. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, 
Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis strange 
[Exeunt Cleomenes and others. 
He thus should steal upon us. 

Paul. Had our prince, 

Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd 
Well with this lord : there was not full a month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Prithee, no more ; cease ; thou know'st 
He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure. i?o 



328 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act v. 



When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that which may 
Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. 

Re-enter Cleomenes and others, with 
Flokizel and Perdita. 

Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; 
For she did print your royal father off, 
Conceiving you : were I but twenty one, 
Your father's image is so hit in you, 
His very air, that I should call you brother, 
As I did him, and speak of something wildly 
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
And your fair princess, — goddess ! — O, alas ! 131 
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
Might thus have stood begetting wonder as 
You, gracious couple, do : and then I lost — 
All mine own folly — the society, 
Amity too, of your brave father, whom, 
Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
Once more to look on him. 

Flo. By his command 

Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from hiin 
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, 140 
Can send his brother : and, but infirmity 
Which waits upon worn times hath something 

seized 
His wish'd ability, he had himself 
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
Measured to look upon you; whom he loves — 
He bade me say so — more than all the sceptres 
And those that bear them living. 

Leon. O my brother, 

Good gentleman ! the wrongs I have done thee 

stir 
Afresh within me, and these thy offices, 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 150 

Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither, 
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage, 
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, 
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less 
The adventure of her person? 

Flo. Good my lord, 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved? 

Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him, 
whose daughter 
His tears proclaimed his, parting with her : thence, 
A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have 
cross'd, 161 

To execute the charge my father gave me 
For visiting your highness : my best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd ; 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
Not only my success in Libya, sir, 
But my arrival and my wife's in safety 
Here where we are. 

Leon. The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air whilst you 
Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 170 
A graceful gentleman ; against whose person, 
So sacred as it is, I have done sin : 
For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
Have left me issueless ; and your father's blest, 
As he from heaven merits it, with you 
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, 



Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, 
Such goodly things as you! 

Enter a Lord. 
Lord. Most noble sir, 

That which I shall report will bear no credit, 
Were nottheproof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
Bohemia greets you from himself by me ; 181 

Desires you to attach his son, who has — ■ 
His dignity and duty both cast off- 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepherd's daughter. 

Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak. 

Lord. Here in your city ; I now came from 
him: 
I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
My marvel and my message. To your court 
Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems, 
Of this fair couple, meets he on the way 190 

The father of this seeming lady and 
Her brother, having both their country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo. Camillo has betray'd me ; 

Whose honour and whose honesty till now 
Endured all weathers. 

Lord. Lay't so to his charge : 

He's with the king your father. 
Leon. Who? Camillo? 

Lord. Camillo, sir ; I spake with him ; who now 
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the 

earth ; 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak : 200 
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
With divers deaths in death. 

Per. O my poor father ! 

The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

Leon. You are married? 

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : 
The odds for high and low's alike. 

Leon. My lord, 

Is this the daughter of a king? 

Flo. She is, 

When once she is my wife. 

Leon. That ' once,' I see by your good father's 
speed, 210 

Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking 
Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
That you might well enjoy her. 

Flo. Dear, look up : 

Though Fortune, visible an enemy, 
Should chase us with my father, power no jot 
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, 
Remember since you owed no more to time 
Than I do now : with thought of such affections, 
Step forth mine advocate ; at your request 221 
My father will grant precious things as trifles. 
Leon. Would he do so, I 'Id beg your precious 
mistress, 
Which he counts but a trifle. 

Paul. Sir, my liege, 

Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a month 
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 

gazes 
Than what you look on now. 



Leon. I thought of her, 

Even in these looks I made. {To Florizei.] But 

your petition 
Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father : 
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 230 
I am friend to them and you : upon which errand 
I now go toward him ; therefore follow me 
And mark what way I make : come, good my 

lord. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Before Leontes' palace. 
E7iter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at 
this relation? 

First Gent. I was by at the opening of the 
fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner 
how he found it : whereupon, after a little amazed- 
ness, we were all commanded out of the chamber ; 
only this methought I heard the shepherd say, he 
found the child. 

Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 

First Gent. I make a broken delivery of the 
business; but the changes I perceived in the king 
and Camillo were very notes of admiration : they 
seemed almost, with staring on one another, to 
tear the cases of their eyes ; there was speech in 
their dumbness, language in their very gesture ; 
they looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, 
or one destroyed : a notable passion of wonder 
appeared in them ; but the wisest beholder, that 
knew no more but seeing, could not say if the 
importance were joy or sorrow ; but in the ex- 
tremity of the one, it must needs be. 

Enter another Gentleman. 
Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more. 
The news, Rogero? 

Sec. Gent. Nothing but bonfires : the oracle is 
fulfilled ; the king's daughter is found : such a 
deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that 
ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. 

Enter a third Gentleman. 
Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he can 
deliver you more, flow goes it now, sir? this 
news which is called true is so like an old tale, 
that the verity of it is in strong suspicion: has 
the king found his heir? 

Third Gent. Most true, if ever truth were 
pregnant by circumstance : that which you hear 
you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the 
proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's, her 
jewel about the neck of it, the letters of A ntigonus 
found with it which they know to be his character, 
the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the 
mother, the affection of nobleness which nature 
shows above her breeding, and many other evi- 
dences proclaim her with all certainty to be the 
king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the 
two kings? 

Sec. Gent. No. 

Third Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which 
was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might 
you have beheld one joy crown another, so and 
in such manner that it seemed sorrow wept to take 
leave of them, for their joy waded in tears There 
was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with 
countenances of such distraction that they were to 
be known by garment, not by favour. Our king. 



being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his 
found daughter, as if that joy were now become a 
loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks 
Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in- 
law; then again worries he his daughter with 
clipping her ; now he thanks the old shepherd, 
which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of 
many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another 
encounter, which lames report to follow it and 
undoes description to do it. 

Sec. Gent. What, pray you, became of Anti- 
gonus, that carried hence the child? 

Third Gent. Like an old tale still, which will 
have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep 
and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with 
a bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who 
has not only his innocence, which seems much, to 
justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his 
that Paulina knows. 

First Gent. What became of his bark and his 
followers? 

Third Gent. Wrecked the same instant of 
their master's death and in the view of the 
shepherd : so that all the instruments which aided 
to expose the child were even then lost when it 
was found. But O, the noble combat that'twixt 
joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina ! She had 
one eye declined for the loss of her husband, 
another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled : she 
lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks 
her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her 
heart that she might no more be in danger of losing. 

First Gent. The dignity of this act was worth 
the audience of kings and princes; for by such 
was it acted. 

Third Gent. One of the prettiest touches of 
all and that which angled for mine eyes, caught 
the water though not the fish, was when, at the 
relation of the queen's death, with the manner 
how she came to 't bravely confessed and lamented 
by the king, how attentiveness wounded his 
daughter ; till, from one sign of dolour to another, 
she did, with an ' Alas,' I would fain say, bleed 
tears, for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who 
was most marble there changed colour; some 
swooned, all sorrowed : if all the world could 
have seen 't, the woe had been universal. 100 

First Gent. Are they returned to the court? 

Third Gent. No: the princess hearing of her 
mother's statue, which is in the keeping of 
Paulina, — a piece many years in doing and now 
newly performed by that rare Italian master. 
Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and 
could put breath into his work, would beguile 
Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape : 
he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that 
they say one would speak to her and stand in hope 
of answer : thither with all greediness of affection 
are they gone, and there they intend to sup. 

Sec. Gent. I thought she had some great matter 
there in hand; for she hath privately twice or 
thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, 
visited that removed house. Shall we thither and 
with our company piece the rejoicing? 

First Gent. Who would be thence that has 

the benefit of access? every wink of an eye some 

new grace will be born : our absence makes us 

unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. 121 

[Exeunt Gentlemen. 



- 3 o 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act v. 



Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former 
life in me, would preferment drop on my head. 
I brought the old man and his son aboard the 
prince ; told him I heard them talk of a fardel 
and I know not what : but he at that time, over- 
fond of the shepherd's daughter, so he then took 
her to be, who began to be much sea-sick, and 
himself little better, extremity of weather con- 
tinuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 
'tis all one to me ; for had I been the finder out 
of this secret, it would not have relished among 
my other discredits. 

Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
Here come those I have done good to against 
my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of 
their fortune. 

Shep. Come, boy ; I am past moe children, but 
thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 

Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to 
fight with me this other day, because I was no 
gentleman born. See you these clothes ? say you see 
them not and think me still no gentleman born : 
you were best say these robes are not gentlemen 
born : give me the lie, do, and try whether I am 
not now a gentleman born. 

Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these 
four hours. 

Shep. And so have I, boy. 149 

Clo. So you have : but I was a gentleman born 
before my father ; for the king's son took me by 
the hand, and called me brother ; and then the two 
kings called my father brother ; and then the prince 
my brother and the princess my sister called my 
father father ; and so we wept, and there was the 
first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. 

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clo. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
preposterous estate as we are. 159 

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon 
me all the faults I have committed to your wor- 
ship and to give me your good report to the 
prince my master. 

Shep. Prithee, son, do ; for we must be gentle, 
now we are gentlemen. 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? 

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the 
prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is 
in Bohemia. 170 

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? 
Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. 

Shep. How if it be false, son? 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman 
may swear it in the behalf of his friend : and I '11 
swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy 
hands and that thou wilt not be drunk ; but I 
know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and 
that thou wilt be drunk : but I 'II swear it, and I 
would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. 

Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow : if 
I do not wonder how thou darest venture to be 
drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. 
Hark ! the kings and the princes, our kindred, 
are going to see the queen's picture. Come, 
follow us: we'll be thy good masters. [Exeunt. 



Scene III. A chapel in Paulina's house. 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Per- 
dita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and At- 
tendants. 

Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great 
comfort 
That I have had of thee ! 

Paul. What, sovereign sir, 

I did not well I meant well. All my services 
You have paid home : but that you have vouch- 
safed, 
With your crown'd brother and these your con- 
tracted 
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
My life may last to answer. 

Leon. O Paulina, 

We honour you with trouble : but we came 
To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 10 
Have we pass'd through, not without much con- 
tent 
In many singularities ; but we saw not 
That which my daughter came to look upon, 
The statue of her mother. 

Paul. As she lived peerless, 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon 
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
Lonely, apart. But here it is : prepare 
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever 19 

Still sleep mock'd death : behold, and say 'tis well. 
[Paulina drams a curtain, and disco7>e?'s 
Hermione standing like a statue. 
I like your silence, it the more shows off 
Your wonder : but yet speak ; first, you, my liege. 
Comes it not something near? 

Leon. Her natural posture ! 

Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed 
Thou art Hermione ; or rather, thou art she 
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender 
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing 
So aged as this seems. 

Pol. O, not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excel- 
lence ; 30 
Which lets go by some sixteen j r ears and makes 

her 
As she lived now. 

Leon. As now she might have done, 

So much to my good comfort, as it is 
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, ) 
Even with such life of majesty, warm life, 
As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her ! 
I am ashamed : does not the stone rebuke me 
For being more stone than it? O royal piece 
There's magic in thy majesty, which has 
My evils conjured to remembrance and 40 

From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
Standing like stone with thee. 

Per. And give me leave, 

And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady, 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
Give me that hand of yours to kiss. 

Paul. O, patience ! 

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour 's 
Not dry. 



Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 50 

So many summers dry : scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow 
But kill'd itself much sooner. 

Pol. Dear my brother, 

Let him that was the cause of this have power 
To take off so much grief from you as he 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord, 

If I had thought the sight of my poor image 
Would thus have wrought you, — for the stone is 

mine — 
I'ld not have show'd it. 

Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest 
your fancy 60 

May think anon it moves. 

Leon. Let be, let be. 

I Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — 
I What was he that did make it ? See, my lord, 
Would you not deem it breathed? and that those 

veins 
Did verily bear blood ? 

Pol. Masterly done : 

The very life seems warm upon her lip. 

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in 't, 
As we are mock'd with art. 

Paul. I 11 draw the curtain : 

My lord's almost so far transported that 
He '11 think anon it lives. 

Leon. O sweet Paulina, 70 

Make me to think so twenty years together ! 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. 

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd 
you : but 
I could afflict you farther. 

Leon. Do, Paulina; 

For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, 
There is an air comes from her : what fine chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, 
For I will kiss her. 

Paul. Good my lord, forbear : 80 

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; 
You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own 
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain ? 

Leon. No, not these twenty years. 

Per. So long could I 

Stand by, a looker on. 

Paul. Either forbear, 

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you 
For more amazement. If you can behold it, 
I '11 make the statue move indeed, descend 
And take you by the hand : but then you'll think — 
Which I protest against — I am assisted 90 

By wicked powers. 

Leon. What you can make her do, 

I am content to look on : what to speak, 
I am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy 
To make her speak as move. 

Paul, It is required 

You do awake your faith. Then all stand still ; 
On : those that think it is unlawful business 
I am about, let them depart. 

Leon. Proceed : 

No foot shall stir. 

Paul. Music, awake her ; strike! [Music. 



'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more ; approach ; 
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, 100 
I '11 fill your grave up : stir, nay, come away, 
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs : 
[Hermione comes down. 
Start not ; her actions shall be holy as 
You hear my spell is lawful : do not shun her 
Until you see her die again ; for then 
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand : 
When she was young you woo'd her; now in age 
Is she become the suitor? 

Leon. O, she 'swarm! 

If this be magic, let it be an art no 

Lawful as eating. 

Pol. She embraces him. 

Cam. She hangs about his neck : 
If she pertain to life let her speak too. 

Pol. Ay, and make 't manifest where she has 
lived, 
Or how stolen from the dead. 

Paul. That she is living, 

Were it but told you. should be hooted at 
Like an old tale : but it appears she lives. 
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. 
Please you to interpose, fair madam : kneel 
And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good 
lady; I20 

Our Perdita is found. 

Her. You gods, look down 

And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine own. 
Where hast thou been preserved? where lived? 

how found 
Thy father's court ? for thou shalt hear that I, 
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle 
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved 
Myself to see the issue. 

Paul. There 's time enough for that ; 

Lest they desire upon this push to trouble 
Your joys with like relation. Go together, 130 
You precious winners all ; your exultation 
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there 
My mate, that's never to be found again, 
Lament till I am lost. 

Leon. O, peace, Paulina ! 

Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, 
As I by thine a wife : this is a match, 
And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found 

mine ; 
But how, is to be question'd ; for I saw her, 
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many 140 
A prayer upon her grave. I '11 not seek far — 
For him, I partly know his mind — to find thee 
An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, 
And take her by the hand, whose worth and 

honesty 
Is richly noted and here justified 
By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. 
What ! look upon my brother : both your pardons, 
That e'er I put between your holy looks 
My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law 
Andson untothe king, who, heavens directing, 150 
Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, 
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely 
Each one demand and answer to his part 
Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first 
We were dissever'd : hastily lead away. [Exeunt. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
KING JOHN. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King John. 

Prince Hf.nrV, son to the king. 

Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the 
king. 

The Earl of Pembroke. 

The Earl of Essex. 

The Earl of Salisbury. 

The Lord Bigot. 

Hubert de Burgh. 

Robert Faulconbridge, son to Sir Robert 
Faulconbridge. 

Philip the Bastard, his half-brother. 

James Gurney, servant to Lady Faulcon- 
bridge. 

Peter of Pomfret, a prophet. 

Philip, King of France. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. King John's palace. 

Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, 

Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon. 

K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would 

France with us ? 
Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King 
of France 
In my behaviour to the majesty, 
The borrow 'd majesty, of England here. 

Eli. A strange beginning: 'borrow'd ma- 
jesty !' 
K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the 

embassy. 
Chat. Philip of France, in right and true 
behalf 
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, 
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
To this fair island and the territories, _ 10 

To Ireland, Poicliers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword 
Which sways usurpingly these several titles, 
And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 

K. John. What follows if we disallow of this? 
Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody 
war, 
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 
K. John. Here have we war for war and 
blood for blood, 
Controlment for controlment : so answer France. 
Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my 
mouth, 21 

The farthest limit of my embassy. 

K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in 
peace : 



Lewis, the Dauphin. 
Lymoges, Duke of Austria. 
Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's legate. 
Melun, a French Lord. 
Chatillon, ambassador from France to King 
John. 

Queen Elinor, mother to King John. 
Constance, mother to Arthur. 
Blanch of Spain, niece to King John. 
Lady Faulconbridge. 

Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, 

Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other 

Attendants. 

Scene: Partly in England, and partly in 
France. 



Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard : 
So hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath 
And sullen presage of your own decay. 
An honourable conduct let him have : 
Pembroke, look to't. Farewell, Chatillon. 30 
[Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. 

Eli. What now, my son ! have I not ever said 
How that ambitious Constance would not cease 
Till she had kindled France and all the world, 
Upon the right and party of her son ? 
This might have been prevented and made whole 
With very easy arguments of love, 
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must 
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 

K. John. Our strong possession and our right 
for us. 

Eli. Your strong possession much more than 
your right, 40 

Or else it must go wrong with you and me : 
So much my conscience whispers in your ear, 
Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. 

Enter a Sheriff. 
Essex. My liege, here is the strangest con- 
troversy 
Come from the country to be judged by you 
That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? 

K. John. Let them approach. 
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay 
This expedition's charge. 

Enter Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip his 
bastard brother. 

What men are you ? 
Bast. Your faithful subjecl I, a gentleman 50 
Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son, 



Scene I.] 



KING JOHN. 



333 



j As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, 
! A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. 

K. John. What art thou ? 

Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon- 
bridge. 

A*. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the 
heir? 
You came not of one mother then, it seems. 

Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king ; 
That is well known ; and, as I think, one father : 
But for the certain knowledge of that truth 61 
I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother : 
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 

Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame 
thy mother 
And wound her honour with this diffidence. 

Bast. I, madam? no, I have no reason for it ; 
That is my brother's plea and none of mine ; 
The which if he can prove, a' pops me out 
At least from fair five hundred pound a year: 
Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land ! 

K. John. A good blunt fellow. Why, being 
younger born, 71 

Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? 

Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
But once he slander'd me with bastardy : 
But whether I be as true begot or no, 
That still I lay upon my mother's head. 
But that I am as well begot, my liege, — 
Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me ! — 
Compare our faces and be judge yourself. 
If old sir Robert did beget us both 80 

And were our father and this son like him, 

old sir Robert, father, on my knee 

1 give heaven thanks I was not like to thee ! 

K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven 

lent us here ! 
Eli. He hath a trick of Cceur-de-lion's face ; 
The accent of his tongue affecteth him. 
Do you not read some tokens of my son 
In the large composition of this man? 
K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his 
parts 
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, 90 
What doth move you to claim your brother's land ? 
Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my 
father. 
With half that face would he have all my land : 
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year J 
Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father 
lived, 
Your brother did employ my father much, — 
Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my 
land: 
Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. 
Rob. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy 
To Germany, there with the emperor 100 

To treat of high affairs touching that time. 
The advantage of his absence took the king 
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; 
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, 
But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and 

shores 
Between my father and my mother lay, 
j As I have heard my father speak himself, 
When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
His lands to me, and took it on his death no 



That this my mother's son was none of his; 
And if he were, he came into the world 
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
My father's land, as was my father's will. 

A". John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; 
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, 
And if she did play false, the fault was hers; 
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, 
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, 121 
Had of your father claim'd this son for his? 
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept 
This calf bred from his cow from all the world ; 
In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, 
My brother might not claim him ; nor your father, 
Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes; 
My mother's son did get your father's heir ; 
Your father's heir must have your father's land. 

Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no 
force 130 

To dispossess that child which is not his? 

Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
Than was his will to get me, as I think. 

Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faul- 
conbridge 
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, 
Or the reputed son of Cocur-de-lion, 
Lord of thy presence and no land beside? 

Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, 
And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him ; 
And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 140 
My arms such eel-skins stuff 'd, my face so thin 
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose 
Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings 

goes!' 
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
Would I might never stir from off this place, 
I would give it every foot to have this face ; 
I would not be sir Nob in any case. 

Eli. I like thee well : wilt thou forsake thy 
fortune, 
Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? 
I am a soldier and now bound to France. 150 

Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take 
my chance. 
Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, 
Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear. 
Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death. 

Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me 
thither. 

Bast. Our country manners give our betters 
way. 

A". John. What is thy name? 

Bast. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun ; 
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 

K. John. From henceforth bear his name 
whose form thou bear'st: 160 

Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great, 
Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet. 

Bast. Brother by the mother's side, give me 
your hand : 
My father gave me honour, yours gave land. 
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, 
When I was got, sir Robert was away I 

Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet ! 
I am thy grandam, Richard ; call me so. 

Bast. Madam, by chance but not by truth ; 
what though? 



Something about, a little from the right, 170 

In at the window, or else o'er the hatch : 
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, 

And have is have, however men do catch : 
Near or far off, well won is still well shot, 
And I am I, howe'er I was begot. 

K. John. Go, Faulconbridge : now hast thou 
thy desire ; 
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. 
Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must 

speed 
For France, for France, for it is more than need. 

Bast. Brother, adieu : good fortune come to 
thee ! 1S0 

For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. 

[Exeunt all but Bastard, 
A foot of honour better than I was; 
But many a many foot of land the worse. 
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 
'Good den, sir Richard!' — ' God-a-mercy, el- 
low ! ' — 
And if his name be George, I '11 call him Peter ; 
For new-made honour doth forget men's names ; 
'Tis too respective and too sociable 
For your conversion. Now your traveller, 
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess, 190 
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, 
Why then I suck my teeth and catechize 
My picked man of countries : 'My dear sir,' 
Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 
' I shall beseech you' — that is question now ; 
And then comes answer like an Absey book : 
'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command; 
At your employment ; at your service, sir :' 
'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:' 
And so, ere answer knows what question would, 
Saving in dialogue of compliment, 201 

And talking of the Alps and Apennines, 
The Pyrenean and the river Po, 
It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
But this is worshipful society 
And fits the mounting spirit like myself, 
For he is but a bastard to the time 
That doth not smack of observation ; 
And so am I, whether I smack or no; 
And not alone in habit and device, 210 

Exterior form, outward accoutrement, 
But from the inward motion to deliver 
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth : 
Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. 
But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? 
What woman-post is this? hath she no husband 
That will take pains to blow a horn before her? 

Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James 

GURNEY. 

O me ! it is my mother. How now, good lady ! 
What brings you here to court so hastily? 221 
Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? 
where is he, 
That holds in chase mine honour up and down? 
Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's 
son? 
Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? 
Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so ? 
Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou un- 
reverend boy, 



Sir Robert's son : why scorn'st thou at sir Robert ? 
He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. 

Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave 
awhile? 230 

Gur. Good leave, good Philip. 

Bast. Philip ! sparrow : James, 

There's toys abroad : anon I '11 tell thee more. 

[Exit Gztrney. 
Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son : 
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast : 
Sir Robert could do well : marry, to confess, 
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it : 
We know his handiwork : therefore, good mother, 
To whom am I beholding for these limbs? 
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 240 

Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy bro- 
ther too, 
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine 

honour? 
What means this scorn, thou most untoward 
knave ? 

Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco- 
like. 
What ! I am dubb'd ! I have it on my shoulder. 
But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ; 
I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land; 
Legitimation, name and all is gone : 
Then, good my mother, let me know my father ; 
Some proper man, I hope : who was it, mother ? 

Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faul- 
conbridge? 251 

Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. 

Lady F. King Richard Cceur-de-lion was thy 
father : 
By long and vehement suit I was seduced 
To make room for him in my husband's bed : 
Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! 
Thou art the issue of my dear offence, 
Which was so strongly urged past my defence. 

Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, 
Madam, I would not wish a better father. 260 
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
And so doth yours ; your fault was not your folly : 
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, 
Subjected tribute to commanding love, 
Against whose fury and unmatched force 
The aweless lion could not wage the fight, 
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, 
With all my heart I thank thee for my father ! 270 
Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well 
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. 
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin ; 

And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 

Who says it was, he lies ; I say 'twas not. 

{Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. France. Before Anglers. 

Enter Austria and forces, drums, etc. on one 
side: on the other King Philip of France and 
his power; Lewis, Arthur, Constance and 
attendants. 
Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. 

Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, 



Scene i.] 



KING JOHN. 



335 



Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart 

And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 

By this brave duke came early to his grave : 

And for amends to his posterity, 

At our importance hither is he come, 

To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf, 

And to rebuke the usurpation 

Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: _ 10 

Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 

Arth. God shall forgive you Cceur-de-lion's 
death 
The rather that you give his offspring life, 
Shadowing their right under your wings of war : 
I give you welcome with a powerless hand, 
But with a heart full of unstained love : 
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. 

Lew. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee 
right? 

Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
As seal to this indenture of my love, 20 

That to my home I will no more return, 
Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, 
Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, 
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides 
And coops from other lands her islanders, 
Even till that England, hedged in with the main, 
That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
And confident from foreign purposes, 
Even till that utmost corner of the west 
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, 30 
Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 

Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's 
thanks, 
Till your strong hand shall help to give him 

Strength 
To make a more requital to your love ! 

Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift 
their swords 
In such a just and charitable war. 

K. Phi. Well then, to work : our cannon shall 
be bent 
Against the brows of this resisting town. 
Call for our chiefest men of discipline, 
To cull the plots of best advantages : 40 

We'll lay before this town our royal bones, 
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, 
But we will make it subject to this boy. 

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood : 
My Lord Chatillon may from England bring 
That right in peace which here we urge in war, 
And then we shall repent each drop of blood 
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 

Enter Chatillon. 

A". Phi. A wonder, lady ! lo, upon thy wish, 
Our messenger Chatillon is arrived ! 51 

What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; 
We coldly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak. 

C/uit. Then turn your forces from this paltry 
siege 
And stir them up against a mightier task. 
England, impatient of your just demands, 
Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, 
Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time 
To land his legions all as soon as I; 
His marches are expedient to this town, 60 

His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
With him along is come the mother-queen, 



An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; 
With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain ; 
With them a bastard of the king's deceased; 
And all the unsettled humours of the land, 
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, 
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
To make a hazard of new fortunes here : 71 

In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits 
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er 
Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
To do offence and scath in Christendom. 

[Drum beats. 
The interruption of their churlish drums 
Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand, 
To parley or to fight ; therefore prepare. 

K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expe- 
dition ! 

Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
We must awake endeavour for defence ; 81 

For courage mounteth with occasion : 
Let them be welcome then ; we are prepared. 

Efiter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the 
Bastard, Lords, and forces. 

K. John. Peace be to France, if France in 
peace permit 
Our just and lineal entrance to our own ; 
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, 
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
Their proud contempt that beats His peace to 
heaven. 

K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war 
return 
From France to England, there to live in peace. 
England we love ; and for that England's sake 91 
With burden of our armour here we sweat. 
This toil of ours should be a work of thine ; 
But thou from loving England art so far, 
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, 
Cut off the sequence of posterity, 
Out-faced infant state and done a rape 
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; 
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his : 
This little abstract doth contain that large 101 
Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time 
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right 
And this is Geffrey's : in the name of God 
How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, 
When living blood doth in these temples beat. 
Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? 

K. John. From whom hast thou this great 
commission, France, no 

To draw my answer from thy articles? 

K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs 
* good thoughts 
In any breast of strong authority, 
To look into the blots and stains of right : 
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy : 
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong 
And by whose help I mean to chastise it. 

K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 

K. Phi. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. 

Eli. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France '.' 

Const. Let me make answer ; thy usurping son. 



336 



KING JOHN. 



[Act ii. 



Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king, 
That thou mayst be a queen, and check the 
world ! 
Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true 
As thine was to thy husband ; and this boy 
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey 
Than thou and John in manners ; being as like 
| As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think 
His father never was so true begot : 130 

It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 
Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots 

thy father. 
Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that 

would blot thee. 
Aust. Peace ! 
Bast. Hear the crier. 

Aust. What the devil art thou? 

Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, 
An a' may catch your hide and you alone : 
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, 
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard : 
I '11 smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right ; 
Sirrah, look to't ; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 140 

Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe 
That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him 
As great Alcides' shows upon an ass : 
But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back, 
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. 
Aust. What cracker is this same that deafs 
our ears 
With this abundance of superfluous breath? 
K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do 

straight. 
Lew. Women and fools, break off your con- 
ference. 150 
King John, this is the very sum of all ; 
England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : 
Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms ? 
K. John. My life as soon: I do defy thee, 
France. 
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; 
And out of my dear love I '11 give thee more 
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: 
Submit thee, boy. 
Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 
Const. Do, child, go to it grandam, child ; 160 
Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will 
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
There's a good grandam. 

A rth. Good my mother, peace ! 

I would that I were low laid in my grave : 
I am not worth this coil that's made for me. 
Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he 

weeps. 
Const. Now shame upon you, whether she 
does or no ! 
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's 

shames, 
Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor 

eyes, 
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; 170 
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be 

bribed 
To do him justice and revenge on you. 

Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and 
earth ! 



Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and 
earth ! 
Call not me slanderer ; thou and thine usurp 
The dominations, royalties and rights 
Of this oppressed boy : this is thy eld'st son's son, 
Infortunate in nothing but in thee : 
Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
The canon of the law is laid on him, 180 

Being but the second generation 
Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. 

K. John. Bedlam, have done. 

Const. _ I have but this to say, 

That he is not only plagued for her sin, 
But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
On this removed issue, plagued for her 
And with her plague ; her sin his injury, 
Her injury the beadle to her sin, 
All punish'd in the person of this child, 
And all for her; a plague upon her ! 190 

Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
A will that bars the title of thy son. 

Const. Ay, who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked 
will; 
A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 

K. Phi. Peace, lady ! pause, or be more tem- 
perate : 
It ill beseems this presence to cry aim 
To these ill-tuned repetitions. 
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
These men of Angiers : let us hear them speak 
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 200 
Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon 
the walls. 

First Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to 
the walls? 

K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 

K. John. England, for itself. 

You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, — 

K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's 
subjects, 
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle — 

K. John. For our advantage ; therefore hear 
us first. 
These flags of France, that are advanced here 
Before the eye and prospect of your town, 
Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, 210 
And ready mounted are they to spit forth 
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
All preparation for a bloody siege 
And merciless proceeding by these French 
Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
And but for our approach those sleeping stones, 
That as a waist doth girdle you about, 
By the compulsion of their ordinance 
By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 220 
For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 
But on the sight of us your lawful king, 
Who painfully with much expedient march 
Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks, 
Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle ; 
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 
To make a shaking fever in your walls, 
They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, 
To make a faithless error in your ears : 230 

Which trust accordingly kind citizens, 
And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, 



Scene i.] 



KING JOHN. 



337 



Forwearied in this action of swift speed, 
Crave harbourage within your city walls. 
K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us 
both. 
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection 
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, 
Son to the elder brother of this man, 
And king o'er him and all that he enjoys: 240 
For this down-trodden equity, we tread 
In warlike march these greens before your town, 
Being no further enemy to you 
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal 
In the relief of this oppressed child 
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then 
To pay that duty which you truly owe 
To him that owes it, namely this young prince : 
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up ; 250 
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; 
And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, 
We will bear home that lusty blood again 
Which here we came to spout against your town, 
And leave your children, wives and you in peace. 
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 
'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls 
Can hide you from our messengers of war, 260 
Though all these English and their discipline 
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, 
In that behalf which we have challenged it? 
Or shall we give the signal to our rage 
And stalk in blood to our possession? 

First Cit. In brief, we are the king of 
England's subjects: 
For him, and in his right, we hold this town. 
A'. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let 

me in. 
First Cit. That can we not ; but he that proves 
the king, 270 

To him will we prove loyal : till that time 
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. 
K. John. Doth not the crown of England 
prove the king? 
And if not that, I bring you witnesses, 
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's 
breed, — 
Bast. Bastards, and else. 
K. John. To verify our title with their lives. 
K. Phi. As many and as well-born bloods as 

those, — 
Bast. Some bastards too. 

K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his 
claim. 280 

First Cit. Till you compound whose right is 
worthiest, 
We for the worthiest hold the right from both. 
K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those 
souls 
That to their everlasting residence, 
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, 
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! 
K. Phi. Amen, amen ! Mount, chevaliers ! 

to arms ! 
Bast. Saint George, that swinged the dragon, 
and e'er since 
Sits on his horse back at mine hostess' door, 



Teach us some fence! [To A us t.] Sirrah, were 
I at home, 290 

At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, 
I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
And make a monster of you. 
A ust. Peace ! no more. 

Bast. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar. 
K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where we '11 
set forth 
In best appointment all our regiments. 
Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the 

field. 
A". Phi. It shall be so ; and at the other hill 
Command the rest to stand. God and our right ! 

[Exeunt. 

Here after excursions, enter tJte Herald of 

France, with trumpets, to the gates. 
F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your 
gates, 300 

And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, 
Who by the hand of France this day hath made 
Much work for tears in many an English mother, 
Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground ; 
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, 
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; 
And victory, with little loss, doth play 
Upon the dancing banners of the French, 
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, 
To enter conquerors and to proclaim 310 

Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. 

Enter English Herald, with trumpet. 
E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring 
your bells ; 
King John, your king and England's, doth ap- 
proach, 
Commander of this hot malicious day : 
Their armours, thatmarch'd hence so silver-bright, 
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; 
There stuck no plume in any English crest 
That is removed by a staff of France ; 
Our colours do return in those same hands 
That did display them when we first march'd forth ; 
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 321 
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, 
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes : 
Open your gates and give the victors way. 
First Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we 
mifht behold, 
From fir' ' to last, the onset and retire 
Of both , ' >ur armies ; whose equality 
B3' our L' st eyes cannot be censured : 
Blood ha. i bought blood and blows have answer'd 

blows ; 
Strength match'd with strength, and power con- 
fronted power : 330 
Both are alike ; and both alike we like. 
One must prove greatest: while they weigh so 

even, 
We hold our town for neither, yet for both. 

Re-enter tJie two Kings, with t/ieir powers, 

severally. 
K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to 
cast away? 
Say, shall the current of our right run on ? 
Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, 
Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell 



22 



KING JOHN. 



[Act ii. 



With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, 

Unless thou let his silver water keep 

A peaceful progress to the ocean. 340 

K. Phi. England, thou hast not saved one 
drop of blood, 
In this hot trial, more than we of France ; 
Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, 
That sways the earth this climate overlooks, 
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, 
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms 

we bear, 
Or add a royal number to the dead, 
Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss 
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 

Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, 
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 351 
O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel ; 
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, 
In undetermined differences of kings. 
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? 
Cry, 'havoc !' kings; back to the stained field, 
You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits ! 
Then let confusion of one part confirm 
The other's peace; till then, blows, blood and 
death ! 360 

K, John. Whose party do the townsmen yet 
admit? 

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's 
your king ? 

First Cit. The king of England, when we 
know the king. 

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up 
his right. 

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, 
And bear possession of our person here, 
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 

First Cit. A greater power than we denies all 
this; 
And till it be undoubted, we do lock 
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates ; 
King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, 371 
Be by some certain king purged and deposed. 

Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers 
flout you, kings, 
And stand securely on their battlements, 
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
Your royal presences be ruled by me : 
i Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, 

Be friends awhile and both conjointly b id 
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this tc /n : 380 
By east and west let France and p England 

mount 
Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, 
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl' d down 
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 
I 'Id play incessantly upon these jades, 
Even till unfenced desolation 
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
That done, dissever your united strengths, 
And part your mingled colours once again ; 
Turn face to face and bloody point to point ; 390 
Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth 
Out of one side her happy minion, 
To whom in favour she shall give the day, 
And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? 
Smacks it not something of the policy? 



K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above 
our heads, 
I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers 
And lay this Angiers even with the ground ; 
Then after fight who shall be king of it? 400 

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, 
Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town, 
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, 
As we will ours, against these saucy walls ; 
And when thatwe have dash'd them to the ground, 
Why then defy each other, and pell-mell 
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. 

K. Phi. Let it be so. Say, where will you 
assault? 

K. John. We from the west will send de- 
struction 
Into this city's bosom. 410 

Aust. I from the north. 

K. Phi. Our thunder from the south 

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 

Bast. O prudent discipline ! From north to 
south : 
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : 
I '11 stir them to it. Come, away, away ! 

First Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe 
awhile to stay, 
And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league ; 
Win you this city without stroke or wound ; 
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
That here come sacrifices for the field : 420 

Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 

K. John. Speak on with favour ; we are bent 
to hear. 

First Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the 
Lady Blanch, 
Is niece to England: look upon the years 
Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid: 
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? 
If zealous love should go in search of virtue, 
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch ? 
If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 430 
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady 

Blanch? 
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
Is the young Dauphin every way complete : 
If not complete of, say he is not she ; 
And she again wants nothing, to name want, 
If want it be not that she is not he : 
He is the half part of a blessed man, 
Left to be finished by such as she ; 
And she a fair divided excellence, 
Whose fulness of perfedtion lies in him. 440 

O, two such silver currents, when they join, 
Do glorify the banks that bound them in ; 
And two such shores to two such streams made 

one,. 
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, 
To these two princes, if you marry them. 
This union shall do more than battery can 
To our fast-closed gates ; for at this match, 
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, 
And give you entrance : but without this match, 
The sea enraged is not half so deaf, 451 

Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
More free from motion, no, not Death himself 
In mortal fury half so peremptory, 
As we to keep this city. 



Scene i.] 



KING JOHN. 



339 



Bast. Here 's a stay 

That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death 
Out of his rags ! Here's a large moiith, indeed, 
That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and 

seas, 
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions 
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs \ 460 

What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? 
He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and 

bounce ; 
He gives the bastinado with his tongue : 
Our ears are cudgell'd ; not a word of his 
But buffets better than a fist of France : 
Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words 
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. 
Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make tin's 
match ; 
Give with our niece a dowry large enough : 
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 470 

Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, 
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
Mark, how they whisper : urge them while their 

souls 
Are capable of this ambition, 
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath 
( )f soft petitions, pity and remorse, 
Cool and congeal again to what it was. 
First Cit. 'Why answer not the double majes- 
ties 480 
This friendly treaty of our threateird town? 
K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been 
forward first 
To speak unto this city : what say you? 

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy 
princely son, 
Can in this book of beauty read ' I love,' 
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 
And all that we upon this side the sea, 
Except this city now by us besieged, 
Find liable to our crown and dignity, 490 

Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich 
In titles, honours and promotions. 
As she in beauty, education, blood, 
Holds hand with any princess of the world. 
K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the 

lady's face. 
Lew, I do, my lord ; and in her eye I find 
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, 
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; 
Which, being but the shadow of your son, 
Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow : 500 
I do protest I never loved myself 
Till now infixed I beheld myself 
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 

[ Whispers with Blanch. 
Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye ! 
• Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow ! 
And quarter'd in her heart ! he doth espy 
Himself love's traitor : this is pity now, 
That, hang'd and drawn and quarter'd, there 

should be 
In such a love so vile a lout as he. 
Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is 
mine: 510 

If he see aught in you that makes him like, 
That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 



I can with ease translate it to my will ; 

Or if you will, to speak more properly, 

I will enforce it easily to my love. 

Further I will not flatter you, my lord, 

That all I see in 3'ou is worthy love, 

Than this ; that nothing do I see in you, 

Though churlish thoughts themselves should be 

your judge, 
That I can find should merit any hate. 520 

K. John. What say these young ones? What 

say you, my niece ? 
Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do i 
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. 

A*. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can 

you love this lady? 
Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
For I do love her most unfeignedly. 
K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Tou- | 
raine, Maine, 
Poidtiers and Anjou, these five provinces, 
With her to thee ; and this addition more, 
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. 530 
Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, 
Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 
K. Phi. It likes us well; young princes, 

close your hands. 
Ausi. And your lips too ; for I am well assured 
That I did so when I was first assured. 
K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your 
gates, 
Let in that amity which you have made ; 
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently 
The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. 
Ts not the Lady Constance in this troop? 540 

I know she is not, for this match made up 
Her presence would have interrupted much : 
Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. 
Lew. She is sad and passionate at your high- 
ness' tent. 
K. Phil. And, by my faith, this league that 
we have made 
Will give her sadness very little cure. 
Brother of England, how may we content 
This widow lady? In her right we came ; 
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
To our own vantage. 

K. John. We will heal up all : 550 

For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne 
And Earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town 
We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance ; 
Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
To our solemnity: I trust we shall, 
If not fill up the measure of her will, 
Yet in some measure satisfy her so 
That we shall stop her exclamation. 
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, 
To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. 560 

[Exeunt all but the Bastard. 
Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad compo- 
sition ! 
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, 
Hath willingly departed with a part, 
And France, whose armour conscience buckled 

on, 
"Whom zeal and charity brought to the field 
As God's own soldier, ronnded in the ear 
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, 
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, 
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, 



11 — 1 



Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, 
Who, having no external thing to lose 571 

But the word 'maid/ cheats the poor maid of that, 
That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commo- 
dity, 
Commodity, the bias of the world, 
The world, who of itself is peised well, 
Made to run even upon even ground, 
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, 
This sway of motion, this Commodity, 
Makes it take head from all indifferency, 
From all direction, purpose, course, intent : 5S0 
And this same bias, this Commodity, 
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, 
From a resolved and honourable war, 
To a most base and vile-concluded peace. 
And why rail I on this Commodity? 
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet : 
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, 
When his fair angels would salute my palm ; 590 
But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail 
And say there is no sin but to be rich ; 
And being rich, my virtue then shall be 
To say there is no vice but beggary. 
Since kings break faith upon commodity, 
Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. [Exit 

ACT III. 

Scene I. The French King's pavilion. 

Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 

Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a 
peace ! 
False blood to false bloodjoin'd ! gone to be friends! 
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those pro- 
vinces? \ 
It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard ; 
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be ; thou dost but say 'tis so : 
I trust I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; 
I have a king's oath to the contrary. 10 

Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, 
For I am sick and capable of fears, 
Oppress'd with wrongs and therefore full of fears, 
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears, 
A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, 
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, 
But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? 
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 20 

What means that hand upon that breast of thine? 
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? 
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? 
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale, 
But this ons word, whether thy tale be true. 

Sal. As true as I believe you think them false 
That give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sor- 
row, 
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die, 30 



And let belief and life encounter so 

As doth the fury of two desperate men 

Which in the very meeting fall and die. 

Lewis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art thou ? 

France friend with England, what becomes of me ? 

Feilow, be gone : I cannot brook thy sight : 

This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
But spoke the harm that is by others done? 
' Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is 
As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 41 

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 

Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert 
grim, 
Ugly and slanderous to thy mother's womb, 
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains, 
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, 
Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks, 
I would not care, I then would be content, 
For then I should not love thee, no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown. 50 
But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, 
Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great : 
Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast 
And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O, 
She is corrupted, changed and won from thee ; 
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John, 
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
To tread down fair respect: of sovereignty, 
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
France is a bawd to Fortune and King John, 60 
That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John ! 
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? 
Envenom him with words, or get thee gone 
And leave those woes alone which I alone 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go without you to the kings. 

Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt ; I will not go 
with thee : 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop. 
To me and to the state of my great grief 70 

Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great 
That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrows sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[Seats herself on the ground. 

.£V22W-KingJohn, King Philip, Lewis,Blanch, 
Elinor, the Bastard, Austria, and Attend- 
ants. 

K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this 
blessed day 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
To solemnize this day the glorious sun 
Stays in his course and plays the alchemist, 
Turning with splendour of his precious eye 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 80 
The yearly course that brings this day about 
Shall never see it but a holiday. 

Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day ! 

[Rising. 
What hath this day deserved? what hath it done, 
That it in golden letters should be set 
Among the high tides in the calendar? 
Nay, rather turn this day out of the week* 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury. 
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 



Scene i.] 



KING JOHN. 



341 



Pray that their burthens may not fall this day, 90 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 
But on this day let seamen fear no wreck ; 
No bargains break that are not this day made : 
This day, all things begun come to ill end, 
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no 
cause 
To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? 

Const. You have beguiled me with a counter- 
feit 
Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and 
tried, 100 

Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn; 
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: 
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war 
Is cold in amity and painted peace, 
And our oppression hath made up this league. 
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured 

kings ! 
A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset, no 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings! 
Hear me, O, hear me ! 

Aust. Lady Constance, peace ! 

Const. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me 
a war. 

Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 
That bloody spoil : thou slave, thou wretch, thou 

coward ! 
Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! thou art perjured too, 120 
And soothest up greatness. What a fool art thou, 
A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear 
Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave, 
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side, 
Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend 
Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy strength, 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 
Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame, 
And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
A ust. O, that a man should speak those words 

to me ! 130 

Bast. And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant 

limbs. 
Aust. Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy 

'life. 
Bast. And hang a calPs-skin on those recreant 

limbs. 
K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget 

thyself. 

Enter Pandulph. 

A'. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the 

pope. 
Pond. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! 
To thee, King John, my holy errand is. 

1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 

And from Pope Innocent the legate here, 
Do in his name religiously demand 140 

Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
So wilfully dost spurn : and force perforce 



Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see? 
This, in our foresaid holy father's name, 
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 

K. John. What earthy name to interrogatories 
Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
So slight, unworthy and ridiculous, 150 

To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England 
Add thus much more, that no Italian priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; 
But as we, under heaven, are supreme head, 
So under Him that great supremacy, 
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
Without the assistance of a mortal hand: 
So tell the pope, all reverence set apart 
To him and his usurp'd authority. 160 

A". Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme 
in this. 

K. John. Though you and all the kings of 
Christendom 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
Who in that sale sells pardon from himself, 
Though you and all the rest so grossly led 
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish, 
Yet I alone, alone do me oppose 170 

Against the pope and count his friends my foes. 

Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, 
Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate : 
And blessed shall he be that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
Canonized and worshipp'd as a saint, 
That takes away by any secret course 
Thy hateful life. 

Const. O, lawful let it be 

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile ! 180 
Good father cardinal, cry thou amen 
To my keen curses ; for without my wrong " 
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 

Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for 
my curse. 

Const. And for mine too: when law can do 
no right, 
Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong : 
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here, 
For he that holds his kingdom holds the law ; » 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? 190 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, 
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic; 
And raise the power of France upon his head, 
Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go 
thy hand. 

Const. Look to that, devil ; lest that France 
repent, 
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 

Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 

Bast. And hang a calfs-skin on his recreant 
limbs. 

Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these 
wrongs, 200 

Because — 

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 



I 342 



KING JOHN. 



[Act hi. 



K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the 

cardinal? 
Const. What should he say, but as the car- 
dinal ? 
Lew. Bethink you, father ; for the difference 
Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
Forego the easier. 
Blanch. That's the curse of Rome. 

Const. O Lewis, stand fast ! the devil tempts 
thee here 
In likeness of a new untrimrned bride. 
Blanch. The Lady Constance speaks not from 
her faith, 210 

But from her need. 

Const. O, if thou grant my need, 

Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
That need must needs infer this principle, 
That faith would live again by death of need. 
O then, tread down my need, and faith 

mounts up ; 
Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down ! 
K. John. The king is moved, and answers 

not to this. 
Const. O, be removed from him, and answer 

well ! 
Anst. Do so, King Philip; hang no more 

in doubt. 

Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most 

sweet lout. 220 

A'. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what 

to say. 

• Pand. What canst thou say but will perplex 

thee more, 
If thou stand excommunicate and cursed ? 
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my per- 
son yours, 
And tell me how you would bestow yourself. 
This royal hand and mine are newly knit, 
And the conjunction of our inward souls 
Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
With all religious strength of sacred vows ; 
The latest breath that gave the sound of words 230 
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love 
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves, 
And even before this truce, but new before, 
No longer than we well could wash our hands 
To clap this royal bargain up of peace, 
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over- 

stain'd 
With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint 
The fearful difference of incensed kings: 
And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood, 
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, 240 
Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet? 
Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with 

heaven, 
Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 
As now again to snatch our palm from palm, 
Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed 
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
And make a riot on the gentle brow 
Of true sincerity? O, holy sir, 
My reverend father, let it not be so ! 
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 250 
Some gentle order ; and then we shall be blest 
To do your pleasure and continue friends. 

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, 
Save what is opposite to England's love. 



Therefore to arms ! be champion of our church, 
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
A chafed lion by the mortal paw, » 

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, 260 

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost 
hold. 

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not 
my faith. 

Pand. So makest thou faith an enemy to faith ; 
And like a civil war set'st oath to oath, 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow 
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform' d, 
That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself 
And may not be performed by thyself, 
For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss 270 
Is not amiss when it is truly done, 
And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
The truth is then most done not doing it ; 
The better act of purposes mistook 
Is to. mistake again ; though indirect, 
Yet indirection thereby grows direct, 
And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire 
Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd. 
It is religion that doth make vows kept; 
But thou hast sworn against religion, 280 

By what thou swear' st against the thing thou 

swear'st, 
And makest an oath the surety for thy truth 
Against an oath : t the truth thou art unsure 
To swear, swears only not to be forsworn ; 
Else what a mockery should it be to swear ! 
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; 
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
Therefore thy later vows against thy first 
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; 
And better conquest never canst thou make 290 
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
Against these giddy loose suggestions : 
Upon which better part our prayeas come in, 
If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know 
The peril of our curses light on thee 
So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off, 
But in despair die under their black weight. 

Attst. Rebellion, flat rebellion! 

Bast. Will'tnotbe? 

Will not a calf 's-skin stop that mouth of thine? 

Lew. Father, to arms ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding-day? 300 

Against the blood that thou hast married? 
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men ? 
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, 
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? 
O husband, hear me ! ay, alack, how new 
Is husband in my mouth ! even for that name, 
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
Against mine uncle. . ■ 

Const. O, upon my knee, 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 310 
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
Forethought by heaven ! . 

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love : what mo- 
tive may 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? ' 

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee 
upholds, 



His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour ! 

Lew. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold, 
When such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pond. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 

A". Phi. Thou shalt not need. England, I 
will fall from thee. 320 

Const. O fair return of hanish'd majesty ! 
' Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 

A". John. France, thou shalt rue this hour 
within this hour. 

Bast. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sex- 
ton Time, 
Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. 

Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair 
day, adieu ! 
Which is the side that I must go withal? 
I am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
And in their rage. I having hold of both, 
They whirl asunder and dismember me. 330 

Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win; 
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose ; 
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss before the match be play'd. 

Lew. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. 

Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there 
my life dies. 

K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance to- 
gether. [Exit Bastard. 
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 340 
A rage whose heat hath this condition, 
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, 
The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France. 

K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and 
thou shalt turn 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 

K. John. No more than he that threats. To 
arms let's hie ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. Plains near Anglers. 

Alarums, excursions. Enter the Bastard, 
with Austria's head. 
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows won- 
drous hot ; 
Some airy devil hovers in the sky 
And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, 
While Philip breathes. 

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. 

K. John. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make 
up: 
My mother is assailed in our tent, 
And ta'en, I fear. 

Bast. My lord, I rescued her ; 

Her highness is in safety, fear you not : 
But on, my liege ; for very little pains 
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. 



Scene III. The same. 

Alantms, excursions, retreat. Enter K.ING 
John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hu- 
BERT, and Lords. 

K. John. [To Elinor) So shall it be; your 
grace shall stay behind 



So strongly guarded. [To Arthur] Cousin, look 

not sad : 
Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with 
grief! 

K. John. [To the Bastard] Cousin, away for 
England ! haste before : 
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding abbots ; imprisoned angels 
Set at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 10 

Use our commission in his utmost force. 

Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive 
me back, 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
T leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray, 
If ever I remember to be holy, 
For your fair safety ; so, I kiss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. 

K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 

A*. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle 
Hubert, 
We owe thee much ! within this wall of flesh 20 
There is a soul counts thee her creditor 
And with advantage means to pay thy love: 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, 
But I will fit it with some better time. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

H?ib. I am much bounden to your majesty. 

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to 
say so yet, 30 

But thou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow, 
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. 
I had a thing to say, but let it go : 
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
Is all too wanton and too full of gawds 
To give me audience : if the midnight bell 
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
t Sound on into the drowsy race of night ; 
If this same were a churchyard where we stand. 
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs, 41 
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick. 
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins. 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes 
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes, 
Or if that thou couklst see me without eyes, 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 50 

Without eyes, ears and harmful sound of words; 
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
But, ah, I will not ! yet I love thee well ; 
And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me well. 

Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act 
By heaven, I would do it. 

A". John. Do not I know thou wouldst? 

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 

On yon young boy : I '11 tell thee what, my 

friend, 60 

He is a very serpent in my way ; 



344 



KING JOHN. 



[Act hi. 



And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
He lies before me : dost thou understand me ? 
Thou art his keeper. 

Hub. And I '11 keep him so, 

That he shall not offend your majesty. 

K. John. Death. 

Hub. My lord? 

K. John. A grave. 

Hub. He shall not live. 

K. John. Enough. 

T could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; 
Well, I '11 not say what I intend for thee : 
Remember. Madam, fare you well: 
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 70 

Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 

K. John. For England, cousin, go : 

Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The same. The Fre7ich King's 
tent. 

Eater King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and 

Attendants. 
K.Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
A whole armado of convicted sail 
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 

Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go 

well. 
K. Phi. What can go well, when we have 
run so ill ? 
Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? 
Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
And bloody England into England gone, 
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? 
Lew. What he hath won, that hath he for- 
tified : 10 
! So hot a speed with such advice disposed, 
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
Doth want example : who hath read or heard 
Of any kindred action like to this? 
K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had 
this praise, 
So we could find some pattern of our shame. 

Enter Constance. 
Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, 
In the vile prison of afflicted breath. 
I prithee, lady, go away with me. 20 

Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your 
peace. 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle 
Constance ! 

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress, 
Death, death; O amiable lovely death! 
Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
And I will kiss thy detestable bones 
And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows 30 

And ring these fingers with thy household worms 
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust 
And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smilest 
And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love, 
I O, come to me ! 



K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace ! 

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to 
cry : 
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ! 
Then with a passion would I shake the world; 
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy 40 

Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
Which scorns a modern invocation. 

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not 
sorrow. 

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
I am not mad : I would to heaven I were ! 
For then, 'tis like I should forgetmyself : 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! 50 

Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal ; 
For being not mad but sensible of grief, 
My reasonable part produces reason 
How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself : 
If I were mad, I should forget my son, 
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he : 
I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 60 

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. 0, what love 
I note 
In the fair multitude of those her hairs! 
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
Do glue themselves in sociable grief, 
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
Sticking together in calamity. 

Const. To England, if you will. 

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 

Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will I 
do it? 
I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud 70 
'O that these hands could so redeem my son, 
As they have given these hairs their liberty !' 
But now I envy at their liberty, 
And will again commit them to their bonds, 
Because my poor child is a prisoner. 
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say 
That we shall see and know our friends in 

heaven : 
If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
To him that did but yesterday suspire, 80 

There was not such a g-acious creature born. 
But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud 
And chase the native beauty from his cheek 
And he will look as hollow as a ghost, 
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit, 
And so he'll die ; and, rising so again, 
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 
I shall not know him : therefore never, never 
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of 
grief. 90 

Const. He talks to me that never had a son. 

K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your 
child. 

Const. Grief fills the room up. of my absent 
child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 



Scene iv.] 



KING JOHN. 



345 



Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 

Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 

Then, have I reason to be fond of grief? 

Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 

I could give better comfort than you do. ioo 

I will not keep this form upon my head, 

When there is such disorder in my wit. 

O Lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 

My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! 

My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! 

[Ex-it. 

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I '11 follow 
her. {Exit. 

Lew. There's nothing in this world can make 
me joy : 
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale 
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's 
taste, no 

That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. 

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
Even in the instant of repair and health, 
The fit is strongest; evils that take leave, 
On their departure most of all show evil : 
What have you lost by losing of this day? 

Lew. All days of glory, joy and happiness. 

Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had. 
No, no ; when Fortune means to men most good, 
She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 120 
'Tis strange to think how much King John hath 

lost 
In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner ? 

Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. 

Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your 
blood. 
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit ; 
For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, 
Out of the path which shall direclly lead 
Thy foot to England's throne ; and therefore mark. 
John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be 131 
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's 

veins, 
The misplaced John should entertain an hour, 
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. 
A sceptre snatch' d with an unruly hand 
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ; 
And he that stands upon a slippery place 
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up : 
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; 
So be it, for it cannot be but so. 140 

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Ar- 
thur's fall? 

Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your 
wife, 
May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 

Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 

Pand. How green you are and fresh in this 
old world ! 
John lays you plots ; the times conspire with you ; 
For he that steeps his safety in true blood 
Shall find but bloody safety and untrue. 
This a£t so evilly born shall cool the hearts 
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, 150 
That none so small advantage shall step forth 
To check his reign, but they will cherish it ; 
No natural exhalation in the sky, 
No scope of nature, no distemper'd day. 



No common wind, no customed event, 
But they will pluck away his natural cause 
And call them meteors, prodigies and signs, 
Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven, 
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 

Lew. May be he will not touch young Ar- 
thur's life, 160 
But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 

Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your 
approach, 
If that young Arthur be not gone already, 
Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts 
Of all his people shall revolt from him 
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change 
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath 
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
Methinks I see this hurly all on foot : 
And, (), what better matter breeds for you 170 
Than I have named ! The bastard Faulconbridge 
Is now in England, ransacking the church, 
Offending charity : if but a dozen French 
Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
To train ten thousand English to their side, 
Or as a little snow, tumbled about, 
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
Go with me to the king : 'tis wonderful 
What may be wrought out of their discontent, 
Now that their souls are topful of offence. 180 
For England go : I will whet on the king. 

Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: 
let us go : 
If you say ay, the king will not say no. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. A room in a castle. 
Enter Hubert and Executioners. 
Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou 
stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
And bind the boy which you shall find with me 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
First Exec. I hope your warrant will bear 

out the deed. 
Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you : look 
to't. \ Exeunt Executioners. 

Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 

Enter Arthur. 

Art/i. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little prince. \ 

Art/i. As little prince, having so great a title 
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. n 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me! 

Methinks no body should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison and kept sheep, 
I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practises more harm to me: 2 

He is afraid of me and I of him : 
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? 
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven 
1 ■ ere your son, so you would love me, Hubert 



346 



KING JOHN. 



[Act iv. 



Hub. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innoc- 
ent prate 
He will awake my mercy which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale 
to-day : 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick, 
That I might sit all night and watch with you : 30 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. [Aside] His words do take possession 
of my bosom. 
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. 
[Aside] How now, foolish rheum ! 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief, lest resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. 
Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

A rth. And will you ? 

Hub. And I will. 40 

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head 
did but ache, 
I knit my handkercher about your brows, 
The best I had, a princess wrought it me, 
And I did never ask it you again ; 
And with my hand at midnight held your head, 
And like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
Still and anon cheer' d up the heavy time, 
Saying, ' What lack you ? ' and ' Where lies your 

grief?' 
Or 'What good love may I perform for you?' 
Many a poor man's son would have lien still 50 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love 
And call it cunning : do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 
Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes ? 
These eyes that never did nor never shall 
So much as frown on you. 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would 
do it ! 60 

The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my 

tears 
And quench his fiery indignation 
Even in the matter of mine innocence ; 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me 
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believed him, — no tongue but 
Hubert's. 70 

Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 

Re-enter Executioners, -with a cord, irons, &>c. 

Do as I bid you do. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes 
are out 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him 

here. 
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous- 
rousrh? 



I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 80 

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 

First Exec. I am best pleased to be from such 
a deed. [Exeunt Executioners. 

A rth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend ! 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 90 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O heaven, that there were but a mote 
in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your 
tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of 
tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert ; 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 101 
So I may keep mine eyes : O, spare mine eyes, 
Though to no use but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

A rth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with 
grief, 
Being create for comfort, to be used 
In undeserved extremes: see else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out no 
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. An if you do, you will but make it blush 
And glow with shame of" your proceedings, Hu- 
bert: 
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things that you should use to do me wrong 
Deny their office : only you do lack 
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, 120 
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub, Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine 
eye 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy, 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this 
while 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace ; no more. Adieu. 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead ; 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports : 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, 130 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not offend thee. 

A rth. O heaven ! I thank you, Hubert. 



Scene i.] 



KING JOHN. 



347 



Hub. Silence ; no more : go closely in with me : 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. King John's palace. 

Enler King John, Pembroke, Salisbury, 
and other Lords. 
K. John. Here once again we sit, once again 
crown'd, 
And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
Pern. This ' once again,' but that your high- 
ness pleased, 
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, 
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck' d off, 
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land 
With any longd-for change or better state. 
Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double 
pomp, 
To guard a title that was rich before, 10 

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 
Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be 
done, 
This act is as an ancient tale new told, 
And in the last repeating troublesome, 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 20 

Sal. In this the antique and well noted face 
Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, 
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about, 
Startles and frights consideration, 
Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected, 
For putting on so new a fashion' d robe. 
Pent. When workmen strive to do better 
than well, 
They do confound their skill in covetousness; 
And oftentimes excusing of a fault 30 

Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, 
As patches set upon a little breach 
Discredit more in hiding of the fault 
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
Sal. To this effect, before you were new 
crown'd, 
We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your 

highness 
To overbear it, and we are all well pleased, 
; Since all and every part of what we would 
: Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 
K. John. Some reasons of this double coro- 
nation 40 
I have possess'd you with and think them strong ; 
And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear, 
I shall indue you with : meantime but ask 
What you would have reform'd that is not well, 
And well shall you perceive how willingly 
1 will both hear and grant you your requests. 
Pent. Then I, as one that am the tongue 
of these 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts. 
Both for myself and them, but, chief of all, 
Your safety, for the which myself and them 50 
Bend their best studies, heartily request 
The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
1 )uth move the murmuring lips of discontent 



To break into this dangerous argument, — 
If what in rest you have in right you hold, 
Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend 
The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up 
Your tender kinsman and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise? 60 

That the time's enemies may not have this 
To grace occasions, let it be our suit 
That you have bid us ask his liberty; 
Which for our goods we do no further ask 
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
Counts it your weal he have his liberty. 

Enter Hubert. 
A". John. Let it be so : I do commit his youth 
To your direction. Hubert, what news with you? 
[ Taking hint apart. 
Pern. This is the man should do the bloody 
deed; 
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 70 
The image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
Does show the mood of a much troubled breast ; 
And I do fearfully believe 'tis done, 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go 
Between his purpose and his conscience, 
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: 
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 
Pern. And when it breaks, I fear will issue 
thence 80 

The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong 
hand : 
Good lords, although my will to give is living, 
The suit which you demand is gone and dead: 
He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night. 
Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past 

cure. 
Pern. Indeed we heard how near his death 
he was 
Before the child himself felt he was sick: 
This must be answer' d either here or hence. 

A'. John. Why do you bend such solemn j 
brows on me? 90 

Think you I bear the shears of. destiny? 
Have I commandment on the pulse of life? 

Sal. It is apparent foul play ; and 'tis shame 
That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
So thrive it in your game ! and so, farewell. 
Pent. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; I'll go with 
thee, 
And find the inheritance of this poor child, 
His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
That blood which owed the breadth of all 

this isle, 
Three foot of it doth hold : bad world the 
while ! 100 

This must not be thus borne : this will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. 

[Exeunt Lords. 
K. John. They burn in indignation. I repent : 
There is no sure foundation set on blood, 
No certain life achieved by others' death. 

Enter a Messenger. 
A fearful eye thou hast : where is that blood 
That I have seen inhabit in those checks? 



348 



KING JOHN. 



[Act iv. 



So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 

Pour down thy weather : how goes all in France? 

Mess. From France to England. Never such 
a power no 

For any foreign preparation 
Was levied in the body of a land. 
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
For when you should be told they do prepare, 
The tidings comes that they are all arrived. 

K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been 
drunk? 
Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care, 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it? 

Mess. My liege, her ear 

Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April died 120 
Your noble mother : and, as I hear, my lord, 
The Lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before : but this from rumour's tongue 
I idly heard ; if true or false I know not. 

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occa- 
sion ! 
O, make a league with me, till I have pleased 
My discontented peers ! What ! mother dead ! 
How wildly then walks my estate in France ! 
Under whose conduct came those powers of France 
That thou for truth givest out are landed here ? 

Mess. Under the Dauphin. 

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 131 

With these ill tidings. 

Enter the Bastard and Peter o/Pomfi-et. 
Now, what says the world 
To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff 
My head with more ill news, for it is full. 

Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, 
Then let the worst unheard fall on your head. 
K. John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was 
amazed 
Under the tide : but now I breathe again 
Aloft the flood, and can give audience 
To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 140 

Bast. How I have sped among the clergy- 
men, 
The sums I have collected shall express. 
But as I travell'd hither through the land, 
I find the people strangely fantasied ; 
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams, 
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear : 
And here's a prophet, that I brought with me 
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
With many hundreds treading on his heels ; 
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 151 
Your highness should deliver up your crown. 
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst 

thou so? 
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall 

out so. 
K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison 
him; 
And on that day at noon, whereon he says 
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd. 
Deliver him to safety ; and return, 
For I must use thee. [Exit Hubert with Peter. 

O my gentle cousin, 
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived? 
Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths 
are full of it : 161 



Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury, 
With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, 
And others more, going to seek the grave 
Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night 
On your suggestion. 

K. John. Gentle kinsman, go, 

And thrust thyself into their companies: 
I have a way to win their loves again; 
Bring them before me. 

Bast. I will seek them out. 

K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better 
foot before. 170 

O, let me have no subject enemies, 
When adverse foreigners affright my towns 
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! 
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels, 
And fly like thought from them to me again. 

Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me 
speed. [Exit. 

K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentle- 
man. 
Go after him ; for he perhaps shall need 
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ; 
And be thou he. 

Mess. With all my heart, my liege. 180 

[Exit. 

K. John. My mother dead ! 

Re-enter Hubert. 

Htcb. My lord, they say five moons were seen 
to-night ; 
Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about 
The other four in wondrous motion. 

K. John. Five moons ! 

Hub. Old men and beldams in the streets 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads 
And whisper one another in the ear ; 
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist, 
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 191 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, 
Told of a many thousand warlike French 
That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent: 200 
Another lean unwash'd artificer 
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death. 

K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with 
these fears? 
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? 
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty 

cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill 
him. 

Hub. No had, my lord ! why, did you not 
provoke me ? 

K. John. It is the curse of kings to be attended 
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant 
To break within the bloody house of life, 210 

And on the winking of authority 
To understand a law, to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns 
More upon humour than advised respect. 



Scene ii.] 



KING JOHN. 



349 



Hub. ' Here is your hand and seal for what I 

did. 
K~. Jokn. 0, when the last account 'twixt 

heaven and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
Make deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 221 

Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my mind : 
But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspecl, 
Finding thee fit for bloody villany. 
Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Hub. My lord, — 230 

A'. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head or 

made a pause 
When I spake darkly what I purposed, 
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 
As bid me tell my tale in express words, 
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me 

break off, 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in 

me : 
But thou didst understand me by my signs 
And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
And consequently thy rude hand to act 240 

The deed, which both our tongues held vile to 

name. 
Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
My nobles leave me ; and my state is braved, 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
I '11 make a peace between your soul and you. 250 
Young Arthur is alive : this hand of mine 
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
Within this bosom never enter' d yet 
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought; 
And you have slander'd nature in my form, 
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

A'. Joint. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee 

to the peers, 2G0 

Throw this report on their incensed rage, 
And make them tame to their obedience ! 
Forgive the comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, 
And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
O, answer not, but to my closet bring 
The angry lords with all expedient haste. 
I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast. 

\_Exewit. 

Scene III. Before the castle. 
Enter Arthur, on tJie walls. 
A rth. The wall is high, and yet will I leap 
down: 



Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not ! 
There's few or none do know me : if they did, 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me 

quite. 
I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. 
If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away: 
As good to die and go, as die and stay. 

[Leafs down. 
O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my 

bones ! [Dies. 10 

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Ed- 
mundsbury : 
It is our safety, and we must embrace 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pent. Who brought that letter from the card- 
inal? 

Sal. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France ; 
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 

Sal. Or rather then set forward ; for 'twill be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet. 20 

Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemp- 
er'd lords ! 
The king by me requests your presence straight. 
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us : 
We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. 
Return and tell him so : we know the worst. 
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I 

think, were best. 
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, rea- 
son now. 29 
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. 
Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 
Bast. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man else. 
Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies here? 
[Seeing Arthur. 
Pern. O death, made proud with pure and 
princely beauty ! 
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 
Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath 
done, 
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. 
Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a 
grave, 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 40 
Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? have you 
beheld, 
Or have you read or heard? or could you think ? 
Or do you almost think, although you see, 
That you do see? could thought, without this 

object, 
Form such another? This is the very top. 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, 
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, 
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 50 



35° 



KING JOHN. 



[Act iv. 



Pern. All murders past do stand excused in 
this : 
And this, so sole and so unmatchable, 
Shall give a holiness, a purity, 
To the yet unbegotten sin of times ; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ! Co 
We had a kind of light what would ensue : 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
The practice and the purpose of the king : 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The incense of a voav, a holy vow, 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
Never to be infected with delight, 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 70 

Till I have set a glory to this hand, 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pern. 1 Our souls religiously confirm thy 

Big. J words. 

Enter Hubert. 

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking 
you : 
Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 

Sal. O, he is bold and blushes not at death. 
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
Hub. I am no villain. 
Sal. Must I rob the law? 

[Drawing his sixwrd. 
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up 
again. _ _ 79 

Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin. 
Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, 
I say; 
By heaven, I think my sword 's as sharp as yours : 
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
Your worth, your greatness and nobility. 
Big. Out, dunghill ! darest thou brave a noble- 
man? 
Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend 
My innocent life against an emperor. 
Sal. Thou art a murderer. 
Hub. Do not prove me so ; 90 

Yet I am none : whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truiy, lies. 
Pem. Cut him to pieces. 

Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulcon- 

bridge. 
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salis- 
bury : 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, 
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron, 
That you shall think the devil is come from 
hell. 100 

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon- 
bridge ? 
Second a villain and a murderer? 



Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 

Big. Who kill'd this prince? 

H?(b. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well : 
I honour'd him, I loved him, and will weep 
My date of life out for his sweet life's loss. 

Sal Trust not those cunning waters of his 
eyes, 
For villany is not without such rheum; 
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. no 

Away with me, all you whose souls abhor 
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; 
For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 

Big. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin 
there ! 

Pem. There tell the king he may inquire 
us out. [Ejretmt Lords. 

Bast. Here's a good world! Knew you of 
this fair work? 
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 

Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 

Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what; 120 

Thou'rt damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so 

black ; 
Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer: 
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 

H?tb. Upon my soul — 

Bast. If thou didst but consent 

To this most cruel act, do but despair ; 
And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
That ever spider twisted from her womb 
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a 

beam 
To hang thee on ; or wouldst thou drown thyself, 
Put but a little water in a spoon, 131 

And it shall be as all the ocean, 
Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, 
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, 
Let hell want pains enough to torture me. 
I left him well. 

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. 

T am amazed, methinks, and lose my way 140 
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. 
How easy dost thou take all England up ! 
From forth this morsel of dead royalty, 
The life, the right and truth of all this realm 
Is fled to heaven ; and England now is left 
To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth 
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty 
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest 
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : 150 
Now powers from home and discontents at 

home 
Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits, 
As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast, 
The imminent decay of wrested pomp. 
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child 
And follow me with speed : I '11 to the king : 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene i.] 



KIXG JOHN. 



3Si 



ACT V. 

Scene I. King John's palace. 

Enter King John, Pandulph, and Attendants. 

JK. John. Thus have I yielded up into your 
hand 
The circle of my glory. {Giving the crown. 

Paud. Take again 

From this my hand, as holding of the pope 
Your sovereign greatness and authority. 

K. John. Now keep your holy word : go 
meet the French, 
And from his holiness use all your power 
To stop their marches 'fore we are inflamed. 
Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
Our people quarrel with obedience, 
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul 10 

To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
Rests by you only to be qualified : 
Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, 
That present medicine must be minister'd, 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. 

Band. It was my breath that blew this 
tempest up, 
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope ; 
But since you are a gentle convertite, 
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war 20 
And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
Upon your oath of service to the pope, 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. 

[Exit. 

K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the 
prophet 
Say that before Ascension-day at noon 
My crown I should give off? Even so I have : 
I did suppose it should be on constraint ; 
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 

Enter tJie Bastard. 
Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there 
holds out 30 

! But Dover castle : London hath received, 
j Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy, 
Ami wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, 
After they heard young Arthur was alive? 

Bast. They found him dead and cast into the 

streets, 

An empty casket, where the jewel of life 40 

By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 

K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did 

live. 
Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad? 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought : 
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
Threaten the threatener and outface the brow 
Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 50 

That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
Grow great by your example and put on 
The dauntless spirit of resolution. 



Away, and glister like the god of war. 

When he intendeth to become the field: 

Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 

What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 

And fright him there? and make him tremble 

there ? 
O, let it not be said : forage, and run 
To meet displeasure farther from the doors, 60 
And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh. 
K. John. The legate of the pope hath been 
with me, » ! 

And I have made a happy peace with him ; s 

And he hath promised to dismiss the powers 
Led by the Dauphin. 

Bast. O inglorious league ! 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
Send fair-play orders and make compromise, 
Insinuation, parley and base truce 
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy, 
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields, 70 
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, 
Mocking the air with colours idly spread, 
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms : 
Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace ; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said 
They saw we had a purpose of defence. 
A'. John. Have thou the ordering of this pre- 
sent time. 
Bast. Away, then, with good courage ! yet. T 
know, 
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [E 

Scene II. The Dauphin's camp at St 
E dm ut ids bit ry. 

Enter, inarms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melcn, 
Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers. 

Lew. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out, 
And keep it safe for our remembrance : 
Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
That, having our fair order written down, 
Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes. 
May know wherefore we took the sacrament 
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith 10 

To your proceedings ; yet believe me, prince, 
I am not glad that such a sore of time 
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, 
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound 
By making many. O, it grieves my soul, 
That I must draw this metal from my side 
To be a widow-maker ! O, and there 
Where honourable rescue and defence 
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury ! 
But such is the infection of the time, 20 

That, for the health and physic of our right, 
We cannot deal but with the very hand 
Of stern injustice and confused wrong. 
And is 't not pity, O my grieved friends, 
That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
Were born to see so sad an hour as this ; 
Wherein we step after a stranger march 
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
Her enemies' ranks, — I must withdraw and weep 
Upon the spot of this enforced cause, — 30 

To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
And follow unacquainted colours here? 



352 



KING JOHN. 



[Act v. 



What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove ! 

That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, 

Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, 

And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ; 

Where these two Christian armies might combine 

The blood of malice in a vein of league, 

And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this ; 
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom 4T 
Doth make an earthquake of nobility. 

0, what a noble combat hast thou fought 
Between compulsion and a brave respect ! 
Let me wipe off this honourable dew, 
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks : 
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, 
Being an ordinary inundation ; 

But this effusion of such manly drops, 
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 50 
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed 
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven 
Figured quite o'er with burning meteors. 
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
And with a great heart heave away the storm : 
Commend these waters to those baby eyes 
That never saw the giant world enraged ; 
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, 
Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping. 
Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as 
deep 60 

Into the purse of rich prosperity 
As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all, 
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 
And even there, methinks, an angel spake: 

Enter Pandulph. 
Look, where the holy legate comes apace, 
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven, 
And on our actions set the name of right 
With holy breath. 

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France ! 

The next is this, King John hath reconciled 
Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, 70 

That so stood out against the holy church, 
The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up ; 
And tame the savage spirit of wild war, 
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, 
It may lie gently at the foot of peace, 
And be no further harmful than in show. 

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not 
back: 
I am too high-born to be propertied, 
To be a secondary at control, 80 

Or useful serving-man and instrument, 
To any sovereign state throughout the world. 
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
Between this chastised kingdom and myself, 
And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
You taught me how to know the face of right, 
Acquainted me with interest to this land, 
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 90 

And come ye now to tell me John hath made 
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me? 

1, by the honour of my marriage-bed, 

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back 
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome ? 



Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome 

borne, 
What men provided, what munition sent, 
To underprop this action? Is't not I 
That undergo this charge? who else but I, 100 
And such as to my claim are liable, 
Sweat in this business and maintain this war? 
Have I not heard these islanders shout out 
' Vive le roi !' as I have bank'd their towns? 
Have I not here the best cards for the game, 
To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. 

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 

Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return 110 
Till my attempt so much be glorified 
As to my ample hope was promised 
Before I drew this gallant head of war, 
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, 
To outlook conquest and to win renown 
Even in the jaws of danger and of death. 

[ Trumpet sounds. 
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? 

Enter the Bastard, attended. 

Bast. According to the fair play of the world, 
Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak : 
My holy lord of Milan, from the king 120 

I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
And warrant limited unto my tongue. 

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
And will not temporize with my entreaties; 
He flatly says he '11 not lay down his arms. 

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breathed, 
The youth says well. Now hear our English king ; 
For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
He is prepared, and reason too he should : 130 
This apish and unmannerly approach, 
This harness'd masque and unadvised revel, 
This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops, 
The king doth smile at ; and is well prepared 
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, 
From out the circle of his territories. 
That hand which had the strength, even at your 

door, 
To cudgel you and make you take the hatch, 
To dive like buckets in concealed wells, 
To crouch in litter of your stable planks, 140 

To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks, 
To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out 
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake 
Even at the crying of your nation's crow, 
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ; 
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, 
That in your chambers gave you chastisement? 
No : know the gallant monarch is in arms 
And like an eagle o'er his aery towers, 
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. 150 
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, 
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame ; 
For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids 
Like Amazons come tripping after drums, 
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, 
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts 
To fierce and bloody inclination. 

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face 
in peace ; 



Scene ii.] 



KING JOHN. 



353 



We grant thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ; 
We hold our time too precious to be spent 161 
With such a brabbler. 

Pand. Give me leave to speak. 

Bast. No, I will speak. 

Lew. We will attend to neither. 

Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war 
Plead for our interest and our being here. 

East. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will 
cry out ; 
And so shall you, being beaten : do but start 
An echo with the clamour of thy drum, 
And even at hand a drum is ready braced 
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; 170 
Sound but another, and another shall 
As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear 
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder : for at hand, 
Not trusting to this halting legate here, 
Whom he hath used rather for sport than need, 
Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 

Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger 
out. 

Bast. And thou shalt find it,. Dauphin, do not 
doubt. [Exeunt. 180 

Scene III. The field 0/ battle. 
Alaiiims. Efiter King John and Hubert. 
K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell 

me, Hubert. 
Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty? 
K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me 
so long, 
Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick ! 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faul- 
conbridge, 
Desires your majesty to leave the field 
And send him word by me which way you go. 
K. Joint. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the 

abbey there. 
Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply 
That was expected by the Dauphin here, 10 

Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands. 
This news was brought to Richard but even now: 
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 
A'. John. Ay me ! this tyrant fever burns me 
up, 
And will not let me welcome this good news. 
Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight ; 
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot. 
Sal. I did not think the king so stored with 

friends. 
Pem. Up once again ; put spirit in the French : 
If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 

Pem. They say King John sore sick hath left 
the field. 

Enter Melun, wounded. 
Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 



Sal. When we were happy we had other names. 

Pem. It is the Count Melun. 

Sal. Wounded to death. 

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and 
sold ; 10 

Unthread the rude eye of rebellion 
And welcome home again discarded faith. 
Seek out King John and fall before his feet; 
For if the French be lords of this loud day, 
He means to recompense the pains you take 
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn 
And I with him, and many moe with me, 
Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury; 
Even on that altar where we swore to you 
Dear amity and everlasting love. 20 

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? 

Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, 
Retaining but a quantity of life* 
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? 
What in the world should make me now deceive, 
Since I must lose the use of all deceit? 
Why should I then be false, since it is true 
That I must die here and live hence by truth? 
I say again, if Lewis do win the day, 30 

He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
Behold another day break in the east : 
But even this night, whose black contagious breath 
Already smokes about the burning crest 
Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun, 
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, 
Paying the fine of rated treachery 
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
Commend me to one Hubert with your king: 40 
The love of him, and this respect besides, 
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, 
Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
From forth the noise and rumour of the field, 
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
In peace, and part this body and my soul 
With contemplation and devout desires. 

Sal. We do believe thee : and beshrew my soul 
But I do love the favour and the form 50 

Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
We will untread the steps of damned flight, 
And like a bated and retired flood, 
Leaving our rankness and irregular course, 
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd 
And calmly run on in obedience 
Even to our ocean, to our great King John. 
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends ! New 
flight; 60 

And happy newness, that intends old right. 

[Exeunt, leading off Melun. 

Scene V. The French camp. 

Enter Lewis and his train. 

Lew. The sun of heaven methought was loath 

to set, 

But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, 

When English measure backward their own 

ground 
In faint retire. O, bravely came we oft", 
When with a volley of our needless shot, 



354 



KING JOHN. 



[Act v. 



After such bloody toil, we bid good night; 
And wound our tattering colours clearly up, 
Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? 
Lew. Here: what news? 

Mess. The Count Melun is slain; the English 
lords 10 

By his persuasion are again fall'n off, 
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, 
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. 
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! beshrew thy 
very heart ! 
I did not think to be so sad to-night 
As this hath made me. Who was he that said 
King John did fly an hour or two before 
The stumbling night did part our weary powers? 
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 
Lew. Well ; keep good quarter and good care 
to-night : 20 

The day shall not be up so soon as I, 
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. An open place hi the neighborhood 
of Sw instead A bbey. 

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, severally. 
Hub. Who's there? speak, ho ! speak quickly, 

or I shoot. 
Bast. A friend. What art thou ? 
Hub. Of the part of England. 

Bast. Whither dost thou go? 
Hub. What's that to thee? why may not I 
demand 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? 
Bast. Hubert, I think? 

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 

I will upon all hazards well believe 
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so 

well. 
Who art thou? 

Bast. Who thou wilt : and if thou please, 

Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think 10 
I come one way of the Plantagenets. 
Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou and eyeless 
night 
Have done me shame : brave soldier, pardon me, 
That any accent breaking from thy tongue 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what 

news abroad ? 
Hub. Why, here walk I in the black brow 
of night, 
To find you out. 
Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? 

Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the 
night, 
Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible. 20 

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill 
news : 
I am no woman, I '11 not swoon at it. 

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
I left him almost speechless ; and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time, 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to 
him? 



Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain, 
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 30 
Yet speaks and peradventure may recover. 

Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his ma- 
jesty? 

Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are all 
come back, 
And brought Prince Henry in their company; 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, 
And they are all about his majesty. 

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty 
heaven, 
And tempt us not to bear above our power ! 
I '11 tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, 
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide ; 40 

These Lincoln Washes have devoured them ; 
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped. 
Away before : conduct me to the king ; 
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. The orchard in Swinstead Abbey. 

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
P. Hen. It is too late : the life of all his 
blood 

Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain, 

Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling- 
house, 

Doth by the idle comments that it makes 

Foretell the ending of mortality. 

Enter Pembroke. 
Pern. His highness yet doth speak, and holds 
belief 
That, being brought into the open air, 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard 

here. 10 

Doth he still rage ? [Exit Bigot. 

Pent. He is more patient 

Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce ex- 
tremes 
In their continuance will not feel themselves. 
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he pricks and 

wounds 
With many legions of strange fantasies, 
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death 
should sing. 20 

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, 
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, 
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are 
born 
To set a form upon that indigest 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 

Enter Attendants, and Bigot, carrying King 
John in a chair. 
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow- 
room ; 
It would not out at windows nor at doors. 
There is so hot a summer in my bosom, 30 

That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 



Scene vii.] 



KING JOHN. 



355 



I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
Upon a parchment, and against this fire 
Do I shrink up. 

P. Hen. How fares your majesty ? 

K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare — dead, forsook, 
cast off: 
And none of you will bid the winter come 
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw, 
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north 
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips 40 
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you 

much, 
I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait 
And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. O that there were some virtue in 
my tears, 
That might relieve you ! 

K. John. The salt in them is hot. 

Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 

Enter the Bastard. 

" Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to sec your majesty! 50 

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine 
eye: 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd, 
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail 
Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
Which holds but till thy news be uttered ; 
And then all this thou seest is but a clod 
And module of confounded royalty. 

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward. 
Where heaven He knows how we shall answer 
him ; 60 

For in a night the best part of my power, 
As I upon advantage did remove, 
Were in the Washes all unwarily 
Devoured by the unexpected flood. 

[ The king dies. 
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead 
an ear. 
My liege ! my lord ! but now a king, now thus. 
P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so 
stop. 
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
When this was now a king, and now is clay? 
Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay be- 
hind 70 
To do the office for thee of revenge, 



And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, 

As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 

Now, now, you stars that move in your right 

spheres, 
Where be your powers? show now your mended 

faiths, 
And instantly return with me again, 
To push destruction and perpetual shame 
Out of the weak door of our fainting land. 
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought • 
The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 80 

Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much 
as we: 
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, 
And brings from him such offers of our peace 
As we with honour and respect may take, 
With purpose presently to leave this war. 

Bast. He will the rather do it when he sees 
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd 90 

To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 
To the disposing of the cardinal : 
With whom yourself, myself and other lords, 
If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
To consummate this business happily. 

Bast. Let it be so: and you, my noble prince, 
With other princes that may best be spared, 
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be in- 
terr'd ; 
For so he will'd it. 

Bast. Thither shall it then : 100 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee 
I do bequeath my faithful services 
And true subjection everlastingly. 

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
To rest without a spot for evermore. 

P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give 
you thanks 
And knows not how to do it but with tears. 

Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, 
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs, tu 
This England never did, nor never shall, 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
But when it first did help to wound itself. 
Now these her princes are come home again, 
Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make 

us rue, 
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 



*3" 



THE TRAGEDY OF 

KING RICHARD II. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Richard the Second. 

John of Gaunt, Duke\ 

of Lancaster ( d h K; 

Edmund of Langley, & 

Duke of York, ) 

Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of 
Hereford, son to John of Gaunt; after- 
wards King Henry IV. 

DukeofAumerle, son to the Duke of York. 

Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 

Duke of Surrey. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Lord Berkeley. 

Bushy, ) 

Bagot, } servants to King Richard. 

Green, ' 

Earl of Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. King Richard's palace. 

Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with 
other Nobles and Attendants. 

K. Rick. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd 
Lancaster, 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, 
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
Which then our leisure would not let us hear, 
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 

Gaunt. I have, my liege. 

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded 
him, 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ; 
Or worthily, as a good subject should, 10 

On some known ground of treachery in him? 

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that 
argument, 
On some apparent danger seen in him 
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 

K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; 
face to face, 
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The accuser and the accused freely speak : 
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 

Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray. 
Boling. Many years of happy days befal 20 
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! 

Mow. Each day still better other's happiness ; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
Add an immortal title to your crown ! 

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but 
natters us, 



Lord Ross. 
Lord Willoughby. 
Lord Fitzwater. 
Bishop of Carlisle. 
Abbot of Westminster. 
Lord Marshal. 
Sir Stephen Scroop. 
Sir Pierce of Exton. 
Captain of a band of Welshmen. 
Queen to King Richard. 
Duchess of York. 
Duchess of Gloucester. 
Lady attending on the Queen. 
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, 
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other 
Attendants. 
Scene : England and Wales. 



As well appeareth by the cause you come ; 
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. 
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 
Boling. First, heaven be the record to my 

speech ! 30 

In the devotion of a subject's love, 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 
And free from other misbegotten hate, 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 
And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak 
My body shall make good upon this earth, 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, 
Too good to be so and too bad to live, 40 

Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note, 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; 
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, 
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword 

may prove. 
Mow. Let not my cold words here accuse my 

zeal : 
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain ; 50 

The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: 
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast 
As to be hush'd and nought at all to say : 
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me 
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; 
Which else would post until it had return' d 
These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 
And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 60 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



357 



Call him a slanderous coward and a villain : 
Which to maintain I would allow him odds, 
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot 
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other ground inhabitable, 
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. 
Mean time let this defend my loyalty, 
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 

Holing. Pale trembling coward, there I throw 
my gage, 
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, 70 

And lay aside my high blood's royalty, 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. 
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: 
By that and all the rites of knighthood else, 
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 

Mow. I take it up ; and by that sword I swear, 
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, 
I'll answer thee in any fair degree, So 

Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
And when I mount, alive may I not light, 
If I be traitor or unjustly fight ! 

A". Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mow- 
bray's charge ? 
It must be great that can inherit us 
So much as of a thought of ill in him. 

Baling. Look, what I speak, my life shall 
prove it true ; 
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand 

nobles 
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, 
Like a false traitor and injurious villain. 91 

Besides I say and will in battle prove, 
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey'd by English eye, 
That all the treasons for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land 
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and 

spring. 
Further I say and further will maintain 
Upon his bad life to make all this good, 
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, 
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, 101 

And consequently, like a traitor coward, 
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of 

blood : 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
To me for justice and rough chastisement; 
And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

A". Rick. How high a pitch his resolution soars ! 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? no 

Mow. O, let my sovereign turn away his face 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf, 
Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
How God and good men hate so foul a liar. 

A". Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes 
and ears : 
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
As he is but my father's brother's son, 
Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, 
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 120 
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul : 
He is our subject, Mowbray ; so art thou : 



Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. 

Mow. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy 
heart, 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. 
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais 
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers ; 
The other part reserved I by consent, 
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt 
Upon remainder of a dear account, 130 

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's 

death, 
I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace 
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. 
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, 
The honourable father to my foe, 
Once did I lay an ambush for your life, 
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul ; 
But ere I last received the sacrament 
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd 140 

Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. 
This is my fault : as for the rest appeal'd, 
It issues from the rancour of a villain, 
A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 
Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 
And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
Upon this overweening traitor's foot, 
To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. 
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 150 

Your highness to assign our trial day. 

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled 
by me ; 
Let's purge this choler without letting blood: 
This we prescribe, though no physician ; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision ; 
Forget, forgive ; conclude and be agreed ; 
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my 
age : 160 

Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's 
gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 

Gaunt. When, Harry, when? 

Obedience bids I should not bid again. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid ; there 
is no boot. 

Alow. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at 
thy foot. 
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name, 
Despite of death that lives upon my grave, 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, 170 
Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, 
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood 
Which breathed this poison. 

A". Rich. Kage must be withstood: 

Give me his gage : lions make leopards tame. 

Mow. Yea, but not change his spots: take 
but my shame, 
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, 
The purest treasure mortal times afford 
Is spotless reputation : that away, 
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 180 

Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 



358 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act i. 



Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done : 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try ; 
In that I live and for that will I die. 

K. Rich. Cousin, throw up your gage ; do 
you begin. 

Boling. O, God defend my soul from such 
deep sin ! 
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? 
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height 189 
Before this out-dared dastard ? Ere my tongue 
Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear, 
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's 
face. [Exit Gaunt. 

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to 
command ; 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends, 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, 
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 200 
The swelling difference of your settled hate : 
Since we can not atone you, we shall see 
Justice design the victor's chivalry. 
Lord marshal, command our officers at arms 
Be ready to direcl: these home alarms. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The Duke of Lancaster's palace. 

Enter John of Gaunt -with the Duchess 
of Gloucester. 

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's 
blood 
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, 
To stir against the butchers of his life ! 
But since correction lieth in those hands 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper 
spur? 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 10 

Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, 
Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's 

course, 
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut ; 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glou- 
cester, 
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
One nourishing branch of his most royal root, 
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, 
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 
By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. 21 

Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine ! that bed, that 

womb, 
That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee 
Made him a man; and though thou livest and 

breathes t, 
Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
In some large measure to thy father's death, 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, 
Who was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience, Gaunt ; it is despair : 



In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 30 
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee : 
That which in mean men we intitle patience 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, 
The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. 
Gaunt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's sub- 
stitute, 
His deputy anointed in His sight, 
Hath caused his death : the which if wrongfully, 
Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift 40 

An angry arm against His minister. 

Dzich. Where then, alas, may I complain my- 
self? 
Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and 

defence. 
Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old 
Gaunt. 
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold 
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : 
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's 

spear, 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
Or, if misfortune miss the first career, 
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, 50 
That they may break his foaming courser's back, 
And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
Farewell, old Gaunt : thy sometimes brother's 

wife 
With her companion grief must end her life. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell ; I must to Coventry : 
As much good stay with thee as go with me ! 
Duch. Yet one word more : grief boundeth 
where it falls, 
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
I take my leave before I have begun, 60 

For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all : — nay, yet depart not so; 
Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
I shall remember more. Bid him — ah, what? — 
With all good speed at Plashy visit me. 
Alack, and what shall good old York there see 
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, 
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? 
And what hear there for welcome but my 
groans ? 70 

Therefore commend me ; let him not come there, 
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. 
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die : 
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The lists at Coventry. 

Enter the Lord Marshal and tlie Duke of 
Aumerle. 

Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford 

arm'd? 
Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. 
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and 
bold, 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 
A um. Why, then, the champions are prepared, 
and stay 
For nothing but his majesty's approach. 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



359 



The trumpets sound, and the King enters -with 
his nobles, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, 
and others. When they are set, enter Mow- 
bray in arms, defendant, with a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder cham- 
pion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
Ask him his name and orderly proceed 
To swear him in the justice of his cause. 10 

Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who 
thou art 
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, 
Against what man thou comest, and what thy 

quarrel : 
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; 
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour ! 

Mow. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke 
of Norfolk ; 
Who hither come engaged by my oath — 
Which God defend a knight should violate ! — 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth 
To God, my king and my succeeding issue, 20 
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me ; 
I And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, 
I To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke, 

appellant, in armour, with a Herald. 
K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, 
Both who he is and why he cometh hither 
, Thus plated in habiliments of war, 
I And formally, according to our law, 

Depose him in the justice of his cause. 30 

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore 
comest thou hither, 
Before King Richard in his royal lists? 
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy 

quarrel ? 
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and 
Derby 
Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, 
To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 
That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, 
To God of heaven, King Richard and to me ; 40 
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold 
J Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, 
I Except the marshal and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 

Baling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sove- 
reign's hand, 
And bow my knee before his majesty: 
For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave 50 

And loving farewell of our several friends. 

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your 
highness, 
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. 
A". Rich. We will descend and fold him in 
our arms. 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed, 



Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 

Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: 60 
As confident as is the falcon's flight 
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. 
My loving lord, I take my leave of you ; 
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle ; 
Not sick, although I have to do with death, 
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet : 
O thou, the earthly author of my blood, 
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 70 

Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up 
To reach at victory above my head, 
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 
And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, 
Even in the lusty haviour of his son. 

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee 
prosperous ! 
Be swift like lightning in the execution; 
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 80 

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 

Boling. Mine innocency and Saint George to 
thrive ! 

Mow. However God or fortune cast my lot, 
There lives or dies, true to King Richard's 

throne, 
A loyal, just and upright gentleman : 
Never did captive with a freer heart 
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace 
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, 90 

More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This feast of battle with mine adversary. 
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
As gentle and as jocund as to jest 
Go I to fight : truth hath a quiet breast. 

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy 
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and 
Derby, 100 

Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 

Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry 
amen. 

Mar. Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of 
Norfolk. 

First Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster 
and Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, 
On pain to be found false and recreant, 
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
A traitor to his God, his king and him ; 
And dares him to set forward to the fight. 

Sec. Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, 
Duke of Norfolk, no 

On pain to be found false and recreant, 
Both to defend himself and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; 
Courageously and with a free desire 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, com- 
batants. [A charge sounded. 



?6o 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act i. 



Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and 

their spears, 
And both return back to their chairs again: 120 
Withdraw with us : and let the trumpets sound 
While we return these dukes what we decree. 

[A long flourish. 
Draw near, 

And list what with our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be 

soil'd 
With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' 

sword ; 
And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 130 

With rival-hating envy, set on you 
To wake our peace, which in our country's 

cradle 
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ; 
Which so roused up with boisterous untuned 

drums, 
With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, 
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace 
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ; 
Therefore, we banish you our territories : 
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, 140 

Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 
But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
Boling. Your will be done: this must my 

comfort be, 
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me ; 
And those his golden beams to you here lent 
Shall point on me and gild my banishment. 
K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier 

doom, 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : 
The sly slow hours shall not determinate 150 

The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; 
The hopeless word of 'never to return' 
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 
Mow. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign 

liege, 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth : 
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air, 
Have I deserved at your highness' hands. 
The language I have learn'd these forty years, 
My native English, now I must forego : 160 

And now my tongue's use is to me no more 
Than an unstringed viol or a harp, 
Or like a cunning instrument cased up, 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
That knows no touch to tune the harmony : 
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips ; 
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance 
Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 170 

Too far in years to be a pupil now : 
What is thy sentence then but speechless death, 
Which robs my tongue from breathing native 
breath? 
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compas- 
sionate : 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. 



Mow. Then thus I turn me from my country's 
light, 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with 
thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ; 
Swear by the duty that you owe to God — 180 
Our part therein we banish with yourselves — 
To keep the oath that we administer : 
You never shall, so help you truth and God ! 
Embrace each other's love in banishment; 
Nor never look upon each other's face ; 
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; 
Nor never by advised purpose meet 
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 190 

Boling. I swear. 

Mow. And I, to keep all this. 

Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy : — 
By this time, had the king permitted us, 
One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, 
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm ; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. 200 

Mozv. No, Bolingbroke : if ever I were traitor, 
My name be blotted from the book of life, 
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence ! 
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do- know; 
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. 
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray ; 
Save back to England, all the world's my way. 

[Exit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine 
eyes 
I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banish'd years 210 
Pluck'd four away. [To Boling.] Six frozen win- 
ters spent, 
Return with welcome home from banishment. 

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! 
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs 
End in a word : such is the breath of kings. 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me 
He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
But little vantage shall I reap thereby ; 
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend 
Can change their moons and bring their times 
about, 220 

My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light 
Shall be extinct with age and endless night; 
My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years 
to live. 

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst 
give : 
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow ; 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 230 

Thy word is current with him for my death, 
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good 
advice, 
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave : 
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? 



Scene in.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



y' * 



Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in diges- 
tion sour. 
j You urged me as a judge ; but I had rather 
You would have bid me argue like a father. 
; O, had it been a stranger, not my child, 
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild : 
A partial slander sought I to avoid, 241 

And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, 
I was too strict to make mine own a way ; 
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue 
Against my will to do myself this wrong. 

A". Rich. Cousin, farewell ; and, uncle, bid 
him so : 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King Richard and train. 

A um. Cousin, farewell: what presence must 

not know, 

From where you do remain let paper show. 250 

Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride, 

As far as land will let me, by your side. 

Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard 
thy words, 
That thou return 'st no greeting to thy friends? 

Doling. I have too few to take my leave of you, 

When the tongue's office should be prodigal 

To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

Juding. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

Gaimt. What is six winters? they are quickly 

gone. 260 

Doling. To men in joy; but grief makes one 

hour ten. 
Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou takest for 

pleasure. 
Doling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, 
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. 

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set 
The precious jewel of thy home return. 

Doling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
Will but remember me what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love. 270 

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages, and in the end, 
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
But that I was a journeyman to grief? 

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
There is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not the king did banish thee, 
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, 280 
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour 
And not the king exiled thee ; or suppose 
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air 
And thou art flying to a fresher clime : 
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou 

comest : 
Suppose the singing birds musicians, 
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence 

strew'd, 
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 290 
Than a delightful measure or a dance ; 
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
The man that mocks at it and sets it light. 
Doling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand 



By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite 

By bare imagination of a feast? 

Or wallow naked in December snow 

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 

( ), no ! the apprehension of the good 300 

(Jives but the greater feeling to the worse : 

Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more 

Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee 
on thy way : 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 

Doling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; 
sweet soil, adieu ; 
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene IV. The court. 
Enter the King, with Bagot and Green at one 
door; and the Duke of Aumerle at another. 

A". Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his way? 

Auiu. I brought high Hereford, if you call 
him so, 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 

A". Rich. And say, what store of parting tears 
were shed? 

Aunt. Faith, none for me ; except the north- 
east wind, 
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

A". Rich. What said our cousin when you 
parted with him? 10 

A ion. ' Farewell :' 
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief 
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow s grave. 
Marry, would the word ' farewell' have lengthen' d 

hours 
And added years to his short banishment, 
He should have had a volume of farewells; 
But since it would not, he had none of me. 

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis 
doubt, 20 

When time shall call him home from banishment, 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green 
Observed his courtship to the common people; 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts 
With humble and familiar courtesy, 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves, • 
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles 
And patient underbearing of his fortune, 
As 'twere to banish their affects with him. 30 
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster- wench ; 
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well 
And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving 

friends : ' 
As were our England in reversion his, 
And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go 
these thoughts. 
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, 
Expedient manage must he made, my liege, 



362 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act 11. 



Ere further leisure yield them further means 40 
For their advantage and your highness' loss. 

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war : 
And, for our coffers, with too great a court 
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, 
We are inforced to farm our royal realm ; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand : if that come short, 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank char- 
ters ; 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are 

rich, 
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold 
And send them after to supply our wants ; 51 

For we will make for Ireland presently. 

Enter Bushy. 
Bushy, what news? 

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, 
my lord, 
Suddenly taken; and hath sent pest haste 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 

K. Rick. Where lies he? 

Bushy. At Ely House. 

K. Rich. Now put it, God, in the physician's 
mind 
To help him to his grave immediately ! 60 

The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. 
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: 
Pray God we may make haste, and come too late ! 

All. Amen. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Ely House. 

Enter John of Gaunt sick, -with the Duke of 
York, &>c. 
Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe 
my last 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? 
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with 
your breath ; 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 

Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying 
men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony : 
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent 

in vain, 
For they breathe truth that breathe their words 

in pain. 
He that no more must say is listen'd more 
Than they whom youth and ease have taught 
to glose ; 10 

More are men's ends mark'd than their lives be- 
fore: 
The setting sun, and music at the close, 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, 
Writ in remembrance more than things long past : 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, 
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 
York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering 
sounds, 
As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, 
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth doth always listen ; 20 
Report of fashions in proud Italy, 
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
Limps after in base imitation. 



Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity — 
So it be new, there's no respect how vile — 
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? 
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, 
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
Direct not him whose way himself will choose : 
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou 

lose. 30 

Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new inspired 
And thus expiring do foretell of him : 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves ; 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are 

short ; 
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; 
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder : 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 40 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi-paradise, 
This fortress built by Nature for herself 
Against infection and the hand of war, 
This happy breed of men, this little world, 
This precious stone set in the silver sea t 
Which serves it in the office of a wall 
Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
Against the envy of less happier lands, 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this 

England, 50 

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
For Christian service and true chivalry, 
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, 
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
Dear for her reputation through the world, 
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, 
Like to a tenement or pelting farm : 60 

England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: 
That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. 
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, 
How happy then were my ensuing death ! 

Enter King Richard and Queen, Aumerle, 
Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Wil- 

LOUGHBY. 

York. The king is come : deal mildly with 

his youth ; 69 

For young hot colts being + raged do rage the more. 

■Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 

K. Rich. What comfort, man? how is't with 

aged Gaunt? 
Gatint. O, how that name befits my compo- 
sition ! 
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old : 
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; 
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt ? 
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ; 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, 
Is my strict fast ; I mean, my children's looks; 80 
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, 



Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 
K~. Rich. Can sick, men play so nicely with 

their names? 
Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to Hatter thee. 
K. Rick. Should dying men flatter with those 

that live? 

Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter those that die. 

A'. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flat- 

terest me. 90 

Gaunt. O, no ! thou diest, though I the 

sicker be. 
K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see 

thee ill. 
Gaunt. Now He that made me knows I see 
thee ill; 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick ; 
; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
! Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
1 Of those physicians that first wounded thee : 
1 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 100 
j Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; 

And yet, incaged in so small a verge, 
I The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
i O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye 
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy 

shame, 
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, 
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, 
It were a shame to let this land by lease ; no 

But for thy world enjoying but this land, 
Is it not more than shame to shame it so? 
Landlord of England art thou now, not king: 
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
And thou — 

A". Rich. A lunatic lean-witted fool, 
Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
Darest with thy frozen admonition 
Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood 
With fury from his native residence. 
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 120 

Wert thou not brother to great Edward s son, 
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head 
Should run thy head from thy unre verent shoulders. 
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's 
son, 
For that I was his father Edward's son; 
That blood already, like the pelican, 
Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: 
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, 
Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls ! 
May be a precedent and witness good 130 

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood : 
Join with the present sickness that I have ; 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age, 
To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! 
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live that love and honour have. 

[Exit, borne off by his Attendants. 
K. Rich. And let them die that age and sul- 
lens have ; 
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 



York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his 
words 141 

To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. 
K. Rich. Right, you say true: as Hereford's 
love, so his; 
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. 

E?tter Northumberland. 
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him 

to your majesty. 
K.Rich. What says he? 

North. Nay, nothing; all is said: 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument; 
Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 150 
York. Be York the next that must be bank- 
rupt so ! 
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so 
doth he ; 
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. 
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: 
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, 
Which live like venom where no venom else 
But only they have privilege to live. 
And for these great affairs do ask some charge, 
Towards our assistance we do seize to us 160 

The plate, coin, revenues and moveables, 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 
York. How long shall I be patient? ah, how 
long 
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? 
Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banish- 
ment, 
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private 

wrongs, 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. 170 
I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first : 
In war was never lion raged more fierce, 
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, 
Than was that young and princely gentleman. 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; 
But when he frown'd, it was against the French 
And not against his friends ; his noble hand 
Did win what he did spend and spent not that 180 
Which his triumphant father's hand had won ; 
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, 
But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
O Richard ! York is too far gone with grief, 
Or else he never would compare between. 
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? 
York. O my liege, 

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased 
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands 189 
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? 
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? 
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir? 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son? 
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time 
His charters and his customary rights; 
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 



364. 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act 



Be not thyself; for how art thou a king 

But by fair sequence and succession? 

Now, afore God— God forbid I say true ! — 20c 

If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, 

Call in the letters patent that he hath 

By his attorneys-general to sue 

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, 

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 

You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts 

And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 

Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into 
our hands 
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. 
York. I'll not be by the while: my liege, 
farewell: 211 

What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; 
But by bad courses may be understood 
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. 
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire 
straight : 
Bid him repair to us to Ely House 
To see this business. To-morrow next 
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: 
And we create, in absence of ourself, 
Our uncle York lord governor of England; 220 
For he is just and always loved us well. 
Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King, Qiteen, Aumerle, 

Bushy, Green, and Bagot. 

North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is 

dead. 
Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke. 
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break 
with silence, 
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 
North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him 
ne'er speak more 230 

That speaks thy words again to do thee harm ! 
Willo. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the 
Duke of Hereford? 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; 
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 
Ross. No good at all that I can do for him ; 
Unless you call it good to pity him, 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 
North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such 
wrongs are borne 
In him, a royal prince, and many moe 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 240 

The king is not himself, but basely led 
By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
That will the king severely prosecute 
Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous 
taxes, 
tAnd quite lost their hearts : the nobles hath he 

fined 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 
With. And daily new exaclions are devised, 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : 250 
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? 
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he 
hath not, 
But basely yielded upon compromise 



That which his noble ancestors achieved with 

blows : 
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. 
Ross. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm 

in farm. 



ike 



Willo. The king's grown bankrupt 

__ broken man. 
North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over 

him. 
R oss. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, 260 
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 
North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate 
king ! 
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm ; 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must 
suffer ; 
And unavoided is the danger now 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 
JSiorth. Not so; even through the hollow eyes 
of death 2?0 

I spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou 

dost ours. 
X°f s - Be confident to speak, Northumberland : 
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, 
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, behold. 
North. Then thus : I have from Port le Blanc 
a bay 
In Brittany, received intelligence 
That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord 
Cobham, 

t 

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, 
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,' 
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton 

Francis Quoint, 
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne 
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, 
Are making hither with all due expedience 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay 
1 he first departing of the king for Ireland. 200 
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, 
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, 
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, 
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt 
And make high majesty look like itself, 
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh ; 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so, 
Stay and be secret, and myself will go. 
Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them 

that fear. 
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be 
the re. [Exeunt. 



280 



md 



300 



Scene II. The palace. 
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 



Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad : 
You promised, when you parted with the king 
1 o lay aside life-harming heaviness 
And entertain a cheerful disposition. 



Scene n.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



? r '? 



Queen. To please the king I did ; to please 
myself 
I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, 
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
Is coming towards me, and my inward soul n 
With nothing trembles : at some thing it grieves, 
More than with parting from my lord the king. 

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 
shadows, 
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so ; 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, 
Divides one thing entire to many objects; 
Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon 
Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry 
Distinguish form: so your sweet majestj', 20 

Looking awry upon your lord's departure, 
Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail ; 
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, 
More than your lord's departure weep not : more 's 

not seen ; 
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, 
Which for things true weeps things imaginary. 

Queen, It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me it is otherwise : howe'er it be, 
I cannot hut be sad ; so heavy sad 30 

As, though on thinking on no thought I think. 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious 
lady. 

Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still derived 
From some forefather grief; mine is not so, 
For nothing hath begot my something grief; 
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve : 
'Tis in reversion that I do possess; 
But what it is, that is not yet known ; what 
I cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 40 

Enter Green. 
Green. God save your majesty ! and well met, 
gentlemen : 
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 
Queen. Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope 
he is; 
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope : 
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? 
Green. That he, our hope, might have retired 
his power, 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope, 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land: 
The banish' d Bolingbroke repeals him.-elf, 
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived 50 

At Ravenspurgh. 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 

Green. Ah, madam, 'tis too true : and that is 
worse. 
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry 

Percy, 
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 
Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd North- 
umberland 
And all the rest revolted faction traitors? 

Green. We have : whereupon the Earl of 
Worcester 
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 



And all the household servants fled with him 60 
To Bolingbroke. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my 
woe, 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir : 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, 
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother. 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bushy. Despair not, madam. 

Queen. Who shall hinder me? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper back of death, 70 

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
Which false hope lingers in extremity. 

E nter Yo-rk. 

Green. Here comes the Duke of York. 

Queen. With signs <>f war about his aged neck: 
O, full of careful business are his looks! 
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. 

1 'ork. Should I do so, I should belie my 
thoughts: 
Comfort's in heaven : and we are on the earth, 
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. 
Your husband, he is gone to save far off, 80 

Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
Here am I left to underprop his land, 
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: 
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 

% Enter a Servant. 
Serv. My lord, your son was gone before 

I came. 
York. He was? Why, so ! go all which way 
it will ! 
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are 

cold, 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Glou- 
cester ; go 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: 
Hold, take my ring. 
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lord- 
ship, 
To-day, as I came by, I called there ; 
But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 
York. What is't, knave? 
Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess 

died. 
York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
I know not what to do : I would to God, 100 

So my untruth had not provoked him to it, 
The king had cut off my head with my brother's. 
What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? 
How shall we do for money for these wars? 
Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, — pray, par- 
don me. 
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts 
And bring away the armour that is there. 

[Exit Servant. 
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? 
t If I know how or which way to order these affairs 
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, no 

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen : 
The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend ; the other again 



3 66 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act ii. 



Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, 

Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 

Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I '11 

Dispose of you. 

Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, 

And meet me presently at Berkeley. 

I should to Plashy too ; 120 

But time will not permit : all is uneven, 

And every thing is left at six and seven. 

[Exeufit York and Queen. 
Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to 
Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power 
Proportionable to the enemy 
Is all unpossible. 

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in 
love 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 
Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: 
for their love 
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them 130 
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 
Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally 

condemn'd. 
Bagot. If judgement lie in them, then so do we, 
Because we ever have been near the king. 

Green. Well, I will for refuge straight to 
Bristol castle : 
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

Bushy. Thither will I with you; for little 
office 
The hateful commons will perform for us, 
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. 
Will you go along with us? 140 

Bagot. No ; I will to Ireland to his majesty. 
Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain, 
We three here part that ne'er shall meet again. 
Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back 

Bolingbroke. 
Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he under- 
takes 
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry : 
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. 
Bushy. Well, we may meet again. 
Bagot. I fear me, never. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Wilds in Gloticestershire. 

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, 
with Forces. 

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley 
now? 

North. Believe me, noble lord, 
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire : 
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways 
Draws out our miles, and makes them weari- 
some; 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
But I bethink me what a weary way 
From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found 
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, 
Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled 11 
The tediousness and process of my travel : 
But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have 
The present benefit which I possess; 
And hope to joy is little less in joy 



Than hope enjoy' d : by this the weary lords 
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath 

done 
By sight of what I have, your noble company. 
Boling. Of much less value is my company 
Than your good words. But who comes here ? 

Enter Henry Percy. 

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 21 
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. 
Harry, how fares your uncle? 

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd 

his health of you. 
North. Why, is he not with the queen? 
Percy. No, my good Lord; he hath forsook 
the court, 
Broken his staff of office and dispersed 
The household of the king. 

North. What was his reason? 

He was not so resolved when last we spake 
together. 
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed 
traitor. 30 

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, 
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, 
And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover 
What power the Duke of York had levied there ; 
Then with directions to repair to RavenspurghT 
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Here- 
ford, boy? 
Percy. No, my good lord, for that is not 
forgot 
Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, 
I never in my life did look on him. 
North. Then learn to know him now ; this is 
the duke. 40 

Percy. My gracious lord, I 'tender you my 
service, 
Such as it is, being tender, raw and young ; 
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 
Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be 
sure 
I count myself in nothing else so happy 
As in a soul remembering my good friends; 
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense: 
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus 
seals it. 50 

North. How far is it to Berkeley? and what . 
stir 
Keeps good old York there with his men of war? 
Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft 
of trees, 
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard ; 
And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and 

Seymour ; 
None else of name and noble estimate. 

Enter Ross and Willoughby. 
North. Here come the Lords of Ross and 
Willoughby, 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love 
pursues 
A banish'd traitor: all my treasury 60 

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



367 



Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most 

noble lord. 
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to at- 
tain it. 
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of 
the poor; 
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? 

Enter Berkeley. 

North. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. 

Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message is 
to you. 69 

Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ; 
And I am come to seek that name in England ; 
And I must find that title in your tongue, 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my 
meaning 
To raze one title of your honour out: 
To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, 
From the most gracious regent of this land, 
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on 
To take advantage of the absent time 
And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 

Enter York attended. 

Boling. I shall not need transport my words 
by you ; 81 

Here comes his grace in person. 

My noble uncle ! [Kneels. 

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not 
thy knee, 
Whose duty is deceiveable and false. 

Boling. Mv gracious uncle — 

York. Tut^ tut ! 
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle : 
I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word 'grace' 
In an ungracious mouth is but profane. 
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 90 
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground? 
But then more 'why?' why have they dared to 

march 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, 
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war 
And ostentation of despised arms? 
Comest thou because the anointed king is hence? 
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself 100 
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of 

men, 
From forth the ranks of many thousand French, 
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine, 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee 
And minister correction to thy fault ! 

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my 
fault : 
On what condition stands it and wherein? 

York. Even in condition of the worst degree, 
In gross rebellion nnd detested treason : 
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come no 
Before the expiration of thy time, 
In braving arms against thy sovereign. 

Boling. As I was banish'd. I wa 
Hereford ; 
But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace 



banish'd, I was banish'd 



Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye : 
You are my father, for methinks in you 
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father, 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wandering vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
Pluck'd from my arm's perforce and given away 
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born'/ 
If that my cousin king be King of England, 
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin ; 
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here, 
And yet my letters-patents give me leave : 130 
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold, 
And these and all are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do? I am a subject, 
And I challenge law : attorneys are denied me ; 
And therefore personally I lay my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

North. The noble duke hath been too much 
abused. 

Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him 
right. 

Willo. Base men by his endowments are 
made great. 

York.- My lords of England, let me tell you this : 
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs 141 

And laboured all I could to do him right ; 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms, 
Be his own carver and cut out his way, 
To find out right with wrong, it may not be ; 
And you that do abet him in this kind 
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke hath sworn his com- 
ing is 
But for his own ; and for the right of that 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 150 
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath ! 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms : 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
Because my power is weak and all ill left : 
But if I could, by Him that gave me life, 
I would attach you all and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; 
But since I cannot, be it known to you 
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; 
Unless you please to enter in the castle 160 

And there repose you for this night. 

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept : 
But we must win your grace to go with us 
To Bristol castle, which they say is held 
By Bushy, Bagot and their complices, 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth, 
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. 

York. It may be I will go with you : but yet 
I'll pause ; 
For I am loath to break our country's laws. 
Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are : 170 
Things past redress are now with me past care. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene IV. A camp in Wales. 
Enter Salisbury and a Welsh Captain. 

Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd 
ten days, 
And hardly kept our countrymen together, 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king : 



368 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act hi. 



Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. 

Sal. Stay yet another day, thcu trusty 
Welshman : 
The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. 

Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we will 
not stay. 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth 10 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper feai'ful change ; 
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap, 
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
The other to enjoy by rage and war: 
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. 
Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, 
As well assured Richard their king is dead. 

{Exit. 

Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind 
I see thy glory like a shooting star 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament. 20 

Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest : 
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Bristol. Before the castle. 

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumber- 
land, Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with Bushy 
and Green, prisoners. 
Boling. Bring forth these men. 
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls — 
Since presently your souls must part your bodies — 
With too much urging your pernicious lives, 
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood 
From off my hands, here in the view of men 
I will unfold some causes of your deaths. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
By you unhappied and disfigured clean : 10 

You have in manner with your sinful hours 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, 
Broke the possession of a royal bed 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul 

wrongs. 
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, 
Near to the king in blood, and near in love 
Till you did make him misinterpret me, 
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds. 
Fating the bitter bread of banishment; 21 

Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, 
From my own windows torn my household coat, 
Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign, 
Save men's opinions and my living blood, 
To show the world I am a gentleman. 
This and much more, much more than twice all 

this, 
Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd 

over 
To execution and the hand of death. 30 

BnsJiy. More welcome is the stroke of death 
to me 
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. 



Green. My comfort is that heaven will take 
our souls 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 

Boling. My Lord Northumberland, see them 
dispatch'd. 

[Exeunt Northumberland and others, 
•with the prisoners. 
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house ; 
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated : 
Tell her I send to her my kind commends ; 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd 

With letters of your love to her at large. 41 

Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, 

away, 

To fight with Glendower and his complices : 

Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The coast of Wales. A castle in 
view. 

Drums: flourish and colours. Enter King 
Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, 
and Soldiers. 

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call thev this at 

hand? 
A um. Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace 

the air, 
After your late tossing on the breaking seas? 
K. Rich. Needs mu°t I like it well : I weep 

for joy 
To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
Dear earth, I do salute thee with nvy hand, 
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' 

hoofs : 
As a long-parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting. 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 10 
And do thee favours with my royal hands. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, 
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense ; 
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee : 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies ; 
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder 20 
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords : 
This earth shall have a feeling and these stones 
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. 

Car. Fear not, my lord: that Power that 

made you king 
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 
The means that heaven yields must be embraced, 
And not neglected ;else, if heaven would, 30 
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, 
The proffer'd means of succour and redress. 
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too 

remiss; 
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 
Grows strong and great in substance and in 

power. 
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou 

not 



Scene ii.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



369 



That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, 
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen 
In murders and in outrage, boldly here ; 40 

]iut when from under this terrestrial ball 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines 
And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
Then murders, treasons and detested sins, 
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their 

backs, 
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? 
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, 
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night 
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, 
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 50 

His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 
Not able to endure the sight of day, 
But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. 
Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; 
The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
The deputy elected by the Lord : 
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd 
Tclift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 60 

A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, 
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the 

right. 

Enter Salisbury. 
Welcome, my lord : how far off lies your power? 
Sal. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious 
lord, 
Than this weak arm : discomfort guides my tongue 
And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting 
men ! 70 

To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy 

state : 
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, 
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled ; 
Audi. Comfort, my liege: why looks your 

grace so pale ? 
A". Rich. But now the blood of twenty thou- 
sand men 
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
And, till so much blood thither come again, 
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
All souls that will be safe fly from my side, 80 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 
A inn. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you 

are. 
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king? 
Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. 
Is not the king's name twenty thousand names? 
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, 
Ye favourites of a king : are we not high? 
High be our thoughts : I know my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who 
comes here? 90 

Enter Scroop. 
Scroop. More health and happiness betide my 
liege 



Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him ! 
A". Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart pre- 
pared : 
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care; 
And what loss is it to be rid of care ! 
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? 
Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, 
We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so: 
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend ; 100 
They break their faith to God as well as us: 
Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay ; 
The worst is death, and death will have his day. 
Scroop. Glad am I that your highness is so 
arm'd 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 
Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
As if the world were all dissolved to tears, 
So high above his limits swells the rage 
( )f Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land no 
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than 

steel. 
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless 

scalps 
Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices, 
Strive to speak big and clap their female joints 
In stiff unwieldly arms against thy crown : 
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; 
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, 
And all goes worse than 1 have power to tell. 120 
A*. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale 
so ill. 
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? 
What is become of Bushy? where is Green ? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it: 
I warrant they have made peace with Boling- 
broke. 
Scroop. Peace have they made with him in- 
deed, my lord. 
A'. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without 
redemption ! 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 130 

Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my 

heart! 
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! 
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 
Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his pro- 
perty, 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : 
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made 
With heads, and not with hands: those whom 

you curse 
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound 
And lie full low. graved in the hollow ground. 
Aiun. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wilt- 
shire dead? i^r 
Scroop. Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their 

heads. 
A um. Where is the duke my father with his 

power? 
A". Rich. No matter where; of comfort no 
man speak : 
Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs; 



37° 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act hi. 



Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, 
Let's choose executors and talk of wills : 
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground? 150 

Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own but death 
And that small model of the barren earth 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings : 
How some have been deposed; some slain in 

war; 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ; 
Some poison'd by their wives; some sleeping 

kill'd; 
All murder'd : for within the hollow crown 160 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, 
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 
To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 
As if this flesh which walls about our life 
Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus 
Comes at the last and with a little pin 169 

Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king ! 
Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood 
With solemn reverence : throw away respect, 
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, 
For you have but mistook me all this while : 
t I live with bread like you, feel want, 
Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus, 
How can you say to me, I am a king? 

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and v/ail 
their woes, 
But presently prevent the ways to wail. 179 

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, 
Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, 
And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come to fight : 
And fight and die is death destroying death; 
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. 

Atwi. My father hath a power; inquire of 
him, 
And learn to make a body of a limb. 

K. Rich. Thou chidest me well : proud Boling- 
broke, I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
This ague fit of fear is over-blown ; 190 

An easy task it is to win our own. 
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the 
sky 

The state and inclination of the day : 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and small 
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : 
Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke, 200 
And all your northern castles yielded up, 
And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
Upon his party. 

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth 
\To Aumerle. 
Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 
What say you now? what comfort have we now? 



By heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly 

That bids me be of comfort any more. 

Go to Flint castle : there I '11 pine away ; 

A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 210 

That power I have, discharge ; and let them go 

To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, 

For I have none : let no man speak again 

To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 

Aum. My liege, one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong 

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers : let them hence away, 
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. 

\_Exe21nt. 

Scene III. Wales. Before Flint castle. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke, 
York, Northumberland, Attendants, and 
forces. 

Baling. So that by this intelligence we learn 
The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed * 
With some few private friends upon this coast. 

North. The news is very fair and good, my 
lord: 
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.. 

York. It would beseem the Lord Northum- 
berland 
To say 'King Richard :' alack the heavy day 
When such a sacred king should hide his head. 

North. Your grace mistakes ; only to be brief, 
Left I his title out. 

York. The time hath been, 10 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, 
For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you 
should. 

York. Take not, good cousin, further than 
you should, 
Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads. 

Baling: I know it, uncle, and oppose not my- 
self 
Against their will. But who comes here ? 19 

Enter Percy. 
Welcome, Harry : what, will not this castle yield? 

Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, 
Against thy entrance. 

Boling. Royally ! _ 
Why, it contains no king ? 

Percy. Yes, my good lord, 

It doth contain a king; King Richard lies 
Within the limits of yon lime and stone : 
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salis- 
bury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence ; who, I cannot learn. 

North. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle, j 

Boling. Noble lords, 31 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: 
Henry Bolingbroke 

On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand 
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart 
To his most royal person, hither come 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



37* 



Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, 
Provided that my banishment repeal'd 40 

And lands restored again be freely granted: 
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd English- 
men : 
The which, how far off from the mind of Boling- 

broke 
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, 
My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
Go, signify as much, while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 50 

Let's march without the noise of threatening 

drum. 
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well perused. 
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet 
With no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the fire. I '11 be the yielding water: 
The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain 
My waters; on the earth, and not on him. 60 
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. 

Parle without, and answer within. Then a 
flourish. Enter on the walls, King Richard, 
the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, 
and Salisbury. 
See, see. King Richard doth himself appear, 
As doth the blushing discontented sun 
From out the fiery portal of the east, 
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 

York. Yet looks he like a king: behold, 
his eye, 
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Controlling majesty : alack, alack, for woe, 70 
That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
K. Rich. We are amazed; and thus long 
have we stood 
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 

[To North. 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
To pay their awful duty to our»-presence? 
If we be not, show us the hand of God 
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ; 
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 80 
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
And though you think that all, as you have done, 
Have torn their souls by turning them from us, 
And we are barren and bereft of friends ; 
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, 
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf 
Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 
Your children yet unborn and unbegot, 
That lift your vassal hands against my head 
And threat the glory of my precious crown. 90 
Tell Bolingbroke — for yond methinks he stands — 
That every stride he makes upon my land 
Is dangerous treason : he is come to open 
The purple testament of bleeding war ; 
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 



Shall ill become the flower of England's face, 
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
To scarlet indignation and bedew 
Her pastures' Ljrass with faithful English blood. 
North. The king of heaven forbid our lord 

the king 101 

Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice noble cousin 
Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand ; 
And by the honourable tomb he swears, 
That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, 
And by the royalties of both your bloods, 
Currents that spring from one nn^t gracious head, 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, 
And by the worth and honour of himself, no 

Comprising all that may be sworn or said, 
His coming hither hath no further scope 
Than for his lineal royalties and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees : 
Which on thy royal party granted once, 
Mis glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; 
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 120 

A". Rich. Northumberland, say thus the king 

returns : 
His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; 
And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplished without contradiction : 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. 
We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, 

[To A umerle. 
To look so poorly and to speak so fair? 
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die? 130 

Amn. No, good my lord; let's fight with 

gentle words 
Till time lend friends and friends their helpful 

swords. 
A". Rich. O God, O God ! that e'er this tongue 

of mine, 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
On yon proud man, should take it off again 
With words of sooth ! O that 1 were as great 
As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
Or that I could forget what I have been, 
Or not remember what I must be now ! 
Swell' st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope 

to beat, 140 

Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
A um. Northumberland comes back from Bo- 
lingbroke. 
K. Rich. What must the king do now? must 

he submit? 
The king shall do it : must he be deposed ? 
The king shall be contented : must he lose 
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go : 
I '11 give my jewels for a set of beads, 
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, 
My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, 
My figured goblets for a dish of wood, 150 

My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff, 
My subjects for a pair of carved saints 
And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave; 
Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway, 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 

24 2 



I IT- 



KING RICHARD II. 



Act hi. 



May hourly trample on their sovereign's head ; 
For on my heart they tread now whilst I live ; 
And buried once, why not upon my head ? 
Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! 
We '11 make foul weather with despised tears ; 161 
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, 
And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, 
And make some pretty match with shedding 

tears? 
As thus, to drop them still upon one place, 
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earth ; and, therein laid,— there lies 
Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping 

eyes. 
Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see 170 
i I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. 

Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, 
What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty 
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. 
North. My lord, in the base court he doth 

attend 
To speak with you ; may it please you to come 

down. 
K. Rick. Down, down I come ; like glistering 

Phaethon, 
Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 
In the base court? Base court, where kings 

grow base, 180 

To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. 
In the base court? Come down? Down, court! 

down, king ! 
For night-owls shriek where mounting larks 

should sing. [E ' xetait from above. 

Boling. What says his majesty? 
North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
Yet he is come. 

Enter King Richard and his attendants below. 

Boling. Stand all apart. 
And show fair duty to his majesty. 

[He kneels down. 
My gracious lord, — ■ 
K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your prince^ 
knee _ :n 

To make the base earth proud with kissing it : 
Me rather had my heart might feel your love 
Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up ; your heart is up, I know, 
Thus high at least, although your knee be low. 
Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for 

mine own. 
K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, 

and all. 
Boling;. So far be mine, my most redoubted 
lord, 
As my true service shall deserve your love. 
K. Rich. Well you deserve : they well deserve 
to have, 200 

That know the strong' st and surest way to get. 
Uncle, give me your hands : nay, dry your eyes ; 
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; 
For do we must what force will have us do. 



Set on towards London, cousin, is it so? 
Boling. Yea, my good lord. 
K. Rich. Then I must not say no. 

\_Flourish. Exetmt. 

Scene IV. Langley. The Duke of York's 
garden. 

Etiter the Queen and two Ladies. 

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in 
this garden, 
To drive away the heavy thought of care? . 

Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 

Qneen. 'Twill make me think the world is full 
of rubs, 
And that my fortune runs against the bias. 

Lady. Madam, we'll dance. 

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, 
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 

Lady. Madam, we '11 tell tales. 10 

Queen. Of sorrow or of joy ? 

Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl : 
For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: 
For what I have I need not to repeat ; 
And what I want it boots not to complain. 

Lady. Madam, I '11 sing. 

Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ; 

But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou 

weep. 20 

Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you 
good. 

Queen. And I could sing, would weeping do 
me good, 
And never borrow any tear of thee. 

E7iter a Gardener, and tzuo Servants. 

But stay, here come the gardeners : 
Let's step into the shadow of these trees. 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so 
Against a change ; woe is forerun with woe. 

[Q?ceeri and Ladies retire. 

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, 
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 30 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 
Go thou, and like an executioner, 
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 
All must be even in our government. 
You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, which without profit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

Serv. Why should we in the compass of a pale 
Keep law and form and due proportion, 41 

Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, 
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, 
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up, 
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruin'd, 
Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars? 

Gard. Hold thy peace : 



Scene iv.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf : 
The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did 
shelter, 50 

That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, 
Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke, 
1 mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 
Serv. What, are they dead ? 
Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seized the wasteful king. 0, what pity is it 
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land 
As we this garden ! We at time of year 
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, 
Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, 
With too much riches it confound itself: 60 

Had he done so to great and growing men, 
They might have lived to bear and he to taste 
Their fruits of duty : superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, 
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 
Sen'. What, think you then the king shall be 

deposed? 
Gard. Depress'd he is already, and deposed 
'Tis doubt he will be : letters came last night 
To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's, 70 
That tell black tidings. 

Queen. O, I am press'd to death through want 

of speaking ! \Coming forward. 

Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, 

How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this 

unpleasing news? 
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee 
To make a second fall of cursed man? 
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed? 
Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
Divine his downfal ? Say, where, when, and how, 
Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou 
wretch. 80 

Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I 
To breathe this news ; yet what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke : their fortunes both are weigh'd : 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, 
And some few vanities that make him light; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
Besides himself, are all the English peers. 
And with that odds he weighs King Richard down. 
Post you to London, and you will find it so ; 90 
I speak no more than every one doth know. 
Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of 
foot, 
Di >tli nor thy embassage belong to me, 
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 
To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go, 
To meet at London London's king in woe. 
What, was I born to this, that my sad look 
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe, 100 
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might 
be no worse, 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. 
Here did she fall a tear ; here in this place 
I'll set a bank of rue. sour herb of grace : 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, 
In the remembrance of a weepingqueen. [Exeunt 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Westminster Hall. 

Enter, as to the Parliament, Bolingbroke, 

AUMERLE, NoRTh . PERCY, FlTZ- 

water, Surrey, the Bishop of Carlisle, 
the Abbot of Westminster, and another 
Lord, Herald, Officers, and Bagot. 
Call forth Bagot. 
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; 
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death, 
Who wrought it with the king, and whoperformd 
The bloody office of his timeless end. 
Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord 

Aumerle. 
Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon 

that man. 
Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring 
tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloucester's death was 
plotted, 10 

I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length. 
That reacheth from the restful English^ court 
As far as Calais, to mine uncle's heal '.-' 
Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
I heard you say that you had rather refuse 
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns 
Than Bolingbroke's return to England ; 
Adding withal, how blest this land would be 
In this your cousin's death. 

Aum. Princes and noble lords, 

What answer shall I make to this base man? 20 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, 
On equal terms to give him chastisement? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
With the attainder of his slanderous lips. 
There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest, 
And will maintain what thou hast said is false 
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
Baling. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take 
it up. _ 30 

A um. Excepting one, I would he were the best j 
In all this presence that hath moved me so. 

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathy, 
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine :' 
By that fair sun which shows me where thou 

stand'st, 
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it, 
That thou wcrt cause of noble Gloucester's death. 
If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest; 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 40 
Aum. Thou darest not, coward, live to see 

that day. 
Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this 

hour. 
Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for 

this. 
Percy. Aumerle. thou liest ; his honour is as true 
In this appeal as thou art all unjust ; 
And that thou art so. there I throw my sage, 
To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest. 

Aum. An if 1 do not, may my hands rot off 
And never brandish more revengeful steel c,o 



374 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act iv. 



Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! 

Another Lord. I task the earth to the like, 
forsworn Aumerle ; 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. 

Atim. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw 
at all : 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 

Surrey. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember 
well 60 

The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. 'Tis very true : you were in presence then ; 
And you can witness with me this is true. 

Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself 
is true. 

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge 
Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull : 
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; 70 
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. 

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward 
horse ! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, 
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, 
To tie thee to my strong correction. 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
Besides, I heard the banish' d Norfolk say So 

That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

A um. Some honest Christian trust me with a 
gage, 
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this, 
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour. 

Boling. These differences shall all rest under 
gage 
Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be, 
And, though mine enemy, restored again 
To all his lands and signories : when he 's return'd, 
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 90 

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. 
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens ; 
And toil'd with works of war, retired himself 
To Italy; and there at Venice gave 
His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 100 

Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? 

Car. As surely as I live, my lord. 

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul 
to the bosom 
Of good old Abraham ! Lords appellants, 
Your differences shall all rest under gage 
Till we assign you to your days of trial. 

Enter York, attended. 
York. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to 
thee 



From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing 

soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand : no 

Ascend his throne, descending now from him ; 
And long live Henry, fourth of that name ! 

Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal 
throne. 

Car. Marry, God forbid ! 
Worst in this royal presence may I speak, 
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
Would God that any in this noble presence 
Were enough noble to be upright judge 
Of noble Richard ! then true noblesse would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 120 
What subject can give sentence on his king? 
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? 
Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear, 
Although apparent guilt be seen in them; 
And shall the figure of God's majesty, 
His captain, steward, deputy-elect, 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years, 
Ee judged by subject and inferior breath, 
And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, 
That in a Christian climate souls refined 130 

Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed 1 
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. 
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: 
And if you crown him, let me prophesy: 
The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, 
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars 140 
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound ; 
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny 
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. 
O, if you raise this house against this house, 
It will the woefullest division prove 
That ever fell upon this cursed earth. 
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, 
Lest child, child's children, cry against you 
' woe ! ' 

North. Well have you argued, sir ; and, for 
your pains, 150 

Of capital treason we arrest you here. 
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. 
May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' 
suit. 

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in com- 
mon view 
He may surrender ; so we shall proceed 
Without suspicion. 

York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 

Boling. Lords, you that here are under our 
arrest, 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer. 
Little are we beholding to your love, 160 

And little look'd for at your helping hands. 

Re-enter York, with Richard, and Officers 
bearing the regalia. 

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd 
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs : 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



375 



Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me 
To this submission. Yet I well remember 
The favours of these men : were they not mine? 
Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail !' to me? 
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, 170 
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, 

none. 
God save the king! Will no man say amen? 
Am I both priest'and clerk? well then, amen. 
God save the king! although I be not he ; 
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. 
To do what service am I sent for hither? 

York. To do that office of thine own good will 
Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 
The resignation of thy state and crown 
To Henry Bolingbroke. 180 

K. Rich. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, 

seize the crown; 
Here cousin ; 

On this side my hand, and on that side yours. 
Now is this golden crown like a deep well 
That owes two buckets, fillin'g one another, 
The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
The other down, unseen and full of water: 
That bucket down and full of tears am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
Bolitig. I thought you had been willing to 

resign. 190 

A'. Rich. My crown I am ; but still my griefs 

are mine : 
You may my glories and my state depose, 
But not my griefs ; still am I king of those. 
Baling. Part of your cares you give me with 

your crown. 
K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my 

cares down. 
My care is loss of care, by old care done ; 
Your care is gain of care, by new care won : 
The cares I give I have, though given away ; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they 

stay. 
■ Boling. Are you contented to resign the 

crown ? 200 

K. Rich. Ay, no ; no, ay ; for I must 

nothing be ; 
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me, how I will undo myself: 
I give this heavy weight from off my head 
And this unwieldly sceptre from my hand, 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
With mine own breath release all duty's rites: 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 211 

My manors, rents, revenues I forego; 
My acls, decrees, and statutes I deny: 
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me ! 
God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee ! 
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing 

grieved, 
And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved! 
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days ! 221 
What more remains? 

North. No more, but that you read 

These accusations and these grievous crimes 



Committed by your person and your followers 
Against the state and profit of this land ; 
That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily deposed. 

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland, 
If thy offences were upon record, 230 

Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop 
To read a leclure of them? If thou wouldst, 
There shouldst thou find one heinous article, 
Containing the deposing of a king 
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, 
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of 

heaven : 
Nay, all of you that stand and look upon, 
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, 
Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands 
Show nig an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 240 
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, 
And water cannot wash away your sin. 
North. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these 

articles. 
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I can- 
not see : 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much 
But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest; 
For I have given here my soul's consent 
To undeck the pompous body of a king; 250 

Made glory base and sovereignty a slave, 
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. 
North. My lord,— 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught in- 
sulting man, 
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, 
No, not that name was given me at the font, 
But 'tis usurp'd : alack the heavy day, 
That I have worn so many winters out, 
And know not now what name to call myself! 
O that I were a mockery king of snow, 260 

Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
To melt myself away in water-drops ! 
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, 
An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
Let it command a mirror hither straight, 
That it may show me what a face I have, 
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
Boling. Go some of you and fetch a looking- 
glass. [Exit an attendant. 
North. Read o'er this paper while the glass 

doth come. 
A". Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I 
come to hell ! 270 

Baling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northum- 
berland. 
North. The commons will not then be sa- 
tisfied. 
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read 
enough, 
When I do see the very book indeed 
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. 

Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. 
Give me the glass, and therein will I read. 
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck 
So many blows upon this face of mine, 
And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass, 
Like to my followers in prosperity, 280 



376 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act v. 



Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face 
That every day under his household roof 
Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face 
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? 
Was this the face that faced so many follies, 
And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke? 
A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
As brittle as the glory is the face ; 

[Dashes the glass against the ground. 
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. 
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, 290 
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 
Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath 
destroy'd 
The shadow of your face. 

K. Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow ! ha ! let's see : 
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; 
And these external manners of laments 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief 
That swells with silence in the tortured soul ; 
There lies the substance : and I thank thee, 

king, 
For thy great bounty, that not only givest 300 
Me cause to wail but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
And then be gone and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obtain it? 

Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 

K. Rich. 'Fair cousin'? I am greater than 
a king : 
For when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
Baling. Yet ask. 
K. Rich. And shall I have? 
Boling. You shall. 310 

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 
Boling. Whither? 
K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from 

your sights. 
Boling. Go, some of you convey him to the 

Tower. 
K. Rich. O, good! convey? conveyers are 
you all, 
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

{.Exeunt King Richa?-d, some Lords, 
and a Guard. 
Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set 
down 
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. 320 
[Exeunt all except the Bishop of Carlisle, the 
Abbot of Westminster, and Aumcrle. 
A bbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 
Car. The woe's to come; the children yet 
unborn 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? 

Abbot. My lord, 
Before I freely speak my mind herein, 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but also to effect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise. 330 

I see your brows are full of discontent, 
Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears : 
Come home with me to supper; and I '11 lay 
A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. London. A street leading to the 
Tower. 

Enter Queen and Ladies. 
Queen. This way the king will come ; this is 
the way 
To Julius Cajsar's ill-erected tower, 
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke: 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
Have any resting for her true king's queen. 

Enter Richard and Guard. 
But soft, but see, or rather do not see, 
My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold, 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 9 

And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. 
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand. 
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, 
And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, 
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee, 
When triumph is become an alehouse guest? 

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do 
not so, 
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, 
To think our former state a happy dream ; 
From which awaked, the truth of what we are 
Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet, 20 
To grim Necessity, and he and I 
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France 
And cloister thee in some religious house : 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, 
Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape 
and mind 
Transform' d and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke 

deposed 
Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? 
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw, 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like, 31 
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, 
And fawn on rage with base humility, 
Which art a lion and a king of beasts? 

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught 
but beasts, 
I had been still a happy king of men. 
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for 

France : 
Think I am dead and that even here thou takest, 
As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. 
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 40 

With good old folks and let them tell thee tales 
Of woeful ages long ago betid ; 
And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs, 
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me 
And send the hearers weeping to their beds : 
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue 
And in compassion weep the fire out ; 
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, 
For the deposing of a rightful king. 50 

jFw^r Northumberland and others. 
North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is 
changed ; 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



377 



And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; 
With all swift speed you must away to France. 
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- 
withal 
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
More than it is ere foul sin gathering head 
Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think, 
Though he divide the realm and give thee half, 
It is too little, helping him to all ; 61 

And he shall think that thou, which know'st the 

way 
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
Being ne'er so little urged, another way 
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
The love of wicked men converts to fear ; 
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both 
To worthy danger and deserved death. 

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an 
end. 69 

Take leave and part ; for you must part forthwith. 
K. Rich. Doubly divorced! Bad men, you 
violate 
A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me, 
And then betwixt me and my married wife. 
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. 
Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, 
"Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 
My wife to France : from whence, set forth in 

pomp, 
She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas or short' st of day. 80 
Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part ? 
A*. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and 

heart from heart. 
Queen. Banish us both and send the king 

with me. 
North. That were some love but little policy. 
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make 
one woe. 
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. 
Go, count thy way with sighs ; I mine with groans. 
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 
moans. 90 

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the 
way being short, 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let 's be brief, 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief: 
( )ne kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part ; 
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. 
Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no 
good part 
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. 
So, now I have mine own again, be gone, 
That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 100 

A'. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond 
delay : 
Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. T& Duke of York's/«/(!^. 
Enter York and his Duchess. 

Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell 
the rest. 



When weeping made you break the story off, 
Of our two cousins coming into London. 

York. Where did I leave? 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, 

Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops 
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. 

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great 
Bolingbroke, 
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, 
With slow but stately pace kept on his course, 10 
Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Boling- 
broke !' 
You would have thought the very windows spake, 
So main- greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage, and that all the walls 
With painted imagery had said at once 
' Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke!' 
Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, 
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus : ' I thank you, countrymen :' 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 21 

Duch. Alack, poor Richard ! where rode he 
the whilst? 

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, 
Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on gentle Richard ; no man cried 'God 

save him ! ' 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 30 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, 
His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
The badges of his grief and patience, 
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted 
And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hand in these events, 
To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 40 

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
York. Aumerle that was ; 

Rut that is lost for being Richard's friend, 
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : 
1 am in parliament pledge for his truth 
And lasting fealty to the new made king. 

Enter Aumerle. 
Duch. Welcome, my son : who are the violets 
now 
That strew the green lap of the new come spring? 
A u/n. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care 
not : 
God knows I had as lief be none as one. 

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring 
of time, 5 o 

Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and 
triumphs? 
Aunt. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
York. You will be there, I know. 
Aunt. If God prevent not, I purpose so. 
York. What seal is that, that hangs without 
thy bosom I 

ik'st thou pale? let me see the writing. 



378 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act v. 



Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
York. No matter, then, who see it : 

I will be satisfied ; let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me : 
Tt is a matter of small consequence, 61 

Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean 
to see. 
I fear, I fear, — 

Duck. What should you fear? 

'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd 

into 
For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. 

York. Bound to himself! what doth he with 
a bond 
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. 
Boy, let me see the writing. 
Aicm. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may 
not show it. 70 

York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 
[He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it. 
Treason ! foul treason ! Villain ! traitor ! slave ! 
Duck. What is the matter, my lord? 
York. Ho ! who is within there ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Saddle my horse. 
God for his mercy, what treachery is here ! 
Duck. Why, what is it, my lord? 
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my 
horse. [Exit Servant. 

Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, 
I will appeach the villain. 
Duck. What is the matter? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 80 

Duck. I will not peace. What is the matter, 

Aumerle ? 
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no 
more 
Than my poor life must answer. 
D?tch. Thy life answer ! 

York. Bring me my boots : I will unto the 
king. 

Re-enter Servant with boots. 

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou 
art amazed. 
Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight. 

York. Give me my boots, I say. 

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do ? 
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? 
Have we more sons? or are we like to have? 90 
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? 
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, 
And rob me of a happy mother's name ? 
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? 

York. Thou fond mad woman. 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, 
And interchangeably set down their hands, 
To kill the king at Oxford. 

Duch. He shall be none ; 99 

We'll keep him here : then what is that to him? 

York. Away, fond woman ! were he twenty 
times my son, 
I would appeach him. 

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him 

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. 
But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect 



That I have been disloyal to thy bed, 

And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : 

He is as like thee as a man may be, 

Not like to me, or any of my kin, 

And yet I love him. 

York. Make way, unruly woman! no 

[Exit. 
Duch. After, Aumerle ! mount thee upon his 

horse ; 
Spur post, and get before him to the king, 
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
And never will I rise up from the ground 
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be 

gone ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A royal palace. 
Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords. 
Boling. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty 
son? 
'Tis full three months since I did see him last: 
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
With unrestrained loose companions, 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, 10 
Takes on the point of honour to support 
So dissolute a crew. 
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw 
the prince, 
And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. 
Boling. And what said the gallant? 
Percy. His answer was, he would unto the 
stews, 
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
And wear it as a favour ; and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 
Boling. As dissolute as desperate ; yet through 
both 20 

I see some sparks of better hope, which elder 

years 
May happily bring forth. But who comes here? 

Enter Aumerle. 
Aum. Where is the king? 
Boling. What means our cousin, that he stares 
and looks 
So wildly? 
Aum. God save your grace! I do beseech 
your majesty, 
To have some conference with your grace alone, 
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us 
here alone. [Exeunt Percy and Lords. 

What is the matter with our cousin now? 
Atim. For ever may my knees grow to the 
earth, 30 

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. 

Boling. Intended or committed was this fault? 
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, 
To win thy after-love I pardon thee. 
Au7n. Then give me leave that I may turn 
the key, 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



379 



That no man enter till my tale be done. 
Boling. Have thy desire. 
York. {Within] My liege, beware: look to 
thyself; 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 40 

Boling. Villain, I '11 make thee safe. 

[Drawing. 
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast 

no cause to fear. 
York. [ Within} Open the door, secure, fool- 
hardy king : 
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 

Enter York. 
Baling. What is the matter, uncle? speak ; 
Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, 
That we may arm us to encounter it. 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou 
shalt know 
The treason that my haste forbids me show. 50 
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro- 
mise pass'd : 
T do repent me ; read not my name there ; 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it 
down. 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 

Boling. O heinous, strong and bold conspi- 
racy! 

loyal father of a treacherous son ! 60 
Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, 

I From whence this stream through muddy pas- 
sages 
! Hath held his current and defiled himself! 
I Thy overflow of good converts to bad, 

And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
J This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 
j •. York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
j And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, 
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 70 
Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies : 
Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, 
The traitor lives, the true man 's put to death. 
Duck. [Jf'ithiu] What ho, my liege! for 

God's sake, let me in. 
Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes 
this eager cry? 
i Duck. A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 

'tis I. 
i Speak with me, pit} r me, open the door: 
' A beggar begs that never begg'd before. 

Boling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, 

i And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.' 

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in : 81 

1 know she is come to pray for your foul sin. 

1 'ork. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. 
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; 
This let alone will all the rest confound. 

Enter Duchess. 
Duck. O king, believe not this hard-hearted 
man ! 
Love loving not itself none other can. 



York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou 
make here? 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 90 

Ditch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, 
gentle liege. {Kneels. 

Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : 

For ever will I walk upon my knees, 
And never see day that the happy sees, 
Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 

Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my 
knee. 

York. Against them both my true joints 
bended be. 
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 

Ditch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his 

face ; 100 

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; 

His words come from his mouth, ours from our 

breast : 
He prays but faintly and would be denied ; 
We pray with heart and soul and all beside : 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; 
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have 
That mercy which true prayer ought to have, no 

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. Nay, do not say, 'stand up;' 

Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' 
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. 
I never long'd to hear a word till now; 
Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how: 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet. 

York. Speak it in French, king; say, 'par- 
donne moi.' 

Ditch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to 
destroy? 120 

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, 
That set'st the word itself against the word! 
Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; 
The chopping French we do not understand. 
Thine eye begins to speak ; set thy tongue there ; 
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; 
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do 

pierce, 
Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. 

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. I do not sue to stand ; 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 130 

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, 
But makes one pardon strong. 

Boling. With all my heart 

I pardon him. 

Duch. A god on earth thou art. 

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law and 
the abbot, 
With all the rest of that consorted crew, 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. 
Good uncle, help to order several powers 140 

To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : 
They shall not live within this world, I swear. 



380 



KING RICHARD II. 



[Act v. 



But I will have them, if I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell : and, cousin too, adieu : 
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 
Dtich. Come, my old son: I pray God make 
thee new. {Exeinit. 

Scene IV. The satne. 

Enter Exton and Servant. 

Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what 
words he spake, 
' Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' 
Was it not so? 

Ser. These were his very words. 

Exton. 'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he 
spake it twice, 
And urged it twice together, did he not? 
Serv. He did. 

Exton. And speaking it, he wistly look'd 
on me ; 
As who should say, ' I would thou wert the man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart ; ' 
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go : 10 
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene V. Pomfret castle. 
Enter King Richard. 
K. Rich. I have been studying how I may 
compare 
This prison where I live unto the world : 
And for because the world is populous 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it ; yet I '11 hammer it out. 
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, 
My soul the father ; and these two beget 
A generation of still-breeding thoughts, 
And these same thoughts people this little world, 
In humours like the people of this world, 10 

For no thought is contented. The better sort, 
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd 
With scruples and do set the word itself 
Against the word : 

As thus, ' Come, little ones,' and then again, 
' It is as hard to come as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' 
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
Unlikely wonders ; how these vain weak nails 
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 20 
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls, 
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
Thoughts tending to content natter themselves 
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars 
Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame, 
That many have and others must sit there ; 
And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back 
Of such as have before endured the like. 30 

Thus play I in one person many people, 
And none contented: sometimes am I king; 
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, 
And so I am : then crushing penury 
Persuades me I was better when a king; 
Then am I king'd again : and by and by 
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
And straight am nothing : but whate'er I be, 
Nor I nor any man that but man is 



With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased 40 
With being nothing. Music do I hear ? {Music. 
Ha, ha ! keep time : how sour sweet music is, 
When time is broke and no proportion kept ! 
So is it in the music of men's lives. 
And here have I the daintiness of ear 
To check time broke in a disorder'd string; 
But for the concord of my state and time 
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me ; 
For now hath time made me his numbering 

clock : 50 

My thoughts are minutes ; and with sighs they 

jar 
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward 

watch, 
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is 
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my 

heart, 
Which is the bell : so sighs and tears and groans 
Show minutes, times, and hours : but my time 
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, 
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. 
This music mads me ; let it sound no more ; 61 
For though it have holp madmen to their wits, 
In me it seems it will make wise men mad. 
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 

Enter a Groom of the Stable. 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 
K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou ? and how comest thou hither, 
Where no man never comes but that sad dog 70 
That brings me food to make misfortune live ? 

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards 

York, 
With much ado at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. 
O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld 
In London streets, that coronation-day, 
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, 
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, 
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd ! 80 
K.Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, 
gentle friend, 
How went he under him? 

Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the 

ground. 
A'. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on 
his back ! 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
This hand hath made him proud with clapping 

him. 
Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, 
Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, go 
Since thou, created to be awed by man, 
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; 
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass, 
Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jauncing Boling- 
broke. 



Scene v.] 



KING RICHARD II. 



Enter Keeper, with a dish. 
Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer 

stay. 
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert 

away. 
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my 
heart shall say. [Exit. 

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? 
A". Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont 
to do. 99 

Keep. My lord, I dare not : Sir Pierce of Ex- 
ton, who lately came from the king, commands 
the contrary. 
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster 
and thee ! 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 

[Beats the keeper. 
Keep. Help, help, help ! 

Enter Exton and Servants, armed. 
K. Rick. How now! what means death in 
this rude assault? 
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru- 
ment. 
[Snatching an axe from a Servant and hill- 
ing him. 
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills ano 'titer. Then Exton strikes him 

down. 

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire 

That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce 

hand i 10 

Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own 

land. 

Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 

Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to 

die. [Dies. 

Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood : 

Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were 

good! 
For now the devil, that told me I did well, 
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I'll bear: 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Windsor castle. 

Flourish. Enter Bolinc;broke, York:, zviih 
other Lords, and Attendants. 

Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we 
hear 
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire 
Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire : 
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 
Welcome, my lord : what is the news ? 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all 
happiness. 



The next news is, I have to London sent 
The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent: 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 10 

Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy 
pains; 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 

Enter Fitzwater. 
Eitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to 
London 
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 
Baling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be 
forgot ; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, and the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Percy. The grand conspirator, Abbot of West- 
minster, 
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy 20 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave; 
But here is Carlisle living, to 
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. 

Doling. Carlisle, this is your doom : 
Choose out some secret place, some reverend 

room, 
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; 
So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife : 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
High sparks of honour in thee have 1 seen. 

Enter Exton, with persons bearing a coJJi?i. 

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre- 
sent 30 
Thy buried fear : herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. 

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou 
hast wrought 
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand 
Upon my head and all this famous land. 

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did 
I this deed. 

Boling. They love not poison that do poison 
need, 
Nor do I thee : though I did wish him dead, 
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 40 

The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 
But neither my good word nor princely favour: 
With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, 
And never show thy head by day nor light. 
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, 
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow : 
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, 
And put on sullen black incontinent: 
I '11 make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand: 50 
March .sadly after ; grace my mournings here ; 
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt. 



THE FIRST PART OF 

KING HENRY THE FOURTH 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Fourth. 
Henry Prince of Wales, J SQns tQ the Ki 
John of Lancaster, J 

Earl of Westmoreland. 
Sir Walter Blunt. ( 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 
Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 
Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 
Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York. 
Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 
Owen Glendower. 
Sir Richard Vernon. 
Sir John Falstaff. 

Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of 
York. 



Poins. 
Gadshill. 
Peto. 
Bardolph. 

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to 

Mortimer. 
Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, 

and wife to Mortimer. 
Mistress Quickly, hostess of a tavern in 

Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, 
Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and At- 
tendants. 

Scene: England. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancas- 
ter, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Wal- 
ter Blunt, and others. 

King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
To be commenced in strands afar remote. 
fNo more the thirsty entrance of this soil 
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; 
No more shall trenching war channel her fields, 
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes, 
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 10 
All of one nature, of one substance bred, 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery 
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
March all one way and be no more opposed 
Against acquaintance, kindred and allies : 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, 
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 20 
We are impressed and engaged to fight, 
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb 
To chase these pagans in those holy fields 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet _ 
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd- 
For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose now is twelve month old, 
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go : 
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear 30 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree 



In forwarding this dear expedience. 

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 
And many limits of the charge set down 
But yesternight : when all athwart there came 
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news ; 
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 40 
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, 
A thousand of his people butchered ; 
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, 
Such beastly shameless transformation, 
By those Welshwomen done as may not be 
Without much shame retold or spoken of. 

King. It seems then that the tidings of this 
broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 

West. This match' d with other did, my gra- 
cious lord ; 
For more uneven and unwelcome news 50 

Came from the north and thus it did import : 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, 
Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met, 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour ; 
As by discharge of their artillery, 
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse, 60 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 

King. Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. 
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited : 
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, 
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see 



Scene i.]» 



FIRST PART OF KING HEXRY IV. 



383 



On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur 
took 70 

Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son 
To beaten Douglas ; and the Earl of Athol, 
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith: 
And is not this an honourable spoil ? 
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? 

West. In faith, 
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 

King. Yea, there thou makest me sad and 
makest me sin 
In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
Should be the father to so blest a son, 80 

A son who is the theme of honour's tongue ; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride : 
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved 
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, 
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet ! 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 90 
But let him from my thoughts. What think you, 

coz, 
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, 
Which he in this adventure hath surprised, 
To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. 

West. This is his uncle's teaching: this is 
Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects; 
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

King. But I have sent for him to answer this ; 
And for this cause awhile we must neglect 101 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords : 
But come yourself with speed to us again; 
For more is to be said and to be done 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. An apartment of the 
Prince's. 

Enter tJie Prince of Wales and Falstaff. 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? 

Prince. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking 
of old sack and unbuttoning thee after supper 
and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou 
hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou 
wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to 
do with the time of the day? Unless hours were 
cups of sack and minutes capons and clocks the 
tongues of bawds and dials the signs of leaping- 
houses and the blessed sun himself a fair hot 
wench in name-coloured taffeta, I see no reason 
why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand 
the time of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; 
for we that take purses go by the moon and the 
seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, ' that wan- 
dering knight so fair.' And, I prithee, sweet 
wag, when thou art king, as, God "save thy 
grace, — majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt 
have none, — 20 

Prince. What, none? 



Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will 
serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. 

Prince. Well, how then? come, roundly, 
roundly. 

Pal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art 
king, let not us that are squires of the night's 
body be called thieves of the day's beauty : let 
us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, 
minions of the moon ; and let men say we be men 
of good government, being governed, as the sea 
is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, 
under whose countenance we steal. 

Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well 
too; for the fortune of us that are the moon's 
men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being govern- 
ed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, 
now : a purse of gold most resolutely snatched 
on Monday night and most dissolutely spent on 
Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by' 
and spent with crying ' Bring in ;' now in as low 
an ebb as the foot of the ladder and by and by 
in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. 
And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet 
wench ? 

Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad 
of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most 



sweet robe of durance ? 



■)'> 



Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ! what, in 
thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague 
have I to do with a buff jerkin? 

Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with 
my hostess of the tavern ? 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
many a time and oft. 

Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy 
part? 

Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast 
paid all there. 60 

Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
would stretch ; and where it would not, I have 
used my credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so used it that, were it not 
here apparent that thou art heir apparent — But, 
I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows stand- 
ing in England when thou art king? and resolu- 
tion thus fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of 
old father antic the law? Do not thou, when 
thou art king, hang a thief. 70 

Prince. No ; thou shalt. 

Fal. Shall I? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll be 
a brave judge. 

Prince. Thou judgest false already : I mean, 
thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so 
become a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well: and in some sort it 
jumps with my humour as well as waiting in the 
court, I can tell you. 

Prince. For obtaining of suits? 80 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the 
hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am 
as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear. 

Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire 
bagpipe. 

Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the 
melancholy of Moor ditch? 

Pal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes 
and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest. 



sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trou- 
ble me no more with vanity. I would to God 
thou and I knew where a commodity of good 
names were to be bought. An old lord of the 
council rated me the other day in the street 
about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet 
he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not ; 
and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. 

Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries 
out in the streets, and no man regards it. ioo 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration and art 
indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done 
much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee 
for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew 
nothing ; and now am I, if a man should speak 
truly, little better than one of the wicked. I 
must give over this life, and I will give it over : 
by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain: I'll 
be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. 

Prince. Where shall we take a purse to-mor- 
row, Jack? in 

Fal. 'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad ; I '11 make 
one ; an I do not, call me villain and baffle me. 

Prince. I see a good amendment of life in 
thee ; from praying to purse-taking. 

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis 
no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. 

Enter Poins. 

Poins ! Now shall we know if Gadshill have 
set a match. O, if men were to be saved by 
merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for 
him? This is the most omnipotent villain that 
ever cried ' Stand' to a true man. 

Prince. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says 
Monsieur Remorse? what says Sir John Sack 
and Sugar? Jack! how agrees the devil and 
thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on 
Good- Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold 
capon's leg? 129 

Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the 
devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never 
yet a breaker of proverbs : he will give the devil 
his due. 

Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy 
word with the devil. 

Prince. Else he had been damned for cozening 
the devil. 

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow 

morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill ! 

there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich 

offerings, and traders riding to London with fat 

purses: I have vizards for you all; you have 

I horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in 

! Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow 

1 night in Eastcheap : we may do it as secure as 

I sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses 

full of crowns ; if you will not, tarry at home and 

be hanged. 

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home 
and go not, I '11 hang you for going. 150 

Poins. You will, chops ? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? 

Prince. Who, I rob ? I a thief? not I, by my 
faith. 

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor 
good fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of 



the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten 
shillings. 

Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a 
madcap. 160 

Fal. Why, that's well said. 
Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at 
home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I '11 be a traitor then, when 
thou art king. 

Prince. I care not. 

Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince 
and me alone : I will lay him down such reasons 
for this adventure that he shall go. 169 

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of per- 
suasion and him the ears of profiting, that what 
thou speakest may move and what he hears may 
be believed, that the true prince may, for recrea- 
tion sake, prove a false thief; for the poor abuses 
of the time want countenance. Farewell: you 
shall find me in Eastcheap. 

Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring ! farewell, 
All-hallown summer ! [Exit Falstaff. 

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride 
with us to-morrow : I have a jest to execute that 
I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, 
Peto and Gadshill shall rob those men that we 
have already waylaid ; yourself and I will not 
be there ; and when they have the booty, if you 
and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my 
shoulders. 

Prince. How shall we part with them in set- 
ting forth ? 

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after 
them, and appoint them a place of meeting, 
wherein it is at our pleasure to fail, and then will 
they adventure upon the exploit themselves; 
which they shall have no sooner achieved, but 
we'll set upon them. 

Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know 
us by our horses, by our habits and by every 
other appointment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see ; 
I '11 tie them in the wood ; our vizards we will 
change after we leave them : and, sirrah, I have 
cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our 
noted outward garments. 

Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too 
hard for us. 

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to 
be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and 
for the third, if he fight longer than he sees rea- 
son, I '11 forswear arms. The virtue of this jest 
will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same 
fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: 
how thirty, at least, he fought with ; what wards, 
what blows, what extremities he endured; and 
in the reproof of this lies the jest. 

Prince. Well, I '11 go with thee : provide us 
all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night 
in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. 
Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit. 

Prince. I know you all, and will awhile up- 
hold 
The unyoked humour of your idleness : 220 

Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
Who doth' permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world, 
That, when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 



Scene ii. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



3-5 



P.y breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
But when they seldom come, they wish'd for 
come, 230 

And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
S >, when this loose behaviour I throw off 
And pay the debt I never promised, 
F.y how much better than my word I am, 
By so much shall 1 falsify men's hopes; 
And like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
Shall show more goodly and attradt more eyes 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ; _ 240 

Redeeming time when men think least I will. 

{Exit. 

Scene III. London. The palace. 

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worces- 
ter, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, with 
others. 
King. My blood hath been too cold and 

temperate, 
Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
And you have found me ; for accordingly 
You tread upon my patience : but be sure 
I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young 

down, 
And therefore lost that title of respect 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little 

deserves 10 

The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
And that same greatness too which our own 

hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 
North. My lord, — 
King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do 

see 
Danger and disobedience in thine eye : 
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, 
And majesty might never yet endure 
The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us: when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. 21 
[Exit Wor. 
You were about to speak. [To North. 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name de- 
manded, 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But I remember, when the fight was done, 30 
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly 

dress'd, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new reap'd 
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
He was perfumed like a milliner ; 



And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 

A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 

He gave his nose and took't away again ; 39 

Who therewith angry, when it next came there, 

Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk'd, 

And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 

He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 

B twixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He question'd me ; amongst the rest, demanded 

My prisoners in your rr-vjesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, 

To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 50 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly I know not what, 

He should, or he should not; for he made me 

mad 
To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet 
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 
Of guns and drums and wounds, — God save the 

mark ! — 
And telling me the sovereign'st tiling on earth 
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; 
And that it was great pity, so it was. 
This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 60 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns, 
He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
And I beseech you, let not his report 
Come current for an accusation 
Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my 

lord, 70 

Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said 
To such a person and in such a place, 
At such a time, with ah the rest retold, 
May reasonably die and never rise 
To do him wrong or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners. 
But with proviso and exception, 
That we at our own charge shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 80 

Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray' d 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower, 
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home ? 
Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears, 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I shall never hold that man my friend 90 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by the chance of war : to prove that true 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those 

wounds, 
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, . 
In single opposition, hand to hand, 
He did confound the best part of an hour 100 
In changing hardiment with great Olendower: 



3 86 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



~1 



[Act 



Three times they breathed and three times did 

they drink, 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rotten policy 
Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer no 

Receive so many, and all willingly : 
Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. 

King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost 
belie him ; 
He never did encounter with Glendower : 
I tell thee, 

He durst as well have met the devil alone 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 121 
As will displease you. My Lord Northumber- 
land, 
We license your departure with your son. 
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. 

\_Exetmt King Henry, Blunt, and tram. 

Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them: I will after straight 
And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Albeit I make a hazard of my head. 

North. What, drunk with choler? stay and 
pause awhile: 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 
Hot. Speak of Mortimer ! 130 

'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
Yea, on his part I '11 empty all these veins, 
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust, 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high in the air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your 

nephew mad. 
Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was 

gone? 
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my pri- 
soners ; 140 
And when I urged the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale, 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. I cannot blame him : was not he pro- 
claim' d 
By Richard that dead is the next of blood? 

North. He was ; I heard the proclamation : 
And then it was when the unhappy king, — 
Whose wrongs in us God pardon ! — did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 150 

From whence he intercepted did return 
To be deposed and shortly murdered. 

Wor. And for whose death we in the world's 
wide mouth 
Live scandalized and foully spoken of. 
Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; did King Richard 
then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 



Heir to the crown? 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin 
king, 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. 
But shall it be, that you, that set the crown 160 
Upon the head of this forgetful man 
And for his sake wear the detested blot 
Of murderous subornation, shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo, 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? 
O, pardon me that I descend so low, 
To show the line and the predicament 
Wherein you range under this subtle king ; 
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, 170 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
That men of your nobility and power 
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, 
As both of you — God pardon it ! — have done, 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? 
And shall it in more shame be further spoken, 
That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off 
By him for whom these shames ye underwent? 
No ; yet time serves wherein you may redeem 1 80 
Your banish' d honours and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again, 
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt 
Of this proud king, who studies day and night 
To answer all the debt he owes to you 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths : 
Therefore, I say, — 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : 

And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous, 190 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night! or sink or 
swim : 
Send danger from the east unto the west, 
So honour cross it from the north to south. 
And let them grapple : O, the blood more stirs 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare ! 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 200 

Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy 
leap, 
To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
Without corrival all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-faced fellowship ! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, 
But not the form of what he should attend. 210 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 

Hot. I cry you mercy. 

Wor. Those same noble Scots 

That are your prisoners, — 

Hot. ' I '11 keep them all ; 

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them ; 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. 



Scene hi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



3*7 



Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat: 

He said he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 220 
But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
And in his ear I'll holla ' Mortimer !' 
Nay, 

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but 'Mortimer/ and give it him, 
To keep his anger still in motion. 
IVor. Hear you, cousin ; a word. 
Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of 
Wales, 230 

But that I think his father loves him not 
And would be glad he met with some mis- 
chance, 
I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

Wor. Farewell, kinsman: I'll talk to you 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impa- 
tient fool 
Art thou to break into this woman's mood. 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and 
scourged with rods, 
Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 241 

In Richard's time, — what do you call the place? — 
A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire ; 
Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, 
His uncle York ; where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, — 
'Sblood!- 

When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh. 
North. At Berkley castle. 
Hot. You say true : 250 

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,' 
And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin;' 
O, the devil take such cozeners ! God forgive me ! 
Good uncle, tell your tale ; I have done. 

War. Nay, if you have not, to it again ; 
We will stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, i' faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish pri- 
soners. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 
And make the Douglas' sen your only mean 261 
For powers in Scotland ; which, for divers rea- 
sons 
Which I shall send you written, be assured, 
Will easily be granted. You, my lord, 

[ To Northumberland. 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well beloved, 
The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is it not? 

U'or. True ; who bears hard 270 

His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation, 
As what I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted and set down, 
And only stays but to behold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it : upon my life, it will do well. 



North. Before the game is afoot, thou still 
let'st slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble 
plot : 
And then the power of Scotland and of York, 2S0 
To join with Mortimer, ha? 

Wor. And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
The king will always think him in our debt, 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home : 
And see already how he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. 290 

Hot. He does, he does : we'll be revenged on 
him. 

Wor. Cousin, farewell: no further go in this 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, 
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer; 
Where you and Douglas and our powers at once, 
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother : we shall 
thrive, I trust. 300 

Hot. Uncle, adieu : O, let the hours be short 

Till fields and blows and groans applaud our 

sport ! \.Exeit?it. 

ACT II. 
Scene I. Rochester. An inn yard. 

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. 

First Car. Heigh-ho ! an it be not four by 
the day, I'll be hanged: Charles' wain is over 
the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 
What, ostler ! 

Ost. [ Within] Anon, anon. 

First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, 
put a few flocks in the point; poor jade, is wrung 
in the withers out of all cess. 

Enter anot/wr Carrier. 

Sec. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here 
as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor 
jades the bots : this house is turned upside down 
since Robin Ostler died. 

First Car. Poor fellow, never joyed since the 
price of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 

Sec. Car. I think this be the most villanous 
house in all London road for fleas : I am stung 
like a tench. 

First Car. Like a tench ! by the mass, there 
is ne'er a king christen could be better bit than I 
have been since the first cock. 20 

Sec. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a 
Jordan, and then we leak in your chimney; and 
your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. 

First Car. What, ostler ! come away and be 
hanged ! come away. 

Sec. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two 
razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing- 
cross. 

First Car. God's body! the turkeys in my 
pannier are quite starved. What, ostler ! A 

25-: 



plague on thee ! hast thou never an eye in thy 
head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good 
deed as drink, to break the pate on thee, I am a 
very villain. Come, and be hanged ! hast no 
faith in thee? 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What 's o'clock ? 

First Car. I think it be two o'clock. 

Gads. I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see 
my gelding in the stable. 

First Car. Nay, by God, soft; I know a 
trick worth two of that, i' faith. 41 

Gads. I pray thee, lend me thine. 

Sec. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me 
thy lantern, quoth he ? marry, I '11 see thee hanged 
first. 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean 
to come to London? 

Sec. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a 

candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, 

we'll call up the gentlemen : they will along with 

compan)', for they have great charge. 5 1 

{Exeunt Carriers. 

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. [Within] At hand, quoth pick-purse. 

Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth 
the chamberlain ; for thou variest no more from 
picking of purses than giving direction doth from 
labouring ; thou layest the plot how. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It 
holds current that I told you yesternight : there 's 
a franklin in the wild of Kent hath brought three 
hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him 
tell it to one of his company last night at supper ; 
a kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of 
charge too, God knows what. They are up 
already, and call for eggs and butter : they will 
away presently. 

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint 
Nicholas' clerks, I '11 give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pray thee, keep 
that for the hangman ; for I know thou worship- 
pest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood 
I may. 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hang- 
man? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows ; 
! for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and 
thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut ! there 
are other Trojans that thou dreamest not of, the 
which for sport sake are content to do the pro- 
fession some grace ; that would, if matters should 
be looked into, for their own credit sake, make 
all whole. I am joined with no foot-land rakers, 
no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad 
mustachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with 
nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great 
oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will strike 
sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, 
and drink sooner than pray : and yet, 'zounds, I 
lie ; for they pray continually to their saint, the 
commonwealth ; or rather, not pray to her, but 
prey on her, for they ride up and down on her 
and make her their boots. 91 

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? 
will she hold out water in foul way? 

Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored 



her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have 
the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are 
more beholding to the night than to fern-seed for 
your walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a 
share in our purchase, as I am a true man. 101 

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are 
a false thief. 

Gads. Goto; 'homo' is a common name to 
all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of 
the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The highway, near Gadshill. 
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
Poins. Come, shelter, shelter : I have removed 
Falstaff 's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
Prince. Stand close. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins ! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal ! what 
a brawling dost thou keep ! 

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? 

Prince. He is walked up to the top of the 
hill : I '11 go seek him. 9 

Fal. i am accursed to rob in that thief s com- 
pany : the rascal hath removed my horse, and 
tied him I know not where. If I travel but four 
foot by the squier further afoot, I shall break my 
wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death 
for all this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that 
rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any 
time this two and twenty years, and yet I am 
bewitched with the rogue's company. If the 
rascal have not given me medicines to make me 
love him, I '11 be hanged ; it could not be else ; I 
have drunk medicines. Poins ! Hal ! a plague 
upon you both ! Bardolph ! Peto ! I '11 starve 
ere I '11 rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good 
a deed as drink, to turn true man and to leave 
these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever 
chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven 
ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me ; 
and the stony-hearted villains know it well 
enough : a plague upon it when thieves cannot be 
true one to another! \Thcy whistle.] Whew! 
A plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you 
rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged ! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay 
thine ear close to the ground and list if thou canst 
hear the tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
being down ? 'Sblood, I '11 not bear mine own flesh 
so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father's 
exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me 
thus? 4° 

Prince. Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou 
art uncolted. 

Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to 
my horse, good king's son. 

Pri?ice. Out, ye rogue ! shall I be your ostler? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-ap- 
parent garters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. 
An I have not ballads made on you all and sung 
to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison : 
when a jest is so forward, and afoot too ! I hate it. 



Scene ii.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HEXRY IV. 



389 



Enter Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto with 
him. 

Gads. Stand. 

FaL So 1 do, against my wilL 

Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. 
Bardolph, what news? 

Bard. Case ye, case ye ; on with your vizards : 
there's money of the king's coming down the 
hill ; 'tis going to the king's exchequer. 

FaL You lie, ye rogue ; 'tis going to the kin-'.-, 
tavern. 

Gads. There's enough to make us all. 60 

Fal. To be hanged. 

Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the 
narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: 
if they 'scape from your encounter, then they 
light on us. 

Peto. How many be there of them? 

Gads. Some eight or ten. 

Fal. 'Zounds, will they not rob us? 

Prince. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your 
grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. 71 

Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind 
the hedge : when thou needest him, there thou 
shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. 

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be 
hanged. 

Prince. Ned, where are our disguises? 

Poins. Here, hard by: stand close. 

[Exeunt Prince and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his 
dole, say I : every man to his business. 

Enter the Travellers. 

First Trav. Come, neighbour : the boy shall 
lead our horses down the hill; we'll walk afoot 
awhile, and ease our legs. 

Thieves. Stand ! 

Travellers. Jesus bless us ! 

Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the vil- 
lains' throats : ah ! whoreson caterpillars ! 
fed knaves ! they hate us youth : down with them : 
fleece them. 90 

Travellers. O, we are undone, both we and 
ours for ever ! 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye un- 
done? No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store 
were here ! On, bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ! 
young men must live. You are grandjurors, are 
ye'.' we'll jure ye, 'faith. 

[Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt. 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. 

Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go 

merrily to London, it would be argument for a 

!.i ughter for a month and a good jest for 

ever. 

Poins. Stand close ; I hear them coming. 

Enter the Thieves again. 

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then 
to horse before day. An the Prince and Poins 
be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stir- 
ring: there's no more valour in that Poins than 
in a wild-duck. 

Prince. Your money ! 



Poins. Villains! no 

[As they are sharing, the Prince and ] 

Poins set upon them; they ail run 

away; and Falstaff, after a blow 

or two, runs away too, leaving the 

booty behind them.] 

Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily 

to horse : 

The thieves are all scatter'd and possess'd with 

fear 
So strongly that they dare not meet each other; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
And lards the lean earth as he walks along : 
Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Ii ' 'a rkworth castle. 
Enter Hotspur, solus, reading a letter. 
Hot. ' But, for mine own part, my lord, I could ; 
be well contented to be there, in respect of the j 
love I bear your house.' He could be contented : 
why is he not, then? In respect of the love he 
bears our house : he shows in this, he loves his | 
own barn better than he loves our house. Let me I 
see some more. ' The purpose you undertake is j 
dangerous;' — why, that's certain : 'tis dangerous j 
to take a cold, to sleep, to drink ; but 1 tell you, 
my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck 
this flower, safety. ' The purpose you undertake 
is dangerous; the friends you have named un- 
certain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole 
plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an 
opposition.' Say you so, say you so? I say unto 
you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and 
you lie. What a lack-brain is this ! Ey the Lord, 
our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our 
friends true and constant: a good plot, good 
friends, and full of expectation; an excellent 
very good friends. What a frosty-spirited ro^ue 
is this! Why, my lord of York commends the 
plot and the general course of the action. 'Zounds, 
an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him 
with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my 
uncle and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my 
lord of York and Owen Glendower? is there not 
besides the Douglas? have I not all their letters 
to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next 
month? and are they not some of them set for- 
ward already? What a pagan rascal Ls this! an 
infidel ! Ha ! you shall see now iu very sincerity 
of fear and cold heart, will he to the kin- and 
lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide 
myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish 
of skim milk with so honourable an action ! Hang 
him! let him tell the king: we are prepared. I 
will set forward to-night. 

Enter Lady Percy. 
How now, Kate ! I must leave you within these 
two hours. 
Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus 
alone? 40 

For what offence have I this fortnight been 
; A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? 
' Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee 
Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep'.' 
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, 



39° 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act ii. 



And start so often when thou sit'st alone ? 
1 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks ; 
1 And given my treasures and my rights of thee 

To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy? 
1 In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, 50 
\ And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ; 
: Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 

Cry ' Courage ! to the field !' And thou hast talk'd 
! Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, 
I Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, 

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, 
I Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain, 

And all the currents of a heady fight. 
, Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war 
j And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 60 

That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
; Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream ; 
j And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
j Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
j On some great sudden hest. O, what portents 
are these? 

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
! And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
Hot. What, ho ! 

Enter Servant. 
Is Gilliams with the packet gone ? 

Serv. He is, my lord, an hoar ago. 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from 
the sheriff? 70 

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even 
now. 

Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 

Serv. It is, my lord. 

Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight: O esperance! 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. 

[Exit Servant. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? 

Lady. What is it carries you away? 

Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse. 

Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 80 

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen 
As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
I '11 know your business, Harry, that I will. 
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir 
About his title, and hath sent for you 
To line his enterprize : but if you go, — 

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly unto this question that I ask : 
In faith, I '11 break thy little finger, Harry, 90 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hot. Away, 
Away, you trifler ! Love ! I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate : this is no world 
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: 
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns, 
And pass them current too. God's me, my horse ! 
What say'st thou, Kate? whatwould'st thou have 
with me? 

Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed ? 
Well, do not then ; for since you love me not, 100 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. 

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? 
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; 



I must not have you henceforth question me 

Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : 

Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude, 

This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 

I know you wise, but yet no farther wise no 

Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are, 

But yet a woman : and for secrecy, 

No lady closer; for I well believe 

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 

And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 

Lady. How! so far? 

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, 
Kate: 
Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. 
Will this content you, Kate? 

Lady. It must of force. [Exeunt. 120 

Scene IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern, 
Eastcheap. 

Enter the Prince, and Poins. 

Prince. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat 
room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 

Poins. Where hast been, Hal? 

Prince. With three or four loggerheads 
amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have 
sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, 
I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers; and 
can call them all by their christen names, as 
Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already 
upon their salvation, that though I be but Prince 
of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy ; and 
tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, 
but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, by 
the Lord, so they call me, and when I am king 
of England, I shall command all the good lads in 
Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing 
scarlet ; and when you breathe in your watering, 
they cry ' hem ! ' and bid you play it off. To 
conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter 
of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in 
his own language during my life. I tell thee, 
Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert 
not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned, — to 
sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this 
pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my 
hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake 
other English in his life than ' Eight shillings 
and sixpence,' and 'You are welcome/ with this 
shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint 
of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so. But, Ned, 
to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I 
prithee, do thou stand in some by-room, while 
I question my puny drawer to what end he gave 
me the sugar ; and do thou never leave calling 
' Francis,' that his tale to me may be nothing 
but 'Anon.' Step aside, and I'll show thee a 
precedent. 

Poins. Francis ! 

Prince. Thou art perfect. 

Poins. Francis ! [Exit Poins. 40 

Enter Francis. 
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the 
Pomgarnet, Ralph. 
Prince. Come hither, Francis. 
Fran. My lord? 
Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ? 



Scene iv.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



39* 



Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much 
as to — 

Pains. [Within] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 49 

Pri7ice. Five year! by'r lady, a long lease 
for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest 
thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy 
indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and run 
from it? 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all 
the books in England, I could find in my heart. 
Poins. [ Within] Francis ! 
Fran. Anon, sir. 

Prince. How old art thou, Francis? 
Fran. Let me see — about Michaelmas next I 
shall be — 61 

Poins. [ Within] Francis ! 
Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord. 
Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis : for the 
sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, 
wast't not? 

Fran. O Lord, I would it had been two ! 
Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand 
pound : ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt 
have it. 70 

Poins. [ Within] Francis ! 
Fran. Anon, anon. 

Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to- 
morrow, Francis ; or Francis, o' Thursday ; or 
indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis ! 
Fran. My lord? 

Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, 
crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stock- 
ing, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish- 
pouch, — 80 
Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? 
Prince. Why, then, your brown bastard is your 
only drink ; for look you, Francis, your white 
canvas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it 
cannot come to so much. 
Fran. What, sir? 
Poins. [ Within] Francis ! 
Pri7ice. Away, you rogue ! dost thou not hear 
them call ? [Here they both call him ; the drawer 
stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. 

Enier Vintner. 

Vint. What, standest thou still, and hearest 
such a calling? Look to the guests within. 
[Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John, with 
half-a-dozen more, are at the door: shall I let 
them in? 

Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then 
open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! 

Re-enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 

Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the 
thieves are at the door: shall we be merry? 99 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But 
hark ye ; what cunning match have you made 
with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the 
issue ? 

Prince. I am now of all humours that have 
showed themselves humours since the old days 
of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present 
twelve o'clock at midnight. 



Re-enter Francis. 
What's o'clock, Francis? 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. 109 

Prince. That ever this fellow should have 
fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of 
a woman ! His industry is up-stairs and down- 
stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. 
1 am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of 
the north; he that kills me some six or seven 
dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, 
and says to his wife ' Fie upon this quiet life ! I 
want work.' 'O my sweet Harry,' says she, 
' how many hast thou killed to-day?' ' Give my 
man horse a drench,' says he ; and answers 
' Some fourteen,' an hour after ; ' a trifle, a 
trifle.' I prithee, call in Falstaff: I'll play 
Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame 
Mortimer his wife. ' Rivo !' says the drunkard. 
Call in ribs, call in tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshili., Bardolph, and 
Peto ; Francis following with wine. 

Poins. Welcome, Jack : where hast thou been? 
Fa I. A plague of all cowards, I say, and 
a vengeance too ! marry, and amen ! Give me 
a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, 
I '11 sew nether stocks and mend them and foot 
them too. A plague of all cowards ! Give me a 
cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? 

[He drinks. 

Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a 
dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted 
at the sweet tale of the sun's ! if thou didst, then 
behold that compound. 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: 
there is nothing but roguery to be found in vil- 
lanous man : yet a coward is worse than a cup of 
sack with lime in it. A villanous coward ! Go 
thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, 'if man- 
hood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face 
of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There 
live not three good men unhanged in England ; 
and one of them is fat and grows old : God help 
the while ! a bad world, I say. I would I were 
a weaver ; I could sing psalms or any thing. A 
plague of all cowards, I say still. 

Prince. How now, wool-sack ! what mutter 
you? 149 

Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out 
of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive 
all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild- 
geese, I '11 never wear hair on my face more. 
You Prince of Wales ! 

Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's 
the matter? 

Fal. Are not you a coward? answer me to 
that: and Poins there? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me 
coward, by the Lord, I '11 stab thee. 160 

Fal. I call thee coward ! I '11 see thee damned 
ere I call thee coward : but I would give a thou- 
sand pound I could run as fast as thou canst 
You are straight enough in the shoulders, you 
care not who sees your back : call you that 
backing of your friends? A plague upon such 
backing! give me them that will face me. Give 
me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I drunk 
to-day. 



Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped 
since thou drunkest last. 171 

Fal. All's one for that. [He drinks.] A 
plague of all cowards, still say I. 

Prince. What's the matter? 

Fal. What's the matter ! there be four of us 
here have ta'en a thousand pound this day morn- 
ing. 

Prince. Where is it, Jack? where is it? 

Fal. Where is it ! taken from us it is : a hun- 
dred upon poor four of us. 180 

Prince. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword 
with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 
'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust 
through the doublet, four through the hose ; my 
buckler cut through and through ; my sword 
hacked like a hand-saw — ecce signum ! I never 
dealt better since I was a man : all would not do. 
A plague of all cowards ! Let them speak : if 
they speak more or less than truth, they are 
villains and the sons of darkness. 191 

Prince. Speak, sirs; how was it? 

Gads. We four set upon some dozen — 

Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. 

Gads. And bound them. 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man 
of them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven 
fresh men set upon us — 200 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in 
the other. 

Prince. What, fought you with them all? 

Fal. All ! I know not what you call all ; but 
if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch 
of radish : if there were not two or three and 
fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged 
creature. 

Prince. Pray God you have not murdered 
some of them. 210 

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: I have 
peppered two of them ; two I am sure I have 
paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee 
what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, 
call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward ; here 
I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues 
in buckram let drive at me — 

Prince. What, four? thou saidst but two even 
now. 

Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 220 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly 
thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took 
all their seven points in my target, thus. 

Prince. Seven ? why, there were but four even 
now. 

Fal. In buckram? 

Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain 
else. 230 

Prince. Prithee, let him alone ; we shall have 
more anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? 

Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. 
These nine in buckram that I told thee of — 

Prince. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, — 



Poins. Down fell their hose. 239 

Fal. Began to give me ground : but I followed 
me close, came in foot and hand; and with a 
thought seven of the eleven I paid. 

Prince. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men 
grown out of two ! 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three 
misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my 
back and let drive at me ; for it was so dark, Hal, 
that thou couldst not see thy hand. 

Prince. These lies are like their father that 
begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpa- 
ble. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty- 
pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow- 
catch, — 

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is 
not the truth the truth? 

Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these 
men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou 
couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us your 
reason: what sayest thou to this? 259 

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion? 'Zounds, an 
I were at the strappado, or all the racks in the 
world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give 
you a reason on compulsion ! if reasons were as 
plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a 
reason upon compulsion, I. 

Prince. I '11 be no longer guilty of this sin ; 
this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse- 
back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh, — 269 

Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you 
dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock- 
fish ! O for breath to utter what is like thee ! you 
tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile 
standing-tuck, — 

Pri7ice. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it 
again : and when thou hast tired thyself in base 
comparisons, hear me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 

Prince. We two saw you four set on four and 
bound them, and were masters of their wealth. 
Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down. 
Then did we two set on you four; and, with a 
word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; 
yea, and can show it you here in the house : and, 
Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, 
with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy 
and still run and roared, as ever I heard bull- 
calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword 
as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight ! 
What trick, what device, what starting-hole, 
canst thou now find out to hide thee from this 
open and apparent shame ? 

Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; what trick 
hast thou now? 

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he 
that made ye. Why, hear you, my masters : was 
it for me to kill the heir-apparent? should I turn 
upon the true prince? why, thou knowest I am 
as valiant as Hercules : but beware instinct ; the 
lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a 
great matter; I was now a coward on instinct. 
I shall think the better of myself and thee during 
m}' life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true 
prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you 
have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors : 
watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, 
boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellow- 



Scene iv.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



393 



ship come to you! What, shall we be merry? 
shall we have a play extempore? 

Prince. Content ; and the argument shall be 
thy running away. 311 

Fal. An, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest 
me! 

Enter Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince ! 

Prince. How now, my lady the hostess! what 
sayest thou to me? 

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of 
the court at door would speak with you: he says 
he comes from your father. 319 

Prince. Give him as much as will make him 
a royal man, and send him back again to my 
mother. 

Fal. What manner of man is he? 

Host. An old man. 

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid- 
night? Shall 1 give him his answer? 

Prince. Prithee, do, Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. \F.xit. 

Prince. Now, sirs : by'r lady, you '."ought fair ; 
so did you, Peto ; so did you, Bardolph : you are 
lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will 
not touch the true prince ; no, fie ! 

Bard. 'Faith, 1 ran when I saw others run. 

Prince. 'Faith, tell me now in earnest, how 
came FalstafFs sword so hacked? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and 
said he would swear truth out of England but he 
would make you believe it was done in fight, and 
persuaded us to do the like. 339 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
grass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber 
our garments with it and swear it was the blood 
of true men. I did that I did not this seven year 
before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 

Prince. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the 
manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extem- 
pore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, 
and yet thou rannest away : what instinct hadst 
thou for it? 350 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors: 
do you behold these exhalations? 

Prince. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend? 

Prince. Hot livers and cold purses. 

Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 

Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter. 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. 
1 1 iw now, my sweet creature of bombast ! How 
long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own 
knee? 361 

Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy 
years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the 
waist ; I could have crept into any alderman's 
thumb-ring : a plague of sighing and grief ! it 
blows a man up like a bladder. There's villanous 
news abroad : here was Sir John Bracy from your 
lather; you must to the court in the morning. 
That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and 
he of Wales, that gave Amamon the bastinado 
and made Lucifer cuckold and swore the devil 



»-*^.» tw jiiiii-i v, i.»_y -_ j . — t twwrv 11-Vl, lll.li. 11 

nought I have wept ; for I must speak 
1, and I will do it in King Cambyses' 



his true liegeman upon th : cross of a Welsh 
hook — what a plague call you him? 

Poins. O, Glendower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in- 
law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that 
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs j 
o' horseback up a hill perpendicular, — 

Prince. He that rides at high speed and with 
his pistol kills a sparrow flying. 380 

Fal. You have hit it. 

Prince. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in 
him ; he will not run. 

Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to 
praise him so for running! 

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ; but afoot he 
will not budge a foot. 

Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 389 

Fal, I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is 
there too, ami one Mordake, and a thousand 
blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to- 
night; thy father's beard is turned white with the 
news : you may buy land now as cheap as stinking 
mackerel. 

Prince. Why, then, it is like, if there come a 
hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall 
buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the 
hundreds. 2<y~) 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is 
like we shall have good trading that way. Put 
tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? thou 
being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee 
out three such enemies again as that fiend Dou- 
glas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? 
Art thou not horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood 
thrill at it? 

Prince. Not a whit, i' faith ; I lack some of 
thy instinct. 409 

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-mor- 
row when thou contest to thy father: if thou love 
me, practise an answer. 

Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and ex- 
amine me upon the particulars of my life. 

Fal. Shall If content: this chair shall be my 
state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion 
my crown. 

Prince. Thy state is taken for a joined-stool. 

thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy 

- rich crown for a pitiful bald crown ! 420 

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite 
out of thee, now shalt thou he moved. Give me 
a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that 
may be thoi 
in passion 
vein. 

Prince. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, 
nobility. 429 

Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith ! 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling 
tears are vain. 

Host. O, the father, how he holds his counte- 
nance ! 

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful 
queen ; 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. ( ) Jesu. he doth it as like one of these 
harlotry players as ever I sec ! 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good tickle- 



394 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act ii. 



brain. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou 
spendest thy time, but also how thou art accom- 
panied : for though the camomile, the more it is 
trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the 
more it is wasted the sooner it wears. That thou 
art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, 
partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous 
trick of thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy 
nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou 
be son to me, here lies the point ; why, being son 
tome, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun 
of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? a 
question not to be asked. Shall the son of England 
prove a thief and take purses? a question to be 
asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast 
often heard of and it is known to many in our land 
by the name of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers 
do report, doth defile ; so doth the company thou 
keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee 
in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in pas- 
sion, not in words only, but in woes also : and yet 
there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted 
in thy company, but I know not his name. 461 

Prince. What manner of man, an it like your 
majesty? 

Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a cor- 
pulent ; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a 
most noble carriage ; and, as I think, his age 
some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to three score ; 
and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if 
that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth 
me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then 
the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit 
by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there 
is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest 
banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, 
tell me, where hast thou been this month ? 

Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou 
stand for me, and I '11 play my father. 

Fal. Depose me ? if thou dost it half so gravely, 
so majestically, both in word and matter, hang 
me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's 
hare. 48 1 

Prince. Well, here I am set. 

Fal. And here I stand : judge, my masters. 

Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are 
grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : nay, I '11 
tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. 489 

Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently car- 
ried away from grace : there is a devil haunts 
thee in the likeness of an old fat man ; a tun of 
man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse 
with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of 
beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that 
huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of 
guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pud- 
ding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey 
iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? 
Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink 
it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon 
and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein 
crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous, but in 
all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? 

Fal. I would your grace would take me with 
you : whom means your grace ? 



Prince. That villanous abominable misleader 
of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 510 

Prince. I know thou dost. 

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him 
than in myself, were to say more than I know. 
That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs 
do witness it ; but that he is, saving your rever- 
ence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack 
and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked ! if to 
be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host 
that I know is damned : if to be fat be to be hated, 
then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my 
good lord ; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish 
Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack 
Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, 
and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old 
Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's com- 
pany, banish not him thy Harry's company : 
banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. 

Prince. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. 

[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 

Re-enter Bardolph, running. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord ! the sheriff with 
a most monstrous watch is at the door. 530 

Fal. Out, ye rogue ! Play out the play : I have 
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 

Re-enter the Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord ! 

Prince. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon 
a fiddlestick: what's the matter? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the 
door : they are come to search the house. Shall 
I let them in? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true 
piece of gold a counterfeit : thou art essentially 
mad, without seeming so. 541 

Prince. And thou a natural coward, without 
instinct 

Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the 
sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I become not 
a cart as well as another man, a plague on my 
bringing up ! I hope I shall as soon be strangled 
with a halter as another. 

Prince. Go, hide thee behind the arras: the 
rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true 
face and good conscience. 551 

Fal. Both which I have had : but their date 
is out, and therefore I'll hide me. 

Prince. Call in the sheriff. 

[Exeunt all except the Prince and Peto. 

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. 
Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me? 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and 
cry 
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 

Prince. What men? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious 
lord, 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 5 60 

Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here ; 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
Send him to answer thee, or any man, 



Scene iv.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



395 



For any thing he shall be charged withal : 
And so let me entreat you leave the house. 

Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentle- 
men 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 

Prince. It maybe so: if he have robb'd these 
men, 570 

He shall be answerable ; and so farewell. 

Slier. Good night, my noble lord. 

Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not ? 

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clo k. 
[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. 

Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as 
Paul's. Go, call him forth. 

Peto. Falstaff ! — Fast asleep behind the arras, 
and snorting like a horse. 

Prince. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. 
Search his pockets. {He searcheth his pockets, 
and Jifideth certain papers.] What hast thou 
found? 

Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. 

Prince. Let's see what they be : read them. 

Peto. [Reads] Item, A capon, . . 2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, . . 4d. 

Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
I tem, Anchovies and sack 

after supper, . 2s. 6d. 
Item, Bread, . . ob. 

Prince. O monstrous ! but one half-penny- 
worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! 
What there is else, keep close; we'll read it at 
more advantage: there let him sleep till day. 
I'll to the court in the morning. We must all to 
the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll 
procure this fat rogue a charge of foot ; and I 
know his death will be a march of twelve-score. 
The money shall be paid back again with advan- 
tage. Be with me betimes in the morning ; and 
so, good morrow, Peto. [Exeunt. 601 

Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Bangor. The Archdeacon's house. 

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and 
Glendower. 

J Tort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 

TTot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, 
Will you sit down? 

And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it! 
I have forgot the map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur, 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with 
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven. 10 

Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen 
Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
Of burning cressets ; and at my birth 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shaked like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same 
season, if your mother's cat had but kittened, 
though yourself had never been born. 20 



Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was 

born. 
Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, 
If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth : 

did tremble. 
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens ' 
on fire, 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
I >iseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
! By the imprisoning of unruly wind 30 

Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving. 
Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down 
Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, 
In passion shook. 

Glend. Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. ( iive me leave 
To tell you once again that at my birth 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
] hese signs have mark'd me extraordinary; 41 
And all the courses of my life do show 
1 am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea 
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, 

Wales, 
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? 
And bring him out that is but woman's son 
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 

Hot. I think there's no man speaks better 
Welsh. I '11 to dinner. 50 

Mori. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make 1 

him mad. 
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man ; 
But will they come when you do call for them? 
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to 
command 
The devil. 
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the 
devil 
By telling truth : tell truth and shame the devil. 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him 

hither, 
And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him 
hence. 61 

O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil ! 
Mart. Come, come, no more of this unprofit- 
able chat. 
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke 
made head 
Against my power ; thrice from the banks of Wye 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him 
B lOtless home and weather-beaten back. 
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather 
too! 
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name? 
Glend. Come, here's the map: shall we divide 
our right 70 

According to our threefold order ta'en ? 

Mart. 1'he archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits very equally: 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
By south and east is to my part assign 'd : 



39<> 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV 



[Act hi. 



All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
And all the fertile land within that bound, 
To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn; So 

Which being sealed interchangeably, 
A business that this night may execute, 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I 
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth 
To meet your father and the Scottish power, 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. 
Within that space you may have drawn together 
Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentle- 
men, go 

Glend. A shorter lime shall send me to you, 
lords: 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come : 
From whom you now must steal and take no leave, 
For there will be a world of water shed 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. 

Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton 
here, 
In quantity equals not one of yours: 
See how this river comes me cranking in, 
And cuts me from the best of all my land 
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. 100 
1 11 have the current in this place damm'd up : 
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run 
In a new channel, fair and evenly; 
It shall not wind with such a deep indent, 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 

Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you sec it 
doth, 

Mart. Yea, but 
Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up 
With like advantage on the other side: 
Gelding the opposed continent as much no 

As on the other side it takes from you. 

War. Yea, but a little charge will trench him 
here 
And on this north side win this cape of land; 
And then he runs straight and even. 

Not. I'll have it so: a little charge will do it. 

Glend. I'll not have it alter'd. 

Hot. Will not you? 

Glend, No, nor you shall not. 

Hot. Who shall say me nay? 

Glend. Why, that will I. 

Hot. Let me not understand you, then ; speak 
it in Welsh. 120 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as 
you ; 
For I was train'd up in the English court : 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty lovely well 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Many, 
And I am glad of it with all my heart : 
1 had rather be a kitten and cry mew 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: 
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, i^z 
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 
'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. 

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 



Hot. I do not care : I '11 give thrice so much 

land 
To any well-deserving friend ; 
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
I '11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 140 

Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? 
Glend, The niuon shines fair; you may away 

by night : 
I'll haste the writer and withal 
Break with your wives of your departure hence : 
1 am afraid my daughter will run mad, 
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. {Exit. 

Mori. Fie, cousin Percy ! how you cross my 

father! 
Hot. I cannot choose: sometime he angers me 
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, 
Of the dreamer Meilin and his prophecies, 150 
And of a dragon and a unless fish, 
A clip-wing'd griffin and a nioulten raven, 
A couching lion and a ramping cat, 
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what; 
He held me last night at least nine hours 
i 11 reckoning up the several devils' names 
That were his lackeys : I cried 'hum,' and 'well. 

go to,' 
But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious 
.As a tired horse, a railing wife; 160 

Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live 
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, 
Than iced on cates and have him talk to me 
In any summer-house in Christendom. 

Mart. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, 
Exceedingly well read, and profited 
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion 
And wondrous affable and as bountiful 
As mines of India, Shall I tell you, cousin? 
He holds your temper in a high respect 170 

And curbs himself even of his natural scope 
When you come 'cross his humour; faith, he 

does : 
I warrant you, that man is not alive 
Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
Without the taste of danger and reproof: 
lint do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 

ll'or. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful- 
blame ; 
And since your coming hither have done enough 
To put him quite beside his patience. 
Vdii must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: 
Though sometimes it show greatness, ci 

blood, — 181 

And that's the dearest grace it renders you, — 
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
Defecd: of manners, want of government, 
Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain: 
The least of which haunting a nobleman 
Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain 
Upon the beauty of all parts besides, 
Beguiling them of commendation. 
Hot. Well, I am school'd: good manners be 

your speed ! iv;o 

Here come our wives, and let us take our lease. 

Re-enter Glendower -with the ladies. 
Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me; 
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
Glend. My daughter weeps : she will not part 
with you : 



Scene i.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



397 



She'll he a soldier too, she'll to the wars. 

Mort. Good father, tell her that she and my 
aunt Percy 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 

[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, a)id she 
answers hint in the same. 

Glend. She is desperate here ; a peevish self- 
will'd harlotry, one that DO persuasion can do 
good upon. I Th ■ la ty speaks in It elsh. 

Mori. I understand thy looks: that pretty 

Welsh 201 

Which thou pour'st down from these swelling 

heavens 
I am too perfect in ; and. but for shame, 
] n such a parley should l answer thee. 

[The lady speaks again in Welsh. 
I understand thy kisses and thou mine, 
And that's a feeling disputation : 
But I will never be a truant, love, 
Till I have learn'd thy language ; for thy tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 210 
With ravishing division, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run 
mad. \The lady speaks again in Welsh. 

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this ! 

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes 
lay you down 
And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you 
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, 
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep 
As is the difference betwixt day and night 220 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 

Mort. With all my heart 1 '11 sit and hear her 
sing: 
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 

Glend. Do so; 
And those musicians that shall play to you 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, 
And straight they shall be here : sit. and attend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying 
down : come, quick, quick, that I may lay my 
head in thy lap. 231 

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. 

[The music plays. 

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands 
Welsh ; 
And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous. 
By'r lady, he is a good musician. 

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but 
musical, for you are altogether governed by hu- 
mours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady 
sine in Welsh. 

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl 
in Irish. 241 

Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken '. 

Hot'. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now God help thee ! 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What's that? 

Hot. Peace ! she sings. 

[Here the lady sings a Welsh song. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I '11 have your song too. 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 251 



Hot. Not your-;, in good sooth ! Heart! you 
swear like a comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you. in 
good sooth,' and 'as true as 1 live,' and 
shall mend me.' and 'as sure as day,' 
And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury. 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, 

mouth-filling oath, and leave ' in sooth,' 
li protest of pepper-gingerbread, 260 

To \elvet-guards and Sunday-citu 
sing. 

Lady /'. 1 will not sing. 

Hot. ''lis the next way to turn tailor, or be 
red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, 
I'll away within these two hours; and 
in when ye will. | Exit. 

Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are 
as slow 
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. 
By this our book is drawn ; we'll but seal, 270 
And then to horse immediately. 

Mort. With all my'heart. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. The palace. 
Enter the King, Prince of Walks, and others. 
King. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of 

Wales and I 
Must have some private conference : but be near 

at hand, 
For we shall presently have need of 3-011. 

I Exeunt Lords. 
I know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done, 
That, in his secret doom, out of my I 
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me ; 
Put thou dost in thy passages of life 
Make me believe that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven ic 
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, 
Could such inordinate and low desires, 
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean 

attempts, 
Such barren pleasures, rude society, 
As thou art match'd withal and grafted to, 
Accompany the greatness of thy blood 
And hold their level with thy princely heart ? 
Prince. So please your majesty, I would I 

could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse 
As well as I am doubtless J can pu 20 

Myself of many I am charged withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
As, in reproof of many tales devised, 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, 
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers. 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, 
Find pardon on my true submission. 
King. God pardon thee ! yet let me wonder, 

Harry, 
At thy affections, which do hold a wing 30 

Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost. 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied, 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood: 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man 



398 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV 



[Act hi. 



Prophetically doth forethink thy fall. 

Had I so lavish of my presence been, 

So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 40 

So stale and cheap to vulgar company, 

Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 

Had still kept loyal to possession 

And left me in reputeless banishment, 

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. 

By being seldom seen, I could not stir 

But like a comet I was wonder' d at ; 

That men would tell their children 'This is he ;' 

Others would say 'Where, which is Bolingbroke?' 

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 50 

And dress'd myself in such humility 

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 

Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 

Even in the presence of the crowned king. 

Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; 

My presence, like a robe pontifical, 

Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state, 

Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast 

And won by rareness such solemnity. 

The skipping king, he ambled up and down 60 

With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, 

Soon kindled and soon burnt ; carded his state, 

Mingled his royalty with capering fools, 

Had his great name profaned with their scorns 

And gave his countenance, against his name, 

To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push 

Of every beardless vain comparative, 

Grew a companion to the common streets, 

Enfeoft'd himself to popularity ; 

That, being daily swallow' d by men's eyes, 70 

They surfeited with honey and began 

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 

More than a little is by much too much. 

So when he had occasion to be seen, 

He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 

Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes 

As, sick and blunted with community, 

Afford no extraordinary gaze, 

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes ; 80 

But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down, 

Slept in his face and render'd such aspect 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries, 

Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full. 

And in that very line, Harry, standest thou ; 

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege 

With vile participation : not an eye 

But is a-weary of thy common sight, 

Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more ; 

Which now doth that I would not have it do, 90 

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 

Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious 
lord, 
Be more myself. 

King. For all the world 

As thou art to this hour was Richard then 
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, 
And even as I was then is Percy now. 
Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot, 
He hath more worthy interest to the state 
Than thou the shadow of succession ; 
For of no right, nor colour like to right, 100 

He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws, 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on 



To bloody battles and to bruising arms. 

What never-dying honour hath he got 

Against renowned Douglas ! whose high deeds, 

Whose hot incursions and great name in arms 

Holds from all soldiers chief majority 

And military title capital no 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge 

Christ : 
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling 

clothes, 
This infant warrior, in his enterprizes 
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once, 
Enlarged him and made a friend of him, 
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up 
And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumber- 
land, 
The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mor- 
timer, 
Capitulate against us and are up. 120 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? 
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy? 
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, 
Base inclination and the start of spleen, 
To fight against me under Percy's pay, 
To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns, 
To show how much thou art degenerate. 

Prince. Do not think so ; you shall not find 
it so: 
And God forgive them that so much have sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 131 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head 
And in the closing of some glorious day 
Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood 
And stain my favours in a bloody mask, 
Which, wash d away, shall scour my shame with 

it: 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
That this same child of honour and renown, 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 140 
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. 
For every honour sitting on his helm, 
Would they were multitudes, and on my head 
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
And I will call him to so strict account, 
That he shall render every glory up, 150 

Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
This, in the name of God, I promise here : 
The which if He be pleased I shall perform, 
I do beseech your majesty may salve 
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 
If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this : 

Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust 

herein. 161 

Enter Blunt. 

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of 

speed. 



Scene ii.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



Blunt. So hath the business that I come to 
speak of. 
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word 
That Douglas and the English rebels met 
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury : 
A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
If promises be kept on every hand, 
As ever offer'd foul play in a state. 

King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth 
to-day ; 1 70 

With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; 
For this advertisement is five days old : 
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set for- 
ward ; 
On Thursday we ourselves will march : our meeting 
Is Bridgenorth : and, Harry, you shall march 
Through Gloucestershire ; by which account, 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. 
Our hands are full of business: let's away; 
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. 180 

[E.veunt. 

Scene III. EastcJieafi. The Boar" s-II cad 
Tavern. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely 
since this last adtion? do I not bate? do I not 
dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an 
old lady's loose gown ; I am withered like an old 
apple-john. Well, I '11 repent, and that suddenly, 
while I am in some liking ; I shall be out of heart 
shortly, and then I shall have no strength to 
repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside 
of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a 
brewer's horse : the inside of a church ! Com- 
pany, villanous company, hath been the spoil of 
i me. 

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you can- 
i not live long. 

Fal. Why, there is it : come sing me a bawdy 
song ; make me merry. I was as virtuously given 
as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; 
t swore little ; diced not above seven times a week ; 
went to a bawdy-house not above once in a 
quarter — of an hour; paid money that I bor- 
rowed, three or four times ; lived well and in 
good compass : and now I live out of all order, 
out of all compass. 

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that 
you must needs be out of all compass, out of all 
reasonable compass, Sir John. 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend 
my life : thou art our admiral, thou bearest the 
lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee ; 
thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. 30 

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no 
harm. 

Fal. No, I '11 be sworn ; I make as good use 
of it as many a man doth of a Death's-head or a 
memento mori: I never see thy face but I think 
upon hell-fire and Dives that lived in purple ; 
for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If 
thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear 
by thy face ; my oath should be ' By this fire, 
that's God's angel :' but thou art altogether given 
over ; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy 
face, the son of utter darkness. When thou 



rannest up Gadshill in the night to catch my 
horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an 
ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there's no pur- 
chase in money. O, thou art a perpetual tri- 
umph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast 
saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, 
walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern 
and tavern : but the sack that thou hast drunk 
me would have bought me lights as good cheap 
at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have 
maintained that salamander of yours with fire 
any time this two and thirty years ; God reward 
me for it ! 

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your 
belly ! 

Fed. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be 
heart-burned. 

Enter Hostess. 
How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you 
inquired yet who picked my pocket? 61 

Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, 
Sir John? do you think I keep thieves in my 
house? I have searched, I have inquired, so 
has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, 
servant by servant : the tithe of a hair was never 
lost in my house before. 

Fal. Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved 
and lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn my 
pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go. 

Host. Who, I ? no ; I defy thee : God's light, 
I was never called so in mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 

Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, 
Sir John. I know you, Sir John : you owe me 
money, Sir John ; and now you pick a quarrel to 
beguile me of it : I bought you a dozen of shirts 
to your back. 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given 
them away to bakers' wives, and they have made 
bolters of them. 81 

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland 
of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here 
besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drink- 
ings, and money lent you, four and twenty 
pound. 

Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. 

Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he hath nothing. 

Fal. How ! poor ? look upon his face ; what 
call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them 
coin his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, 
will you make a younker of me? shall I not take 
mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket 
picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grand- 
father's worth forty mark. 

Host. O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell 
him, I know not how oft, that that ring was 
copper ! 

Fal How ! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup : 
'sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him 
like a dog, if he would say so. 101 

Enter the Prince and Peto, Marching, and 
Falstaff meets thc»iJ>layingon his truncheon 
like a fife. 

How now, lad ! is the wind in that door, i' faith? 
must we all march? 

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. 

Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 



400 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act iv. 



Prince. What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? 
How doth thy husband? I love him well; he is 
an honest man. 

Host. Good my lord, hear me. 

Fal. Prithee, let her alone, and list to me. 

Prince. What sayest thou, Jack ? m 

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here be- 
hind the arras and had my pocket picked : this 
house is turned bawdy-house ; they pick pockets. 

Prince. What didst thou lose, Jack ? 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or 
four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring 
of my grandfather's. 

Prince. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 

Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said 
I heard your grace say so : and, my lord, he 
speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed 
man as he is ; and said he would cudgel you. 

Prince. What ! he did not? 

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman- 
hood in me else. 

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a 
stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee than in 
a drawn fox ; and for womanhood, Maid Marian 
may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. 
Go, you thing, go. 131 

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 

Fal. What thing! why, a thing to thank 
God on. 

Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I 
would thou shouldst know it ; I am an honest 
man's wife : and, setting thy knighthood aside, 
thou art a knave to call me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
beast to say otherwise. 140 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou ? 

Fal. What beast ! why, an otter. 

Prince. An otter, Sir John ! why an otter? 

Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man 
knows not where to have her. 

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so : 
thou or any man knows where to have me, thou 
knave, thou ! 

Prifice. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he 
slanders thee most grossly. 150 

Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said 
this other day you ought him a thousand pound. 

Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand 
pound ? 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ! a million : 
thy love is worth a million : thou owest me 
thy love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and 
said he would cudgel you. 

Fal. Did I, Bardolph? 160 

Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper. 

Prince. I say 'tis copper: darest thou be as 
good as thy word now? 

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art 
but man, I dare : but as thou art prince, I 
fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

Prince. And why not as the lion? 

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the 
lion: dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy 
father? nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle break. 

Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts 
fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no 
room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom 



of thine ; it is all filled up with guts and midriff. 
Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket ! 
why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, 
if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern- 
reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and 
one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy to make 
thee long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched 
with any other injuries but these, I am a villain : 
and yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket 
up wrong : art thou not ashamed? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in 
the state of innocency Adam fell ; and what should 
poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villany? 
Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, 
and therefore more frailty. You confess then, 
you picked my pocket? 190 

Prince. It appears so by the story. 

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : go, make ready 
breakfast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
cherish thy guests : thou shalt find me tractable 
to any honest reason: thou seest I am pacified 
still. Nay, prithee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] 
Now, Hal, to the news at court : for the robbery, 
lad, how is that answered? 

Prince. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
angel to thee : the money is paid back again. 200 

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back ; 'tis a 
double labour. 

Prince. I am good friends with my father 
and may do any thing. 

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing 
thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge 
of foot. 209 

Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where 
shall I find one that can steal well ? O for a fine 
thief, of the age of two and twenty or there- 
abouts ! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God 
be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but 
the virtuous : I laud them, I praise them. 

Prin ce. B ar d o 1 ph ! 

Bard. My lord ? 

Prifice. Go bear this letter to Lord John of 
Lancaster, to my brother John ; this to my Lord 
of Westmoreland. [Exit Bardolph.'] Go, Peto, 
to horse, to horse ; for thou and I have thirty 
miles to ride yet ere dinner time. [Exit Peto.] 
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at 
two o'clock in the afternoon. 
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there 

receive 
Money and order for their furniture. 
The. land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; 
And either we or they must lower lie. [Exit. 

Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, my 

breakfast, come ! 229 

O, I could wish this tavern were my drum ! [Exit. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : if speaking 
truth 
In this fine age were not thought flattery, 
Such attribution should the Douglas have, 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 



Scene i.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



401 



Should go so general current through the world. 
By God, I cannot flatter ; I do defy 
l The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
] In my heart's love hath no man than yourself: 
! Nay, task me to my word ; approve me, lord. 

Doug. Thou art the king of honour : 10 

No man so potent breathes upon the ground 
But I will beard him. 
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. 

Enter a Messenger with letters. 
What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank you. 

Mess. These letters come from your father. 

Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not 
himself? 

Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is griev- 
ous sick. 

Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick 
In such a justling time? Who leads his power? 
Under whose government come they along? 19 

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 

IVor. I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? 

Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth ; 
And at the time of my departure thence 
He was much fear'd by his physicians. 

IVor. I would the state of time had first been 
whole 
Ere he by sickness had been visited : 
His health was never better worth than now. 

Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth 
infect 
The very life-blood of our enterprise ; 
'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 30 

fHe writes me here, that inward sickness — 
And that his friends by deputation could not 
So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet 
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
On any soul removed but on his own. 
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, 
That with our small conjunction we should on, 
To see how fortune is disposed to us ; 
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, 
Because the king is certainly possess'd 40 

Of all our purposes. What say you to it? 

IVor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: 
And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want 
Seems more than we shall find it : were it good 
To set the exact wealth of all our states 
All at one cast? to set so rich a main 
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
It were not good ; ffor therein should we read 
The very bottom and the soul of hope, 50 

The very list, the very utmost bound 
Of all our fortunes. 

Doug. 'Faith, and so we should; 

Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
tWe may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
Is to come in : 
A comfort of retirement lives in this. 

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 

Wor. But yet I would your father had been 
here. 60 

The quality and hair of our attempt 
Brooks no division : it will be thought 
By some, that know not why he is away, 
That wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike 



Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence : 

And think how such an apprehension 

May turn the tide of fearful faction 

And breed a kind of question in our cause ; 

For well you know we of the offering side 

Must keep aloof from strict arbitrament, 70 

And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence 

The eye of reason may pry in upon us : 

This absence of your father's draws a curtain, 

That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 

Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 

I rather of his absence make this use : 
It lends a lustre and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprise, 
Than if the earl were here ; for men must think, 
If we without his help can make a head 80 

To push against a kingdom, with his help 
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 

Doug. As heart can think : there is not such 
a word 
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. 

Enter Sir Richard Vernon. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, 
lord. ' 
The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 
Is marching hitherwards ; with him Prince John. 

Hot. N o harm : what more ? 

Ver. And further, I have learn'd, 90 

The king himself in person is set forth, 
Or hitherwards intended speedily, 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, 
The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, 
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, 
And bid it pass? 

Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms ; 

fAll plumed like estridges that with the wind 
Baited like eagles having lately bathed ; 
Glittering in golden coats, like images; 100 

As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 
Hot. No more, no more : worse than the sun 
in March, in 

This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war 
All hot and bleeding will we offer them : 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh 
And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, 
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt 120 

Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales : 
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 
Meet and ne'er part till one drop down a corse. 
O that Glendower were come ! 

Ver. There is more news : 



s6 



402 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act iv. 



I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, 
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear 

of yet 
Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty 

sound. 
Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach 

unto? 
Ver. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be : 130 

My father and Glendower being both away, 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us take a muster speedily : 
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. 

Doug. Talk not of dying: I am out of fear 
Of death or death's hand for this one-half year. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A public road near Coventry. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fat. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; 
fill me a bottle of sack : our soldiers shall march 
through; we'll to Sutton Co'nT to-night. 

Bard. Will you give me money, captain? 

Fat. Lay out, lay out. 

Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fat. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and 
if it make twenty, take them all ; I '11 answer the 
coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at 
town's end. 10 

Bard. _ I will, captain : farewell. [Exit. 

Fat. if I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am 
a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's press 
damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred 
and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. 
I press me none but good householders, yeoman's 
sons ; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such 
as had been asked twice on the banns ; such a 
commodity of warm slaves, as had as lieve hear 
the devil as a drum ; such as fear the report of a 
caliver worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild- 
duck. I pressed me none but such toasts-and- 
butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than 
pins' heads, and they have bought out their ser- 
vices ; and now my whole charge consists of 
ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of 
companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the 
painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his 
sores ; and such as indeed were never soldiers, 
but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons 
to younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers 
trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a 
long peace, ten times more dishonourable ragged 
than an old faced ancient : and such have I, to 
fill up the rooms of them that have bought out 
their services, that you would think that I had a 
hundred and fifty tattered prodigals lately come 
from swirie-keeping, from eating draff and husks. 
A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I 
had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the 
dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. 
I'll not march through Coventry with them, 
that's flat: nay, and the villains march wide 
betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on ; for 
indeed I had the most of them out of prison. 
There's but a shirt and a half in all my company ; 
and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together 
and thrown over the shoulders like an herald's 



coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the 
truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or 
the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that's 
all one ; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. 

Enter the Prince and Westmoreland. 

Prince. How now, blown Jack ! how now, 
quilt! 

Fat. What, Hal ! how now, mad wag ! what 
a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good 
Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy: I 
thought your honour had already been at Shrews- 
bury. 5g 
West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time 
that I were there, and you too ; but my powers 
are there already. The king, I can tell you, 
looks for us all : we must away all night. 

Fat. Tut, never fear me : I am as vigilant as 
a cat to steal cream. 

Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy 
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell 
me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after? 

Fat. Mine, Hal, mine. 69 

Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food for 
powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well 
as better : tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 

West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are 
exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly. 

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know not 
where they had that; and for their bareness, I 
am sure they never learned that of me. 

Prince. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call 
three fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make 
haste : Percy is already in the field. 81 

Fal. What, is the king encamped? 

West. He is, Sir John : I fear we shall stay 
too long. 

Fal. Well, 
To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a 
feast 85 

Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. TJie rebel camp near Shrewsbury. 

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and 
Vernon. 

Hot. We '11 fight with him to-night. 

Wor. It may not be. 

Doug. You give him then advantage. 

Ver. Not a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for supply ? 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advised ; stir not to- 
night. 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well : 

You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, 
And I dare well maintain it with my life, 
If well-respected honour bid me on, 10 

I hold as little counsel with weak fear 
As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives : 
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to-night. 

Ver. Content. 

Hot. To-night, say I. 



Scene hi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder 
much, 
Being men of such great leading as you are, 
That you foresee not what impediments 
Drag back our expedition : certain horse 
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 20 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, 
That not a horse is half the half of himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
In general, journey-bated and brought low: 
The better part of ours are full of rest. 

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours : 
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 

[T/ie trumpet sounds a parley. 

Enter Sir Walter Blunt. 
Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the 

king, 30 

If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 
Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt ; and would 

to God 
You were of our determination ! 
Some of us love you well ; and even those some 
Envy your great deservings and good name, 
Because you are not of our quality. 
But stand against us like an enemy. 
Blunt. And God defend but still I should 

stand so, 
So long as out of limit and true rule 
You stand against anointed majesty. 40 

But to my charge. The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty. If that the king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot, 
Which he confesseth to be manifold, 
He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed 
You shall have your desires with interest 
And pardon absolute for yourself and these 50 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 
Hot. The king is kind ; and well we know the 

king 
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
My father and my uncle and myself 
Did give him that same royalty he wears ; 
And when he was not six and twenty strong, 
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
A poor umninded outlaw sneaking home, 
My father gave him welcome to the shore : 
And when he heard him swear and vow to God 60 
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, 
To sue his livery and beg his peace, 
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal, 
My father, in kind heart and pity moved, 
Swore him assistance and perform'd it too. 
Now when the lords and barons of the realm 
Perceived Northumberland did lean to him, 
The more and less came in with cap and knee ; 
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, 
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 70 

Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, 
Gave him their heirs, as pages follow'd him 
Even at the heels in golden multitudes. 
He presently, as greatness knows itself, 
Steps me a little higher than his vow 
Made to my father, while his blood was poor, 



Upon the naked shore at Ravcnspurgh ; 

And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 

Some certain edicts and some strait decrees 

That lie top heavy on the commonwealth, 80 

Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 

Over his country's wrongs; and by this face, 

This seeming brow of justice, did he win 

The hearts of all that he did angle for ; 

Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 

Of all the favourites that the absent king 

In deputation left behind him here, 

When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 

Hot. Then to the point. 

In slv>rt time after, he deposed the kin- ; 
Soon after that, deprived him of his life ; 
And in the neck of that, task'd the whole state; 
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March, 
Who is. if every owner were well placed, 
Indeed his king, to be engaged in Wales, 
There without ransom to lie forfeited; 
Disgraced me in my happy victories, 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence ; 
Rated mine uncle from the council-board ; 
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court; too 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong, 
And in conclusion drove us to seek out 
This head of safety ; and withal to pry 
Into his title, the which we find 
Too indirect for long continuance. 

Blunt. Shall 1 return this answer to the king? 

Hot. Not so, Sir Walter: we'll withdraw 
awhile. 
Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again, 
And in the morning early shall my uncle no 

Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and 
love. 

Hot. And may be so we shall. 

Blunt. Pray God you do. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. York. The Archbishop's palace. 

Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir 
Michael. 

Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael ; bear this sealed 
brief 
With winged haste to the lord marshal ; 
This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest 
To whom they are directed. If you knew 
How much they do import, you would make haste. 

Sir M. My good lord, 
I guess their tenour. 

Arch. Like enough you do. 

To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must bide the touch ; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, 10 
As I am truly given to understand, 
The king with mighty and quick-raised power 
Meets with Lord Harry : and, I fear, Sir Michael, 
What with the sickness of Northumberland, 
Whose power was in the first proportion, 
And what with Owen Glendowcr's absence 

thence, 
Who with them was a rated sinew too 
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies, 
I fear the power of Percy is too weak 

26 — 2 



4°4 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act v. 



To wage an instant trial with the king. 20 

Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not 
fear; 
There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. 

Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. 

Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord 
Harry Percy, 
And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 

Arck. And so there is : but yet the king hath 
drawn 
The special head of all the land together: 
The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt ; 30 
And many moe corrivals and dear men 
Of estimation and command in arms. 

Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well 
opposed. 

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear ; 
And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed : 
For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, 
For he hath heard of our confederacy, 
And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him : 
Therefore make haste. I must go write again 
To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. The King's camp near Shrewsbury. 

E ') 'iter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John 
of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, 
Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff. 
King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 

Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale 

At his distemperature. 

Prince. The southern wind 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, 

And by his hollow whistling in the leaves 

Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 
King. Then with the losers let it sympathise, 

For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 

[ The trumpet sounds. 

Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 'tis not well 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 10 
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, 
And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to it? will you again unknit 
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? 
And move in that obedient orb again 
Where you did give a fair and natural light, 
And be no more an exhaled meteor, 
A prodigy of fear and a portent 20 

Of broached mischief to the unborn times? 

Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet hours ; for I do protest, 
I have not sought the day of this dislike. 

King. You have not sought it ! how comes it, 
then? 

Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

Prince. Peace, chewet, peace I 



Wor. It pleased your majesty to turn your 

looks 30 

Of favour from myself and all our house; 
And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you my staff of office did I break 
In Richard's time ; and posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, 
When yet you were in place and in account 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother and his son, 
That brought you home and boldly did outdare 
The dangers of the time. You swore to us, 41 
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right, 
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster : 
To this we swore our aid. But in short space 
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ; 
And such a flood of greatness fell on you, 
What with our help, what with the absent king, 
What with the injuries of a wanton time, 50 

The seeming sufferances that you had borne, 
And the contrarious winds that held the king 
So long in his unlucky Irish wars 
That all in England did repute him dead : 
And from this swarm of fair advantages 
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
To gripe the general sway into your hand ; 
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; 
And being fed by us you used us so 
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 60 

Useth the sparrow ; did oppress our nest ; 
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk 
That even our love durst not come near your 

sight 
For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 
We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly 
Out of your sight and raise this present head; 
Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
As you yourself have forged against yourself 
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
And violation of all faith and troth 70 

Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 
King. These things indeed you have articu- 
late, 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches, 
To face the garment of rebellion 
With some fine colour that may please the eye 
Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, 
Which gape and rub the elbow at the news 
Of hurlyburly innovation : 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Such water-colours to impaint his cause ; 80 

Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
Of pellmell havoc and confusion. 
Prince. In both your armies there is many a 

soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the 

world 
In praise of Henry Percy : by my hopes, 
This present enterprise set off his head, 
I do not think a braver gentleman, 
More active-valiant or more valiant-young, 90 
More daring or more bold, is now alive 
To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 



Scene i.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



I have a truant been to chivalry ; 

And so I hear he doth account me too ; 

Yet this before my father's majesty— 

I am content that he shall take the odds 

Of his great name and estimation, 

And will, to save the blood on either side, 

Try fortune with him in a single fight. ioo 

King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we ven- 
ture thee, 
Albeit considerations infinite 
Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no, 
We love our people well ; even those we love 
That are misled upon your cousin's part; 
And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
Both he and they and you, yea, every man 
Shall be my friend again and I '11 be his: 
So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
What he will do: but if he will not yield, no 
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us 
And they shall do their office. So, be gone ; 
We will not now be troubled with reply : 
We offer fair ; take it advisedly. 

{Exeunt Worcester and J r ernon. 

Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
Are confident against the world in arms. 

King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 

charge ; 

For, on their answer, will we set on them : 

And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 120 

[Exeunt all but the Prince of Wales and 

Falstaff. 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle 
and bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 

Prince. Nothing but a colossus can do thee 
that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

Fal. I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all 
well. 

Prince. Why, thou owest God a death. 

[Exit. 

Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to 
pay him before his day. What need I be so 
forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 
'tis no matter ; honour pricks me on. Yea, but 
how if honour prick me off when I come on? 
how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an 
arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? 
no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. 
What is honour? a word. What is in that word 
honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reck- 
oning ! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednes- 
day. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 
'Tis insensible, then. Yea, to the dead. But 
will it not live with the living? no. Why? de- 
traction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of 
it. Honour is a mere scutcheon : and so ends 
my catechism. [Exit. 

Scene II. The rebel cairip. 
Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir 
Richard, 
The liberal and kind offer of the king. 
Ver. 'Twere best he did. 
Wor. Then are we all undone. 

It is not possible, it cannot be, 
The king should keep his word in loving us; 
He will suspect us still and find a time 



To punish this offence in other faults: 

Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; 

For treason is but trusted like the fox, 

Who, ne'er so tame, socherish'd and lock'dup, 10 

Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 

Look how we can, or sad or merrily, 

Interpretation will misquote our looks, 

And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, 

The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 

My nephew's trespass may be well forgot; 

It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, 

And an adopted name of privilege, 

A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen : 

All his offences live upon my head 20 

And on his father's; we did train him on, 

And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 

We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 

Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, 

In any case, the offer of the king. 

Ver. Deliver what you will ; I '11 say 'tis so. 
Here comes your cousin. 

Enter Hotspur and Douglas. 

Hot. My uncle is return'd: 
Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland. 
Uncle, what news? 30 

IVor. The king will bid you battle presently. 

Doug. Defy him by the Lord of Westmore- 
land. 

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 

Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. 

[Exit. 

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 

Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid ! 

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, 
Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge 40 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 

Re-enter Douglas. 
Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms ! for I have 

thrown 
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, 
And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did 

bear it ; 
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth 

before the king, 
And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. 
Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our 

heads, 
And that no man might draw short breath to-day 
But I and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me, 50 
How show'd his tasking? seenrd it in contempt? 

Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life 
Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue, 
Spoke your descrvings like a chronicle, 
Making you ever better than his praise 
By still dispraising praise valued with you ; 
And, which became him like a prince indeed, 
He made a blushing cital of himself ; 
And chid his truant youth with such a grace 
As if he master'd there a double spirit 
Of teaching and of learning instantly. 



60 



406 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act v. 



There did he pause : but let me tell the world, 
If he outlive the envy of this day, 
England did never owe so sweet a hope, 
So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 

Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured 70 
On his follies : never did I hear 
Of any prince so wild a libertine. 
But be he as he will, yet once ere night 
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 
That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, 

friends, 
Better consider what you have to do 
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, 
Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 80 

Hot. I cannot read them now. 
O gentlemen, the time of life is short ! 
To spend that shortness basely were too long, 
If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
An if we live, we live to tread on kings; 
If die, brave death, when princes die with us! 
Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair, 
When the intent of bearing them is just. 

Enter a?iother Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on 

apace. 90 

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my 

tale, 
For I profess not talking ; only this — 
Let each man do his best : and here draw I 
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
With the best blood that I can meet withal 
In the adventure of this perilous day. 
Now, Esperance ! Percy ! and set on. 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war, 
And by that music let us all embrace; 
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 100 
A second time do such a courtesy. 
[ The trumpets so2i?id. They embrace, and exeunt. 

Scene III. Plain between the camps. 

The King enters -with his power. Alarum to 
the battle. Then enter Douglas and Sir 
Walter Blunt. 

Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle 
thus 
Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek 
Upon my head? 

Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; 

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus 
Because some tell me that thou art a king. 
Blunt. They tell thee true. 
Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath 
bought 
Thy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry, 
This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee, 
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 10 

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud 
Scot; 
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. [They fight. Doti^las 
kills Blunt. 



Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holme- 
don thus, 
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 

Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless 

lies the king. 
Hot. Where? 
Doug. Here. 

Hot. This, Douglas? no: I know this face 
full well : 
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; 20 
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 
Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it 
goes! 
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear : 
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 
Hot. The king hath many marching in his 

coats. 
Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his 
coats ; 
I '11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
Until I meet the king. 

Hot. Up, and away ! 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. 29 

[Exeunt. 

Alarum. E?iter Falstaff, solus. 
Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at Lon- 
don, I fear the shot here; here's no scoring but 
upon the pate. Soft! who are you? Sir Walter 
Blunt: there's honour for you ! here's no vanity ! 
I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : 
God keep lead out of me ! I need no more weight 
than mine own bowels. I have led my raga- 
muffins where they are peppered: there's not 
three of my hundred and fifty left alive ; and 
they are for the town's end, to beg during life. 
But who comes here? 40 

F,nter the Prince. 

Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend 
me thy sword : 
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, 
Whose deaths are yet unrevenged: I prithee, 
lend me thy sword. 

Fal. O Hal, I prithee, give me leave to 
breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never did such 
deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have 
paid Percy, I have made him sure. 

Pi-ince. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee. 
I prithee, lend me thy sword. 50 

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be 
alive, thou get'st not my sword ; but take my 
pistol, if thou wilt. 

Prince. Give it me : what, is it in the case? 

Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that 

will sack a city. [The Prince draws it out, and 

finds it to be a bottle of sack. 

Prince. What, is it a time to jest and dally 
now? [He throws the bottle at him. Exit. 

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I 'll pierce him. 
If he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I 
come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado 
of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir 
Walter hath : give me life : which if I can save, 
so ; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there 's 
an end. [Exit. 



Scene iv.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



407 



Scene IV. Another part of the field. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter the King, the 

Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

King. I prithee, 
Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou bleed'st too much. 
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 

Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 

Prince. I beseech your majesty, make up, 
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 

King. I will do so. 
My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 

West. Come, my lord, I '11 lead yow to your 
tent. 

Prince. Lead me, my lord? I do not need 
your help : 10 

And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive 
The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, 
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, 
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 

Lan. We breathe too long : come, cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. 

[Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland. 

Prince. By God, thou hast deceived me, Lan- 
caster ; 
T did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John ; 
But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 20 

King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the 
point 
With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
Of such an ungrown warrior. - 

Prince. O, this boy 

Lends mettle to us all ! [Exit. 

Enter Douglas. 
Doug. ■ Another king ! they grow like Hydra's 
heads : 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
That wear those colours on them : what art thou, 
That counterfeit'st the person of a king? 
Kino. The king himself; who, Douglas, 
grieves at heart 
So many of his shadows thou hast met 30 

And not the very king. I have two boys 
Seek Percy and thyself about the field : 
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
I will assay thee : so, defend thyself. 

Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit ; 
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: 
But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be, 
And thus I win thee. [They fight ; the King 

being in danger, re-enter Prince of Wales. 
Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou 
art like 
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 40 

Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my 

arms : 
It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee; 
Who never promiseth but he means to pay. 

[ They fight : Douglas flics. 
Cheerly, my lord : how fares your grace? 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, 
And so hath Clifton : I'll to Clifton straight. 

King. Stay, and breathe awhile : 
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion, 
And show'd thou makest some tender of my life, 



In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 50 
Prince. O God ! they did me too much injury 
That ever said I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you, 
Which would have been as speedy in your end 
As all the poisonous potions in the world 
And saved the treacherous labour of your son. 
King. Make up to Clifton : I '11 to Sir Nicholas 
Gawsey. [Exit. 

Enter Hotspur. 
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon- 
mouth. 
Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my 
name. 60 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
Prince. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of the name. 
I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more : 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. 

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is 
come 
To end the one of us ; and would to God 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
Prince. I '11 make it greater ere I part from 
thee; 71 

And all the budding honours on thy crest 
I '11 crop, to make a garland for my head. 
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 

[They fight. 

Enter Falstaff. 
Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! Nay, you 
shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 

Re-enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, 
who falls doivn as if he were dead, and exit 
Douglas. Hotspur is -wounded, and falls. 
Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my 
youth ! 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword 
my flesh : 80 

But thought 's the slave of life, and life time'sfool ; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
Must have, a stop. O, I could prophe v. 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue : no, Percy, thou art dust, 
And food for — [Dies. 

Prince. For worms, brave Percy: fare thee 
well, great heart ! 
Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 90 

But now two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough : this earth that bears thee dead 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
I should not make so dear a show of zeal : 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; 
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! 
Thy ignominy sleep with thoe in the grave, 100 



408 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act v. 



But not remember'd i;i thy epitaph ! 

[He spieth Falstaff on the ground. 
What, old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
I could have better spared a better man : 
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, 
If I were much in love with vanity ! 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. 
Embcwell'd will I see thee by and by : 
Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit, no 
Fal. [Rising up] Embowelled ! if thou em- 
bowel me to-day, I '11 give you leave to powder 
me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas 
time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot 
had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, 
I am no counterfeit : to die, is to be a counter- 
feit ; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who 
hath not the life of a man : but to counterfeit 
dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no 
counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of 
life indeed. The better part of valour is discre- 
tion; in the which better part I have saved my 
life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder 
Percy, though he be dead : how, if he should 
counterfeit too and rise? by my faith, I am 
afraid he would prove the better counterfeit. 
Therefore I '11 make him sure ; yea, and I '11 swear 
I killed him. Why may not he rise as well as I ? 
Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees 
me. Therefore, sirrah {stabbing hint], with a 
new wound in your thigh, come you along with 
me. [ Takes up Hotspur on his back. 

Re-enter tlie Prince of Wales and Lord John 
of Lancaster. 

Prince. Come, brother John ; full bravely hast 
thou flesh'd 
Thy maiden sword. 

Lan. But, soft ! whom have we here ? 

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? 

Prince. I did ; I saw him dead, 
Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art thou 

alive? 
Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight ? 
I prithee, speak ; we will not trust our eyes 139 
Without our ears: thou art not what thou seem' st. 

Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double 
man : but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a 
Jack. There is Percy [throwing the body down] : 
if your father will do me any honour, so ; if not, 
let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be 
either earl or duke, I can assure you. 

Prince. Why, Percy I killed myself and saw 
thee dead. 

Fal. Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world 
is given to lying ! I grant you I was down and 
out of breath ; and so was he : but we rose both 
at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrews- 
bury clock. If I may be believed, so ; if not, let 
them that should reward valour bear the sin upon 
their own heads. I '11 take it upon my death, I 
gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man 
were alive and would deny it, 'zounds, I would 
make him eat a piece of my sword. 

Lan. This is the strangest tale that ever I heard. 

Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother 
John. 159 

Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 



For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I '11 gild it with the happiest terms I have. 

[A retreat is sounded. 
The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field, 
To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

[Exeunt Prince of Wales and Lancaster. 

Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He 

that rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow 

great, I '11 grow less ; for I '11 purge, and leave 

sack, and live cleanly as a nobleman should do. 

[Exit. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

The trumpets sound. Enter the King, Prince 

of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl 

of Westmoreland, with Worcester and 

Vernon prisoners. 

King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. 
Ill-spirited Worcester ! did not we send grace, 
Pardon and terms of love to all of you? 
And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 
Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust? 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl and many a creature else 
Had been alive this hour, 
If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 10 

Wor. What I have done my safety urged me to ; 
And I embrace this fortune patiently, 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 

King. Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon 
too : 
Other offenders we will pause upon. 

[Exeu?it Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
How goes the field? 

Prince. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when 
he saw 
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; 20 

And falling from a hill, he was so bruised 
That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace 
I may dispose of him. 

King: With all my heart. 

Prince. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong: 
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free : 
His valour shown upon our crests to-day 
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 31 

Lan. I thank yourgrace for this high courtesy, 
Which I shall give away immediately. 

King. Then this remains, that we divide our 
power. 
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland 
Towards York shall bend you with your dearest 

speed, 
To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop, 
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : 
Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales, 
To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March. 
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 41 

Meeting the check of such another day : 
And since this business so fair is done, 
Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt. 



THE SECOND PART OF 

KING HENRY; IV. 



DRAMATIS PERSON^. 



Rumour, the Presenter. 

King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, after-^ 
wards King Henry V., 

Thomas, Duke of Clarence, v his sons. 

Prince John of Lancaster, 

PrinceHumphreyof Gloucester,,/ 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Earl of Surrey. 

Gowek. 

Harcourt. 

Blunt. 

Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench. 

A Servant of the Chief-Justice. 

Earl of Northumberland. 

Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Lord Mowbray. 

Lord Hastings. 

Lord Bardolph. 

Sir John Colevile. 

Travers and Morton, retainers of Northum- 
berland. 



INDUCTION. 
Warkivorth. Before the castle. 
Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 
Rum. Open your ears; for which of you will 
stop 
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? 
I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The a<5ts commenced on this ball of earth : 
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
The which in every language I pronounce, 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of peace, while covert enmity 
Under the smile of safety wounds the world: 10 
And who but Rumour, who but only I, 
Make fearful musters and prepared defence, 
Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief, 
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
And no such matter ? Rumour is a pipe 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, 
And of so easy and so plain a stop 
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
Can play upon it. But what need I thus 20 

My well-known body to anatomize 
Among my household? Why is Rumour here? 
I run before King Harry's victory ; 
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury 
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops, 
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I 



Sir John Falstaff. 

His Page. 

Bardolph. 

Pistol. 

Poins. 

Peto. 

Shallow, 1 . . 

Silence, ] country justices. 

Davy, Servant to Shallow. 

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and 

Bullcalf, recruits. 
Fang and Snare, sheriff's officers. 

Lady Northumberland. 

Lady Percy. 

Mistress Quickly, hostess of a tavern in 

Eastcheap. 

Doll Tearsheet. 

Lords and Attendants ;, Porter, Drawers, Beadles, 

Grooms, &c. 

A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. 

Scene: England. 



To speak so true at first? my office is 
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell 
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, 30 
And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
Stoop' d his anointed head as low as death. 
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns 
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 
Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on, 
And not a man of them brings other news 
Than they have learn'd of me : from Rumour's 

tongues 
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than 
true wrongs. [Exit. 40 

ACT I. 

Scene I. The same. 

Enter Lord Bardolph. 

L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? 

TJie Porter opens the gate. 

Where is the earl ? 
Port. What shall I say you are ? 
L. Bard. Tell thou the earl 

That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the 
orchard : 
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 
And he himself will answer. 



Enter Northumberland. 

L. Bard. Here comes the earl. 

[Exit Porter. 

North. What news, Lord Bardolph? every 
minute now 
Should be the father of some stratagem : 
The times are wild; contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose 10 
And bears down all before him. 

L. Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 

North. Good, an God will ! 

L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : 

The king is almost wounded to the death ; 
And, in the fortune of my lord your son, 
Prince Harry slain outright ; and both the Blunts 
KilPd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince 

John 
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field ; 
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John, 
Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day, 20 

So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won, 
Came not till now to dignify the times, 
Since Caesar's fortunes ! 

North. How is this derived? 

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? 

L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that 
came from thence, 
A gentleman well bred and of good name, 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 

North. Here comes my servant Travers, 
whom I sent 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. 

Enter Travers. 

L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the 
way ; 3° 

And he is furnish'd with no certainties 
More than he haply .may retail from me. 

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings 
comes with you ? 

Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me 
back 
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed, 
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard 
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, 
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. 
He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him 
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury : 40 
He told me that rebellion had bad luck 
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. 
With that, he gave his able horse the head, 
And bending forward struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so 
He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
Staying no longer question. 

North. Ha ! Again : 

Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? 
Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion 50 

Had met ill luck? 

L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what; 

If my young lord your son have not the day, 
Upon mine honour, for a silken point 
I'll give my barony: never talk of it. 

North. Why should that gentleman that rode 
by Travers 
Give then such instances of loss? 



L. Bard. Who, he? 

He was some hilding fellow that had stolen 
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life, 
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 

Enter Morton. 

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title- 
leaf, 60 
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume : 
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood 
Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord ; 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask 
To fright our party. 

North. How doth my son and brother? 

Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 70 

So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, 
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt ; 
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, 
And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it. 
This thou wouldst say, ' Your son did thus and 

. thus ; 
Your brother thus : so fought the noble Douglas ;' 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed, 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 8c 
Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.' 

Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet ; 
But, for my lord your son,' — 

North. ■• Why, he is dead. 

See what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
He that but fears the thing he would not know 
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes 
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, 

Morton ; 
Tell thou an earl his divination lies. 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace 
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 90 

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid : 
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's 
dead. 
I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin 
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so ; 
The tongue offends not that reports his death : 
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, 
Not he which says the dead is not alive. 
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 100 

Hath but a losing office, and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
Remember'd tolling a departing friend. 

L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son 
is dead. 

Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe 
That which I would to God I had not seen ; 
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out- 
breathed, 
To Harry Monmouth ; whose swift wrath beat 

down 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth, no 

From whence with life he never more sprung up. 
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire 
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 



Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best-temper'd courage in his troops ; 
For from his metal was his party steel'd; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead : 
And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, 120 
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear 
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim 
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, 
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Wor- 
cester 
Too soon ta'en prisoner ; and that furious Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword 
Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame 
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his 
flight, 130 

Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out 
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster 
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. 
North. For this I shall have time enough 
to mourn. 
Tn poison there is physic ; and these news, 
Having been well, that would have made me sick, 
Being sick, have in some measure made me well : 
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, 
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 141 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, 
Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with 

grief, 
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou 

nice crutch ! 
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel 
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly 

quoif ! 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
Now bind my brows with iron ; and approach 150 
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring 
To frown upon the enraged Northumberland ! 
Let heaven kiss earth ! now let not Nature's 

hand 
Keep the wild flood confined ! let order die ! 
And let this world no longer be a stage 
To feed contention in a lingering act; 
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 160 

Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, 

my lord. 
L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom 

from your honour. 
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
And summ'd the account of chance, before you 

said 
1 Let us make head.' It was your presurmise, 
That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop : 
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, 170 
More likely to fall in than to get o'er ; 
You were advised his flesh was capable 



Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit 
Would lift him where most trade of danger 

ranged : 
Yet did you say ' Go forth ;' and none of this, 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stiff-borne action : what hath then befallen, 
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, 
More than that being which was like to be? 
L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this 

loss 180 

Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas 
That if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one; 
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed 
Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd ; 
And since we are o'erset, venture again. 
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods. 
Mor. 'Tis more than time : and, my most 

noble lord, 
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth, 
The gentle Archbishop of York is up 
With well-appointed powers : he is a man 190 
Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
My lord your son had only but the corpse, 
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight; 
For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
The aclion of their bodies from their souls ; 
And they did fight with queasiness, constraint, 
As men drink potions, that their weapons only 
Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and 

souls, 
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, 
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop 200 
Turns insurrection to religion : 
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts, 
He's followed both with body and with mind ; 
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret 

stones ; 
Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause ; 
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, 
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 
And more and less do flock to follow him. 

North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak 

truth, 210 

This present grief had wiped it from my mind. 
Go in with me ; and counsel every man 
The aptest way for safety and revenge : 
Get posts and letters, and make friends with 

speed : 
Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. A street. 

Enter Falstaff, with his Page bearing his 
sword and buckler. 

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor 
to my water ? 

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a 
good healthy water; but, for the party that 
owed it, he might have more diseases than he 
knew for. 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at 
me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, 
man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to 
laughter, more than I invent or is invented on 
me : I am not only witty in myself, but the cause 
that wit is in other men. I do here walk before 
thee lil-e a sow that hath overwhelmed all her 
litter but one. If the prince put thee into my 



412 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act i. 



service for any other reason than to set me off, 
why then I have no judgement. Thou whoreson 
mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap 
than to wait at my heels. I was never manned 
with an agate till now: but I will inset you 
neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, 
and send you back again to your master, for a 
jewel, — the juvenal, the prince your master, 
whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner 
have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than 
he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will 
not stick to say his face is a face-royal : God 
may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss 
yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a 
barber shall never earn sixpence out of it ; and 
yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever 
since his father was a bachelor. He may keep 
his own grace, but he's almost out of mine, I 
can assure him. What said Master Dombledon 
about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? 

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him 
better assurance than Bardolph : he would not 
take his band and yours ; he liked not the 
security. 

Fal. Let him be damned, like the glutton ! 
pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson 
Achitophel ! a rascally yea-forsooth knave ! to 
bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon 
security ! The whoreson smooth-pates do now 
wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of 
keys at their girdles; and if a man is through 
with them in honest taking up, then they must 
stand upon security. I had as lief they would 
put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with 
security. I looked a' should have sent me two 
and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, 
and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep 
in security ; for he hath the horn of abundance, 
and the lightness of his wife shines through it : 
and yet cannot he see, though he have his own 
Ian thorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? 

Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your 
worship a horse. 

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy 
me a horse in Smithfield : an I could get me but 
a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and 
wived. 61 

Enter tJie Lord Chief- Justice and Servant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that 
committed the prince for striking him about 
Bardolph. 

Fal. Wait close ; I will not see him. 

Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? 

Serv. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the 
robbery ? 69 

Serv. He, my lord : but he hath since done 
good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is 
now going with some charge to the Lord John of 
Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back 
again. 

Serv. Sir John Falstaff! 

Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. 

Page. You must speak louder ; my master is 
deaf. 79 

Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of 



any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I 
must speak with him. 

Serv. Sir John ! 

Fal. What ! a young knave, and begging ! 
Is there not wars? is there not employment? 
doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels 
need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on 
any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than 
to be on the worst side, were it worse than the 
name of rebellion can tell how to make it. 90 

Serv. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest 
man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership 
aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. 

Serv. I pray you, sir, then set your knight- 
hood and your soldiership aside; and give me 
leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you 
say I am any other than an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay 
aside that which grows to me ! If thou gettest 
any leave of me, hang me ; if thou takest leave, 
thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter : 
hence ! avaunt ! 

Serv. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Ch. Jzist. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 

Fal. My good lord ! God give your lordship 
good time of day. I am glad to see your lord- 
ship abroad : I heard say your lordship was sick : 
I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. 
Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, 
hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish' 
of the saltness of time ; and I most humbly be- 
seech your lordship to have a reverent care of 
your health. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before 
your expedition to Shrewsbury. 

Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his 
majesty is returned with some discomfort from 
Wales. 

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty: you 
would not come when I sent for you. 121 

Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is 
fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. Well, God mend him ! I pray you, 
let me speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of 
lethargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of 
sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as 
it is. 130 

Fal. It hath its original from much grief, 
from study and perturbation of the brain : I have 
read the cause of his effects in Galen : it is a 
kind of deafness. 

Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the 
disease ; for you hear not what I say to you. 

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : rather, 
an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, 
the malady of not marking, that I am troubled 
withal. 140 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would 
amend the attention of your ears; and I care not 
if I do become your physician. 

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not 
so patient : your lordship may minister the potion 
of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty ; but 
how I should be your patient to follow your pre- 
scriptions, the wise may make some dram of a 
scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. 



Scene n.j 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



4i3 



Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were 
matters against you for your life, to come speak 
with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned 
counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not 
come. 

Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you 
live in great infamy. 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot 
live in less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and 
your waste is great. 160 

Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would my 
means were greater, and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am 
the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 

Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new- 
healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury 
hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on 
Gad's-hill : you may thank the unquiet time for 
your quiet o'er-posting that action. 171 

Fal. My lord? 

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : 
wake not a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a 
fox. 

Ch. Just. What ! you are as a candle, the 
better part burnt out. 

Fal. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: 
if I did say of wax, my growth would approve 
the truth. 181 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your 
face but should have his effect of gravity. 

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up 
and down, like his ill angel. 

Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is light ; 
but I hope he that looks upon me will take me 
without weighing : and yet, in some respects, I 
grant, I cannot go : I cannot tell. Virtue is of 
so little regard in these costermonger times that 
true valour is turned bear-herd : pregnancy is made 
a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving 
reckonings : all the other gifts appertinent to man, 
as the malice of this age shapes them, are not 
worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider 
not the capacities of us that are young ; you do 
measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness 
of your galls : and we that are in the vaward of 
our youth, I must confess, are wags too. 200 

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the 
scroll of youth, that are written down old with all 
the characters of age? Have you not a moist 
eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white 
beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is 
not your voice broken? your wind short? your 
chin double? your wit single? and every part 
about you blasted with antiquity? and will you 
yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John ! 

Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the 
clock in the afternoon, with a white head and 
something a round belly. For my voice, I have 
lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To 
approve my youth further, I will not : the truth 
is, I am only old in judgementand understanding; 
and he that will caper with me for a thousand 
marks, let him lend me the money, and have at 
him ! For the box of the ear that the prince gave 



you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took 
it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it, 
and the young lion repents ; marry, not in ashes 
and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. 

Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a better 
companion ! 

Fal. God send the companion a better prince ! 
I cannot rid my hands of him. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you 
and Prince Harry : I hear you are going with 
Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop 
and the Earl of Northumberland. 230 

Fal. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for 
it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady 
Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot 
day ; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out 
with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily : 
if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a 
bottle, I would I might never spit white again. 
There is not a dangerous action can peep out his 
head but I am thrust upon it : well, I cannot 
last ever : but it was alway yet the trick of our 
English nation, if they have a good thing, to 
make it too common. If ye will needs say I am 
an old man, you should give me rest. I would to 
God my name were not so terrible to the enemy 
as it is : I were better to be eaten to death with 
a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpe- 
tual motion. 

Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and 
God bless your expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand 
pound to furnish me forth ? 251 

Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you are 
too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well : 
commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant. 

Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. 
A man can no more separate age and covet- 
ousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery : 
but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches 
the other; and so both the degrees prevent rny 
curses. Boy ! 260 

Page. Sir? 

Fal. What money is in my purse? 

Page. Seven groats and two pence. 

Fal. I can get no remedy against this con- 
sumption of the purse : borrowing only lingers 
and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. 
Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster ; this 
to the prince ; this to the Earl of Westmoreland ; 
and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have 
weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first 
white hair on my chin. About it : you know 
where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this 
gout ! or, a gout of this pox ! for the one or the 
other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no 
matter if I do halt ; I have the wars for my colour, 
and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. 
A good wit will make use of any thing : I will 
turn diseases to commodity. [Exit. 

Scene III. York. The Archbishop's palace. 

Enter the Archbishop, the Lords Hastings, 
Mowbray, and Bardolph. 
Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and 
known our means ; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 



Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes : 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ? 

Mozub. I well allow the occasion of our arms; 
But gladly would be better satisfied 
How in our means we should advance ourselves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of the king. 

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 10 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice ; 
And our supplies live largely in the hope 
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 

L. Bard. The question then, Lord Hastings, 
standeth thus; 
Whether our present five and twenty thousand 
May hold up head without Northumberland? 

Hast. With him, we may. 

L. Bard. Yea, marry, there's the point : 

But if without him we be thought too feeble, 
My judgement is, we should not step too far 20 
Till we had his assistance by the hand; 
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this 
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
Of aids incertain should not be admitted. 

A rck. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph ; for indeed 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 

L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lined himself 
with hope, 
Eating the air on promise of supply, 
Flattering himself in project of a power 
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts : 
And so, with great imagination 31 

Proper to madmen, led his powers to death 
And winking leap'd into destruction. 

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt 
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. 

L. Bard. fYes, if this present quality of war, 
Indeed the instant action : a cause on foot 
Lives so in hope as in an early spring 
We see the appearing buds ; which to prove fruit, 
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair 40 
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, 
We first survey the plot, then draw the model ; 
And when we see the figure of the house, 
Then must we rate the cost of the erection; 
Which if we find outweighs ability, 
What do we then but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices, or at last desist 
To build at all? Much more, in this great work, 
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down 
And set another up, should we survey 50 

The plot of situation and the model, 
Consent upon a sure foundation, 
Question surveyors, know our own estate, 
How able such a work to undergo, 
To weigh against his opposite ; or else 
We fortify in paper and in figures, 
Using the names of men instead of men : 
Like one that draws the model of a house 
Beyond his power to build it ; who, half through, 
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost 60 

A naked subject to the weeping clouds 
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair 
birth, 
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
The utmost man of expectation, 
I think we are a body strong enough, 
Even as we are, to equal with the king. 



L.Bard. What, is the king but five and twenty 
thousand? 

Hast. To us no more ; nay, not so much, Lord 
Bardolph. 
For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 70 

Are in three heads : one power against the French, 
And one against Glendower ; perforce a third 
Must take up us : so is the unfirm king 
In three divided; and his coffers sound 
With hollow poverty and emptiness. 

Arch. That he should draw his several strengths 
together 
And come against us in full puissance, 
Need not be dreaded. 

Hast. If he should do so, 

He leaves his backunarm'd, the French and Welsh 
Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 80 

L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his forces 
hither? 

Hast. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmore- 
land; 
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth : 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 

A rck. Let us on, 

And publish the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice ; 
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited : 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 90 
O thou fond many, with what loud applause 
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be ! 
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. 
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, 
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? 
They that, when Richard lived, would have him 
die, 101 

Are now become enamour'd on his grave : 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head 
When through proud London he came sighing on 
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
Criest now ' O earth, yield us that king again, 
And take thou this !' O thoughts of men accursed ! 
Past and to come seems best; things present 
worst. 

Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers and 
set on ? 

Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids 
be gone. [Exeunt, no 

ACT II. 

Scene I. London. A street. 

Enter Hostess, Fang and his Boy with her, 
and Snare following. 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the 
action ? 

Fang: It is entered. 

Host. Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty 
yeoman? will a' stand to't? 

Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? 

Host. O Lord, ay ! good Master Snare. 

Snare. Here, here. 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



4*5 



Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. 

Host. Yea, good Master Snare ; I have en- 
tered him and all. n 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our 
lives, for he will stab. 

Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he 
stabbed me in mine own house, and that most 
beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mischief 
he does, if his weapon be out : he will foin like 
any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, 
nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for 
his thrust. 21 

Host. No, nor I neither : I '11 be at your elbow. 

Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come but 
within my vice, — 

Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant 
you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good 
Master Fang, hold him sure : good Master Snare, 
let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie- 
corner — saving your manhoods — to buy a saddle ; 
and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head 
in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silk- 
man : I pray ye, since my exion is entered and 
my case so openly known to the world, let him 
be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is 
a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and 
I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have 
been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbad off, 
from this day to that day, that it is a shame to 
be thought on. There is no honesty in such 
dealing ; unless a woman should be made an ass 
and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder 
he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, 
Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your 
offices: Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, 
do me, do me your offices. 

Enter Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph. 

Fal. How now! whose mare's dead? what's 
the matter? 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of 
Mistress Quickly. 49 

Fal. Away, varlets ! Draw, Bardolph: cut 
me off the villain's head : throw the quean in the 
channel. 

Host. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw 
thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou 
bastardly rogue ! Murder, murder ! Ah, thou 
honey-suckle villain ! wilt thou kill God's officers 
and the king's ? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue ! thou 
art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman- 
queller. 

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 60 

Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! 

Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. 
Thou wo 't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, 
thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 

Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you 
fustilarian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men. 

Ch. Just. What is the matter? keep the peace 
here, ho ! 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me. I be- 
| seech you, stand to me. 70 

Ch. Just. How now, Sir John ! what are you 
brawling here? 



Doth this become your place, your time and busi- 
ness? 
You should have been well on your way to York. 
Stand from him, fellow : wherefore hang'st upon 
him? 

Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please 
your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
he is arrested at my suit. 

Ch. Just. For what sum? 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is 
for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house 
and home ; he hath put all my substance into that 
fat belly of his : but I will have some of it out 
again, or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. 

Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if 
I have any vantage of ground to get up. 

Ch. Just. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! 
what man of good temper would endure this tem- 
pest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to 
enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come 
by her own? go 

Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 

Host. Marry, if thou wcrt an honest man, 
thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to 
me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dol- 
phin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal 
fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when 
the prince broke thy head for liking his father to 
a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to 
me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry 
me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou 
deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butchers 
wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? 
coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar ; telling us 
she had a good dish of prawns ; whereby thou 
didst desire to eat some ; whereby I told thee they 
were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, 
when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be 
no more so familiarity with such poor people; 
saying that ere long they should call me madam? 
And didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee 
thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book- 
oath : deny it, if thou canst. 

Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul ; and 
she says up and down the town that her eldest 
son is like you : she hath been in good case, and 
the truth is, poverty hath distradted her. But 
for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may 
have redress against them. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, Sir John, I am well 
acquainted with your manner of wrenching the 
true cause the false way. It is not a confident 
brow, nor the throng of words that come with 
such more than impudent saucinessfrom you, can 
thrust me from a level consideration : you have, 
as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yield- 
ing spirit of this woman, and made her serve your 
uses both in purse and in person. 
Host. Yea, in truth, my lord. 
Ch. Just. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt 
you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done 
her : the one you may do with sterling money, and 
the other with current repentance. 

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap 
without reply. You call honourable boldness 
impudent sauciness: if a man will make courtesy 
and say nothing, he is virtuous : no, my lord, my 
humble duty remembered, I will not be your 
suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance from 



: 



4i6 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act ii. 



these officers, being upon hasty employment in 
the king's affairs. 140 

Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do 
wrong : but answer in the effect of your reputa- 
tion, and satisfy the poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. 

Enter Gower. 

Ch. Just. Now, Master Gower, what news? 

Goiv. The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of 
Wales 
Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. 

Host. Faith, you said so before. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. Come, no more 
words of it. 151 

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I 
must be fain to pawn both my plate and the 
tapestry of my dining-chambers. 

Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: 
and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the 
story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting in 
water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed- 
hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it 
be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 'twere not 
for thy humours, there's not a better wench in 
England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. 
Come, thou must not be in this humour with me ; 
dost not know me? come, come, I know thou 
wast set on to this. 

Host. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty 
nobles : i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so 
God save me, la ! 

Fal. Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll 
be a fool still. 170 

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn 
my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. You'll 
pay me all together ? 

Fal. Will I live? [To Bardol/h] Go, with 
her, with her ; hook on, hook on. 

Host. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you 
at supper? 

Fal. No more words ; let's have her. 
[Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, and Boy. 

Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 

Fal. What's the news, my lord? 180 

Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night ? 

Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : what is the 
news, my lord ? 

Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 

Gow. No ; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred 
horse, 
Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. 

Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my 
noble lord ? 

Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me pre- 
sently : 190 
Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. 

Fal. My lord ! 

Ch. Just. What's the matter? 

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with 
me to dinner? 

Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here ; I 
thank you, good Sir John. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, 
being you are to take soldiers up in counties as 
you go. 200 



Fal. Will you sup with me, Master Gower? 

Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you 
these manners, Sir John? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, 
he was a fool that taught them me. This is the 
right fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so 
part fair. 

Ch. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee ! thou 
art a great fool. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. Another street. 
Enter Prince Henry aw^ Poins. 

Prince. Before God, I am exceeding weary. 

Poins, Is't come to that? I had thought 
weariness durst not have attached one of so high 
blood. 

Prince. Faith, it does me ; though it discolours 
the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge 
it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small 
beer? 

Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
studied as to remember so weak a composition. 

Prince. Belike then my appetite was not 
princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remem- 
ber the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, 
these humble considerations make me out of love 
with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me 
to remember thy name ! or to know thy face to- 
morrow ! or to take note how many pair of silk 
stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that 
were thy peach-coloured ones ! or to bear the 
inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and 
another for use ! But that the tennis-court-keeper 
knows better than I ; for it is a low ebb of linen 
with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as 
thou hast not done a great while, because the 
rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat 
up thy holland : and God knows, whether those 
that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit 
his kingdom : but the midwives say the children 
are not in the fault; whereupon the world in- 
creases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have 
laboured so hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell 
me, how many good young princes would do so, 
their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? 

Prince. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? 

Poi?is. Yes, faith ; and let it be an excellent 
good thing. 

Prince. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one 
thing that you will tell. 41 

Prince. Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that 
I should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I 
could tell to thee, as to one it pleases me, for 
fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, 
and sad indeed too. 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 

Prince. By this hand, thou thinkest me as 
far in the devil's book as thou and Falstafffor 
obduracy and persistency: let the end try the 
man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly 
that my father is so sick : and keeping such vile 
company as thou art hath in reason taken from 
me all ostentation of sorrow. 

Poins. The reason? 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



Prince. What wouldst thou think of me, if I 
should weep? 

Poins. I would think thee a most princely 
hypocrite. 59 

Prince. It would be every man's thought ; and 
thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man 
thinks : never a man's thought in the world keeps 
the road-way better than thine : every man would 
think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites 
your most worshipful thought to think so ? 

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd 
and so much engraffed to Falstaff. 

Prince. And to thee. 

Poins. By this light, I am well spoke on ; I can 
hear it with mine own ears: the worst that they 
can say of me is that I am a second brother and 
that I am a proper fellow of my hands ; and those 
two things, I confess, 1 cannot help. By the mass, 
here comes Bardolph. 

Enter Bakdolph and Page. 

Prince. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' 
had him from me Christian : and look, if the fat 
villain have not transformed him ape. 

Pa rd. God save your grace ! 

Prince. And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 79 

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful 
fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you 
now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you 
become ! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's 
maidenhead ? 

Page. A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through 
a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his 
face from the window : at last I spied his eyes, 
and methought he had made two holes in the 
ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped through. 

Prince. Has not the boy profited? 90 

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, 
away ! 

Page. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, 
away ! 

Prince. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? 

Page. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she 
was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I 
call him her dream. 

Prince. A crown's worth of good interpreta- 
tion : there 'tis, boy. 100 

Poms. O, that this good blossom could be 
kept from cankers ! Well, there is sixpence to 
preserve thee. 

Bard. An you do not make him hanged 
among you, the gallows shall have wrong. 

Prince. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ? 

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your 
grace's coming to town : there's a letter for you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. And 
how doth the martlemas, your master'.' no 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a phy- 
sician ; but that moves not him : though that be 
sick, it dies not. 

Prince. I do allow this wen to be as familiar 
with me as my dog; and he holds his place; 
for look you how he writes. 

Poins. [Heads] ' John Falstaff, knight,' — every 
man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to 
name himself: even like those that are kin to the 
king; fur they never prick their finger but they 
say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 



'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon 
him not to conceive. The answer is as ready 
as a borrower's cap, ' 1 am the king's poor 
cousin, sir.' 

Prince. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they 
will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter : 

Poins. [Reads] ' Sir John Falstaff, knight, to 
the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry 
Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a 
certificate. 

Prince. Peace ! 

Poins. [Reads] ' I will imitate the honour- 
able Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity 
in breath, short-winded. ' I commend me to thee, 
I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too 
familiar with Poins ; for he misuses thy favours 
so much, that he swears thou art to marry his 
sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest ; 
and so, farewell. 141 

' Thine, by yea and no, which is as much 
as to say, as thou usest him, Jack Fal- 
staff with my familiars, John with my 
brothers and sisters, and Sir John with 
all Europe.' 
My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make 
him eat it. 

Prince. That's to make him eat twenty of his 
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I 
marry your sister ? 151 

Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune ! 
But I never said so. 

Prince. Well, thus we play the fools with 
the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the 
clouds and mock us. Is your master here in 
London? 

Bard. Yea, my lord. 

Prince. Where sups he? doth the old boar 
feed in the old frank? 160 

Bard. At the old place, my lord, in East- 
cheap. 

Prince. What company? 

Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. 

Prince. Sup any women with him? 

Page. None, mjr lord, but old Mistress Quickly 
and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. 

Prince. What pagan may that be? 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- 
woman of my master's. 170 

Prince. Even such kin as the parish heifers 
are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, 
Ned, at supper? 

Poins. 1 am your shadow, my lord ; I'll follow 
you. 

Prince. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no 
word to your master that I am yet come to town : 
there's for your silence. 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. 180 

Prince. Fare you well ; go. [Exeunt Bar- 
dolph and Page.] This Doll Tearsheet should be 
some road. 

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way 
between Saint Albans and London. 

Prince. How might we see Falstaff bestow 
himself to-night in his true colours, and not our- 
selves be seen ? 

Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins and 
aprons, and wait upon him at his table as 
drawers. 191 



-7 



Prince. From a God to a bull? a heavy 
descension ! it was Jove's case. From a prince 
to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall 
be mine ; for in every thing the purpose must 
weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene III. Warkworih. Before the castle. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northum- 
berland, and Lady Percy. 
North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle 

daughter, 
Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
Put not you on the visage of the times 
And be like them to Percy troublesome. 

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no 

more : 
Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 
North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at 

pawn ; 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 
Lady P. O yet, for God's sake, go not to 

these wars ! 
The time was, father, that you broke your word, 
When you were more endear'd to it than now ; n 
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear 

Harry, 
Threw many a northward look to see his father 
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ? 
There were two honours lost, yours and your 

son's. 
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it ! 
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun 
In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light 
Did all the chivalry of England move 20 

To do brave acts : he was indeed the glass 
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves* 
He had no legs that practised not his gait ; 
And speaking thick, which nature made his 

blemish, 
Became the accents of the valiant ; 
For those that could speak low and tardily 
Would turn their own perfection to abuse, 
To seem like him : so that in speech, in gait, 
In diet, in affections of delight, 
In military rules, humours of blood, 30 

He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous 

him ! 
O miracle of men ! him did you leave, 
Second to none, unseconded by you, 
To look upon the hideous god of war 
In disadvantage ; to abide a field 
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
Did seem defensible : so you left him. 
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong 
To hold your honour more precise and nice 40 
With others than with him ! let them alone : 
The marshal and the archbishop are strong : 
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 

North. Beshrew your heart, 

Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go and meet with danger there, 
I Or it will seek me in another place 



And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 50 

Till that the nobles and the armed commons 
Have of their puissance made a little taste. 

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of 
the king, 
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, 
First let them try themselves. So did your son ; 
He was so suffered : so came I a widow ; 
And never shall have length of life enough 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
For recordation to my noble husband. 61 

North. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis 
with my mind 
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, 
That makes a still-stand, running neither way : 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, 
But many thousand reasons hold me back. 
I will resolve for Scotland : there am I, 
Till time and vantage crave my company. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Lo7idon. The Boar 's-head Tavern 
in Eastcheap. 

Enter two Drawers. 

First Draw. What the devil hast thou brought 
there? apple-johns? thou knowest Sir John can- 
not endure an apple-john. 

Sec. Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The 
prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, 
and told him there were five more Sir Johns, 
and, putting off his hat, said ' I will now take my 
leave of these six dry, round, old, withered 
knights.' It angered him to the heart: but he 
hath forgot that. 10 

First Draw. Why, then, cover, and set them 
down : and see if thou canst find out Sneak's 
noise ; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some 
music. Dispatch : the room where they supped 
is too hot; they'll come in straight. 

Sec. Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince 
and Master Poins anon ; and they will put on 
two of our jerkins and aprons ; and Sir John 
must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought 
word. 20 

First Draw. By the mass, here will be old 
Utis : it will be an excellent stratagem. 

Sec. Draw. I '11 see if I can find out Sneak. 

{Exit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll Tearsheet. 

Host. V faith, sweetheart, methinks now you 
are in an excellent good temperality : your pul- 
sidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would 
desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as 
red as any rose, in good truth, la ! But, i' faith, 
you have drunk too much canaries; and that's 
a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes 
the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How 
do you now? 

Dol. Better than I was : hem ! 

Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's 
worth gold. Lo, here comes Sir John. 

Enter Falstaff. 
Fal. {Singing} 'When Arthur first in court' 



Scene iv.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



419 



— Empty the Jordan. [Exit First Drawer]. — 
[Singing] 'And was a worthy king.' How now, 
Mistress Doll ! 

Host. Sick of a calm ; yea, good faith. 40 

Fat. So is all her seel ; an they be once in a 
calm, they are sick. 

Dot. You muddy rascal, is that all the com- 
fort you give me? 

Fat. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. 

Dot. I make them ! gluttony and diseases 
make them ; I make them not. 

Fat. If the cook help to make the gluttony, 
you help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch 
of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my 
poor virtue, grant that. 51 

Dot. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. 

Fal. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches:' 
for to serve bravely is to come halting off, you 
know: to come off the breach with his pike bent 
bravely, and to surgery bravely ; to venture upon 
the charged chambers bravely, — 

Dot. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
yourself! 59 

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; 
you two never meet but you fall to some discord : 
you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic as two 
dry toasts ; you cannot one bear with another's 
confirmities. What the good-year ! one must 
bear, and that must be you : you are the weaker 
vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel. 

Dot. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a 
huge full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's 
venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not 
seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold. Come, 
I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou art going 
to the wars ; and whether I shall ever see thee 
again or no, there is nobody cares. 

Re-enter First Drawer. 

First Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol 's below, and 
would speak with you. 

Dot. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him 
not come hither: it is the foul-mouthed' st rogue in 
England. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : 
no, by my faith ; I must live among my neigh- 
bours ; I '11 no swaggerers : I am in good name 
and fame with the very best : shut the door ; 
there comes no swaggerers here : I have not 
lived all this while, to have swaggering now : 
shut the door, I pray you. 

Fat. Dost thou hear, hostess? 

Host. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John : 
there comes no swaggerers here. 

Fat. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. 89 

Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me : 
your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. 
I was before Master Tisick, the debuty, t'other 
day ; and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer ago 
than Wednesday last, T good faith, neighbour 
Quickly,' says he ; Master Dumbe, our minister, 
was by then; 'neighbour Quickly,' says he, 
'receive those that are civil ; for,' said he, 'you 
are in an ill name:' now a' said so, I can tell 
whereupon; 'for,' says he, 'you are an honest 
woman, and well thought on ; therefore take 
heed what guests you receive: receive,' says he, 
' no swaggering companions.' There comes none 



here : you would bless you to hear what he said : 
no, I '11 no swaggerers. 

Fat. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame 
cheater, i' faith ; you may stroke him as gently 
as a puppy greyhound : he'll not swagger with a 
Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any 
show of resistance. Call him up, drawer. 

[Exit First Drawer. 

Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no 
honest man my house, nor no cheater : but I do 
not love swaggering, by my troth ; I am the 
worse, when one says swagger: feel, masters, 
how I shake ; look you, I warrant you. 

Dot. So you do, hostess. 

Host. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 
'twere an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swag- 
gerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Fist. God save you, Sir John ! 179 

Fal. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, 
I charge you with a cup of sack : do you discharge 
upon mine hostess. 

Fist. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with 
two bullets. 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly 
offend her. 

Host. Come, I '11 drink no proofs nor no bul- 
lets : I'll drink no more than will do me good, 
for no man's pleasure, I. 

Fist. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy ; I will 
charge you. 131 

Dot. Charge me ! I scorn you, scurvy com- 
panion. What ! you poor, base, rascally, cheat- 
ing, lack-linen mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, 
away ! I am meat for your master. 

Fist. I know you, Mistress Dorothy. 

Dot. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy 
bung, away ! by this wine, I '11 thrust my knife in 
your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle 
with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you 
basket-hilt stale juggler, you ! Since when, I 
pray you, sir? God's light, with two points on 
your shoulder? much ! 

Fist. God let me not live, but I will murder 
your ruff for this. 

Fal. No more, Pistol ; I would not have you 
go off here : discharge yourself of our company, 
Pistol. 

Host. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, 
sweet captain. 150 

Dot. Captain ! thou abominable damned 
cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called 
captain? An captains were of my mind, they 
would truncheon you out, for taking their names 
upon you before you have earned them. You a 
captain; you slave, for what? for tearing a poor 
whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! 
hang him, rogue ! he lives upon mouldy stewed 
prunes and dried cakes. A captain ! God's light, 
these villains will make the word as odious as 
the word 'occupy ;' which was an excellent good 
word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains 
had need look to't. 

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 

Fal Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll. 

Fist. Not I : I tell thee what, Corporal Bar- 
dolph, I could tear her: I'll be revenged of her. 

Pag*, Pray thee, go down. 



27-2 



420 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act ii. 



Pist. I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's 
damned lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, 
with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook 
and line, say I. Down, down, dogs ! down, 
faitors ! Have we not Hiren here ? 

Host. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis 
very late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggravate 
your choler. 

Pist. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall 
pack-horses 
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day, 
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 180 
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with 
King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys ? 

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very 
bitter words. 

Bard. Be gone, good ancient : this will grow 
to a brawl anon. 

Pist. Die men like dogs! give crowns like 
pins! Have we not Hiren here ? 189 

Host. O' my word, captain, there's none such 
here. What the good-year ! do you think I would 
deny her? For God's sake, be quiet. 

Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis. 
Come, give's some sack. 

'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.' 
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire : 
Give me some sack : and, sweetheart, lie thou 
there. [Laying dozun his sword. 

Come we to full points here ; and are etceteras 
nothing? 

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif : what ! we 
have seen the seven stars. 201 

Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down stairs : 
I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. 

Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not 
Galloway nags ? 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
groat shilling : nay, an a' do nothing but speak 
nothing, a' shall be nothing here. 

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 

Pist. What ! shall we have incision ? shall we 

imbrue? [Snatching up his sword. 210 

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful 

days! 
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
Untwine the Sisters Three ! Come, Atropos, I say ! 

Host. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 

Dol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not 
draw. 

Fal. Get you down stairs. 

[Drawing, and driving Pistol out. 

Host. Here 's a goodly tumult ! I '11 forswear 
keeping house, afore I '11 be in these tirrits and 
frights. So ; murder, I warrant now. Alas, 
alas ! put up your naked weapons, put up your 
naked weapons. [Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph. 

Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's 
gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, 
you! 

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought 
a' made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 

Re-enter Bardolph. 
Fal. Have you turned him out o' doors? 



Bard. Yea, sir. The rascal 's drunk : you 
have hurt him, sir, i' the shoulder. 231 

Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, poor 
ape, how thou sweatest ! come, let me wipe thy 
face ; come on, you whoreson chops : ah, rogue ! 
i' faith, I love thee: thou art as valorous as 
Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and 
ten times better than the Nine Worthies : ah, 
villain ! 

Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in 
a blanket. 241 

Dol. Do, an thou darest for thy heart : an 
thou dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of 
sheets. 

Enter Music. 

Page. The music is come, sir. 

Fal. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my 
knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue 
fled from me like quicksilver. 

Dol. V faith, and thou followedst him like a 
church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
boar-pig, when. wilt thou leave fighting o' days 
and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine 
old body for heaven ? 

Enter, behind, Prince Henry and Poins, dis- 
guised. 

Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a 
death's-head ; do not bid me remember mine end. 

Dol. Sirrah, what humour's the prince of? 

Fal. A good shallow young fellow : a' would 
have made a good pantler, a' would ha' chipped 
bread well. 

Dol. They say Poins has a good wit. 260 

Fal. He a good w^t? hang him, baboon! his 
wit's as thick as Tewksbury mustard; there's 
no more conceit in him than is in a mallet. 

Dol. Why does the prince love him so, then? 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness, 
and a' plays at quoits well, and eats conger and 
fennel, and drinks off candles' ends for flap- 
dragons, and rides the wild-mare with the boys, 
and jumps upon joined-stools, and swears with a 
good grace, and wears his boots very smooth, 
like unto the sign of the leg, and breeds no bate 
with telling of discreet stories ; and such other 
gambol faculties a' has, that show a weak mind 
and an able body, for the which the prince admits 
him : for the prince himself is such another ; the 
weight of a hair will turn the scales between 
their avoirdupois. 

Prince. Would not this nave of a wheel have 
his ears cut off? 

Poins. Let 's beat him before his whore. 280 

Prince. Look, whether the withered elder 
hath not his poll clawed like a parrot. 

Poins. Is it not strange that desire should so 
many years outlive performance? 

Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 

Prince. Saturn and Venus this year in con- 
junction! what says the almanac to that? 

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, 
his man, be not lisping to his master's old tables, 
his note-book, his counsel-keeper. 290 

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 

Dol. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most 
constant heart. 



Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a 
scurvy young boy of them all. 

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall 
receive money o' Thursday: shalt have a cap to- 
morrow. A merry song, come : it grows late ; 
we '11 to bed. Thou 'It forget me when I am gone. 

Dol. By my troth, thou 'It set me a- weeping, 
an thou sayest so : prove that ever I dress myself 
handsome till thy return : well, hearken at the 
end. 

Fal. Some sack, Francis. 

p'' ice ' | Anon, anon, sir. {Coming forward. 

Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's? And 
art not thou Poins his brother? 

Prince. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
what a life dost thou lead ! 310 

Fal. A better than thou : I am a gentleman ; 
thou art a drawer. 

Prince. Very true, sir ; and I come to draw 
you out by the ears. 

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! 
by my troth, welcome to London. Now, the 
Lord bless that sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, are 
you come from Wales? 

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of ma- 
jesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou 
art welcome. 321 

Dol. How, you fat fool ! I scorn you. 

Pains. My lord, he will drive you out of your 
revenge and turn all to a merriment, if you take 
not the heat. 

Prince. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
vilely did you speak of me even now before this 
honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman ! 

Host. God's blessing of your good heart ! and 
so she is, by my troth. 330 

Fal. Didst thou hear me ? 

Prince. Yea, and you knew me, as you did 
when you ran away by Gad's-hill: you knew I 
was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try 
my patience. 

Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think thou 
wast within hearing. 

Prince. I shall drive you then to confess the 
wilful abuse ; and then I know how to handle you. 

Fal. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour ; no abuse. 

Pri?ice. Not to dispraise me, and call me 
pan tier and bread-chipper and I know not what? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse? 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world ; honest 
Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, 
that the wicked might not fall in love with him; 
in which doing, I have done the part of a careful 
friend and a true subject, and thy father is to 
give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal : none, 
JNed, none: no, faith, boys, none. 351 

Prince. See now, whether pure fear and entire 
cowardice doth not make thee wrong this virtuous 
gentlewoman to close with us? is she of the 
wicked? is thine hostess here of the wicked? or 
is thy boy of the wicked? or honest Bardolph, 
whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked? 

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph 
irrecoverable ; and his face is Lucifer's privy- 
kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt- 



worms. For the boy, there is a good angel about 
him; but the devil outbids him too. 

Prince. For the women ? 

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, 
and burns poor souls. For the other, I owe her 
money; and whether she be damned for that, I 
know not. 

Host. No, I warrant you. 369 

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think thou 
art quit for that. Marry, there is another indict- 
ment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in 
thy house, contrary to the law; for the which I 
think thou wilt howl. 

Host. All victuallers do so: what's a joint of 
mutton or two in a whole Lent? 

Prince. You, gentlewoman, — 

Dol. What says your grace ? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
against. {Knocking within. 380 

Host. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to 
the door there, Francis. 

Enter Peto. 

Prince. Peto, how now ! what news? 

Peto. The king your father is at Westminster ; 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
Come from the north : and, as I came along, 
I met and overtook a dozen captains, 
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. 

Prince. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to 
blame, 390 

So idly to profane the precious time, 
When tempest of commotion, like the south 
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt 
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night. 
{Exeunt Prince Henry, Poins, Peto, 
and Bardolph. 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of 
the night, and we must hence and leave it un- 
picked. {Knocking within.] More knocking at 
the door ! 

Re-enter Bardolph. 
How now ! what's the matter? 400 

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; 
A dozen captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. [ To the Page] Pay the musicians, sirrah. 
Farewell, hostess ; farewell, Doll. You see, my 
good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : 
the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action 
is called on. Farewell, good wenches: if I benot 
sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. 

Dol. I cannot speak ; if my heart be not ready 
to burst, — well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 

Fal. Farewell, farewell. {Exeunt Falstaff 
and Bardolph. 

Host. Well, fare thee well : I have known thee 
these twenty nine years, come peascod-time ; but 
an honester and truer-hearted man, — well, fare 
thee well. 

Bard. {Within] Mistress Tearsheet! 

Host. What's the matter? 

Bard. {Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come 
to my master. 419 

Host. O, run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll : come. 
{She conies blubbered.] Yea, will you come. Doll ? 

{Exeunt. 



SECOND PART 'OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act hi. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Westminster. The palace. 
Enter the King in his nightgown, with a Page. 
King. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of 

Warwick ; 
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these 

letters, 
And well consider of them : make good speed. 

[Exit Page. 
How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down 
And steep my senses in forgetfulness? 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee 10 

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 
Under the canopies of costly state, 
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? 
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile 
In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch 
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge 20 

And in the visitation of the winds, 
Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them 
With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds, 
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? 
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, 
And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down ! 30 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 

Enter Warwick and Surrey. 
War. Many good morrows to your majesty! 
King. Is it good morrow, lords? 
War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 
King. Why, then, good morrow to you all, my 
lords. 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you ? 
War. We have, my liege. 
King. Then you perceive the body of our 
kingdom 
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow, 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 40 

War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd ; 
Which to his former strength may be restored 
With good advice and little medicine : 
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 
King. O God ! that one might read the book 
of fate, 
And see the revolution of the times 
Make mountains level, and the continent, 
j Weary of solid firmness, melt itself 
i Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
1 The beachy girdle of the ocean 50 

• Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances meek, 
And changes fill the cup of alteration 
With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen, 
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, 
j What perils past, what crosses to ensue, 
j Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 



'Tis not ten years gone 

Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, 

Did feast together, and in two years after 

Were they at wars : it is but eight years since 60 

This Percy was the man nearest my soul, 

Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs 

And laid his love and life under my foot, 

Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard 

Gave him defiance. But which of you was by — 1 

You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember — 

[To Warwick. 
When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears, 
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, 
Did speak these words, now proved a prophecy? 
' Northumberland, thou ladder by the which 70 
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne ; ' 
Though then, God knows, I had no such intent, 
But that necessity so bow'd the state 
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss : 
' The time shall come,' thus did he follow it, 
'The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
Shall break into corruption :' so went on, 
Foretelling this same time's condition 
And the division of our amity. 

War. There is a history in all men's lives, 80 
Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; 
The which observed, a man may prophesy, 
With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds 
And weak beginnings lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of time ; 
And by the necessary form of this 
King Richard might create a perfect guess 
That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness ; 
Which should not find a ground to root upon, 91 
Unless on you. 

King. Are these things then necessities? 

Then let us meet them like necessities: 
And that same word even now cries out on us : 
They say the bishop and Northumberland 
Are fifty thousand strong. . 

War. It cannot be, my lord ; 

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, 
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your grace 
To go to bed. » Upon my soul, my lord, 
The powers that you already have sent forth 100 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
To comfort you the more, I have received 
A. certain instance that Glendower is dead. 
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill, 
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add 
Unto your sickness. 

King. I will take your counsel : 

And were these inward wars once out of hand, 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice 
Shallow's house. 

Enter Shallow and Silence, vzeeting; Moul- 
dy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bullcalf, a 
Servant or two with them. 
Shal. Come on, come on, come on, sir ; give 

me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an 

early stirrer, by the rood ! And how doth my 

good cousin Silence? 

Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



423 



Sluzl. And how doth my cousin, your bedfel- 
low? and your fairest daughter and mine, my 
god-daughter Ellen? 

Sil. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow ! 9 

Sluil. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my 
cousin William is become a good scholar : he is at 
Oxford still, is he not? 

Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. 

Shal. A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. 
j I was once of Clement's Inn, where I think they 
: will talk of mad Shallow yet. 

Sil. You were called ' lusty Shallow ' then, 
cousin. 

S/ial. By the mass, I was called any thing ; 
and I would have done any thing indeed too, and 
roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit 
of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and 
Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele, a Cotswold 
man ; you had not four such swinge-bucklers in 
all the inns o' court again : and I may say to you, 
we knew where the bona-robas were and had the 
best of them all at commandment. Then was 
Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy, and page to 
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 

Sil. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
anon about soldiers? 31 

S/ial. The same Sir John, the very same. I 
see him break Skogan's head at the court-gate, 
when a' was a crack not thus high : and the very 
same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, 
a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the 
mad days that I have spent ! and to see how many 
of my old acquaintance are dead ! 

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 39 

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very 
sure : death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to 
all ; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks 
at Stamford fair? 

Sil. By my troth, I was not there. 

Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of your 
town living yet? 

Sil. Dead, sir. 

Shal. Jesu, Jesu, dead ! a' drew a good bow ; 
and dead ! a' shot a fine shoot : John a Gaunt 
loved him well, and betted much money on his 
head. Dead ! a' would have clapped i' the clout 
at twelve score ; and carried you a forehand shaft 
a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would 
have done a man's heart good to see. How a 
score of ewes now? 

Sil Thereafter as they be : a score of good 
ewes may be worth ten pounds. 

Shal. And is old Double dead? 

Sil. Here come two of Sir John Falstaff" s 
men, as I think. 60 

Enter Bardolph and one with him. 

Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I 
beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? 

Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire 
of this county, and one of the king's justices of 
the peace : what is your good pleasure with me? 

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you; 
my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentleman, 
by heaven, and a most gallant leader. 

Shal. He greets me well, sir. I knew him a 
good backsword man. How doth the good knight? 
may I ask how my lady his wife doth? 71 



Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accom- 
modated than with a wife. 

S/ial. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is 
well said indeed too. Better accommodated ! it 
is good ; yea, indeed, is it : good phrases are 
surely, and ever were, very commendable. Ac- 
commodated ! it comes of ' accommodo : ' very 
good ; .1 good phrase. 79 

Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. 
Phrase call you it? by this good day, I know not 
the phrase; but I will maintain the word with 
my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word 
of exceeding good command, by heaven. Ac- 
commodated ; that is, when a man is, as they say, 
accommodated ; or when a man is, being, where- 
by a' maybe thought to be accommodated; which 
is an excellent thing. 

Shal. It is very just. 89 

Enter Falstaff. 
Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your 
good hand, give me your worship's good hand : 
by my troth, you like well and bear your years 
very well : welcome, good Sir John. 

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master 
Robert Shallow: Master Surecard, as I think? 

Shal. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, 
in commission with me. 

Fal. Good Master Silence, it well befits you 
should be of the peace. 

Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 100 

Fal. Fie ! this is hot weather, gentlemen. 
Have you provided me here half a dozen suffi- 
cient men? 

Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shal. Where's the roll? where's the roll? 
where's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me 
see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so: yea, marry, sir: 
Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let 
them do so, let them do so. Let me see ; where 
is Mouldy? 11 1 

Moid. Here, an't please you. 

Shal. What think you, Sir John? a good- 
limbed fellow ; young, strong, and of good friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? 

Moul. Yea, an 't please you. 

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! 
things that are mouldy lack use : very singular 
good! in faith, well said, Sir John, very well said. 

Fal. Prick him. 121 

Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an 
you could have let me alone : my old dame will 
be undone now for one to do her husbandry and 
her drudgery : you need not to have pricked me ; 
there are other men fitter to go out than I. 

Fal. Go to : peace, Mouldy ; you shall go. 
Mouldy, it is time you were spent. 

Moul. Spent ! 129 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside : know 
you where you are? For the other, Sir John : let 
me see : Simon Shadow ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under: 
he's like to be a cold soldier. 

Shal. Where's Shadow? 

Shad. Here, sir. 

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou? 

S.'iad. My mother's son, sir. 



424 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act hi. 



Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough, and thy 
father's shadow : so the son of the female is the 
shadow of the male : it is often so, indeed ; but 
much of the father's substance! 

Shal. Do you like him, Sir John? 

Fal. Shadow will serve for summer; prick 
him, for we have a number of shadows to fill up 
the muster-book. 

Shal. Thomas Wart ! 

Fal. Where's he ? 

Wart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name Wart? 150 

Wart. Yea, sir. 

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Shal. Shall I prick him down, Sir John? 

Fal. It were superfluous ; for his apparel is 
built upon his back and the whole frame stands 
upon pins : prick him no more. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! you can do it, sir ; you can 
do it : I commend you well. Francis Feeble ! 

Fee. Here, sir. 

Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble ? 160 

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 

Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's 
tailor, he 'Id ha' pricked you. Wilt thou make as 
many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done 
in a woman's petticoat? 

Fee. I will do my good will, sir : you can have 
no more. 

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor ! well said, 
courageous Feeble ! thou wilt be as valiant as the 
wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick 
the woman's tailor: well, Master Shallow; deep, 
Master Shallow. 

Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. 

Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that 
thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. 
I cannot put him to a private soldier that is the 
leader of so many thousands: let that suffice, 
most forcible Feeble. 

Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 180 

Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. 
Who is next? 

Shal. Peter Bullcalf o' the green ! 

Fal. Yea, many, let's see Bullcalf. 

Bull. Here, sir. 

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! Come, prick 
me Bullcalf till he roar again. 

Bull. O Lord ! good my lord captain, — 

Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art 
pricked? 190 

Bull. O Lord, sir ! I am a diseased man. 

Fal. What disease hast thou? 

Bull. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which 
I caught with ringing in the king's affairs upon 
his coronation-day, sir. 

Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a 
gown ; we will have away thy cold ; and I will 
take such order that thy friends shall ring for 
thee. Is here all? 199 

Shal. Here is two more called than your 
number ; you must have but four here, sir : and 
so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I 
cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by 
my troth, Master Shallow. 

Shal. O, Sir John, do you remember since we 
lay all night in the windmill in Saint George's field ? 



Fal. No more of that, good Master Shallow, 
no more of that. 

Shal. Ha ! 'twas a merry night. And is Jane 
Nightwork alive ? 211 

Fal. She lives, Master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me. 

Fal. Never, never ; she would always say she 
could not abide Master Shallow. 

Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the 
heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she 
hold her own well? 

Fal. Old, old, Master Shallow. 219 

Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot 
choose but be old; certain she's old; and had 
Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I 
came to Clement's Inn. 

Sil. That's fifty five year ago. 

Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen 
that that this knight and I have seen ! Ha, Sir 
John, said I well? 

Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, 
Master Shallow. 229 

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we 
have ; in faith, Sir John, we have : our watch- 
word was 'Hem boys!' Come, let's to dinner; 
come, let's to dinner: Jesus, the days that we 
have seen ! Come, come. 

{Exeunt Falstaff and the Justices. 

Bull. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand 
my friend ; and here 's four Harry ten shillings 
in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I 
had as lief be hanged, sir, as go : and yet, for 
mine own part, sir, I do not care ; but rather, 
because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, 
have a desire to stay with my friends ; else, sir, 
I did not care, for mine own part, so much. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Moid. And, good master corporal captain, for 
my old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has 
nobody to do any thing about her when I am 
gone ; and she is old, and cannot help herself: 
you shall have forty, sir. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 249 

Fee. By my troth, I care not ; a man can die 
but once : we owe God a death : I '11 ne'er bear a 
base mind: an't be my destiny, so; an't be not, 
so: no man is too good to serve's prince; and 
let it go which way it will, he that dies this year 
is quit for the next. 

Bard. Well said ; thou 'rt a good fellow. 

Fee. Faith, I '11 bear no base mind. 

Re-enter Falstaff and the Justices. 

Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 

Shal. Four of which you please. 

Bard. Sir, a word with you : I have three 
pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf. 261 

Fal. Go to ; well. 

Shal. Come, Sir John, which four will you 
have? 

Fal. Do you choose for me. 

Shal. Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble 
and Shadow. 

Fal. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, 
stay at home till you are past service : and for 
your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto it : 
I will none of you. 271 

Shal. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



425 



wrong : they are your likeliest men, and I would 
have you served with the best. 

Fal. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how 
to choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, 
the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man ! 
Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here's 
Wart ; you see what a ragged appearance it is : 
a' shall charge you and discharge you with the 
motion of a pewterer's hammer, come off and on 
swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's 
bucket. And this same half-faced fellow, Sha- 
dow; give me this man: he presents no mark to 
the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim 
level at the edge of a penknife. And for a re- 
treat ; how swiftly will this Feeble the woman's 
tailor run off! O, give me the spare men, and 
spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into 
Wart's hand, Bardolph. 290 

Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse ; thus, thus, thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So: 
very well : go to : very good, exceeding good. 
O, give me always a little, lean, old, chapt, bald 
shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart: thou'rt a good 
scab: hold, there's a tester for thee. 

Shal. He is not his craft's master ; he doth 

not do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green, 

when I lay at Clement's Inn, — I was then Sir 

' Dagonet in Arthur's show, — there was a little 

! quiver fellow, and a' would manage you his piece 

! thus ; and a' would about and about, and come 

you in and come you in: 'rah, tah, tah,' would 

a' say; 'bounce' would a' say; and away again 

would a' go, and again would a' come : I shall 

I ne'er see such a fellow. 

Fal. These fellows will do well, Master Shal- 

I low. God keep you, Master Silence : I will not 
use many words with you. Fare you well, gen- 
tlemen both : I thank you : I must a dozen mile 

j to-night. Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. 311 

Shal. Sir John, the Lord bless you ! God 

1 prosper your affairs ! God send us peace ! At 

I I your return visit our house; let our old acquaint- 
ance be renewed: peradventure I will with ye to 
the court. 

Fal. 'Fore God, I would you would, Master 
Shallow. 

Shal. Goto; I have spoke at a word. God 
keep you. 320 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt 
Justices.] On, Bardolph; lead the men away. 
[Exeunt Bardolph, Recruits, &>c] As I return, 
I will fetch off these justices: I do see the bottom 
of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we 
old men are to this vice of lying ! This same 
starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me 
of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he 
hath done about Turnbull Street: and every 
third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the 
Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Clement's 
Inn like a man made after supper of a cheese- 
paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the 
world, like a forked radish, with a head fantas- 
tically carved upon it with a knife : a' was so for- 
lorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were 
invincible : a' was the very genius of famine ; yet 
lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called 
him mandrake : a' came ever in the rearward of 
the fashion, and sung those tunes to the over- 
scutched huswives that he heard the carmen 



whistle, and sware they were his fancies or his 
good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger be- 
come a squire, and talks as familiarly of John a 
Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; 
and I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but once in the 
Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head for crowd- 
ing among the marshal's men. I saw it, and told 
John a Gaunt he beat his own name ; for you 
might have thrust him and all his apparel into an 
eel-skin ; the case of a treble hautboy was a man- 
sion for him, a court : and now has he land and 
beefs. Well, I'll be acquainted with him, if I 
return ; and it shall go hard but I will make him 
a philosopher's two stones to me : if the young 
dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason in 
the law of nature but I may snap at him. Let 
time shape, and there an end. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest. 

Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, 
Hastings, and ot/iers. 

Arch. What is this forest call'd? 

Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please 
your grace. 

Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send disco- 
verers forth 
To know the numbers of our enemies. 

Hast. We have sent forth already. 

A rch. 'Tis well done. 

My friends and brethren in these great affairs, 
I must acquaint you that I have received 
New-dated letters from Northumberland ; 
Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus: 
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
As might hold sortance with his quality, 11 

The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes, 
To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers 
That your attempts may overlive the hazard 
And fearful meeting of their opposite. 

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him 
touch ground 
And dash themselves to pieces. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Hast. Now, what news? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 

In goodly form comes on the enemy; 20 

And, by the ground they hide, I judge their 

number 
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. 

Mowb. The just proportion that we gave 
them out. 
Let us sway on and face them in the field. 
Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us 
here? 

Enter Westmoreland. 
Mcnvb. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. 
// 'est. Health and fair greeting from our 
general, 
The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. 
A rch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in 
peace : 
What doth concern your coming? 

II 'est. Then, my lord, 30 



426 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act iv. 



Unto your grace do I in chief address 

The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 

Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 

Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, 

And countenanced by boys and beggary, 

I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, 

In his true, native and most proper shape, 

You, reverend father, and these noble lords 

Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 

Of base and bloody insurrection 40 

With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, 

Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd, 

Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd, 

Whose learning and good letters peace hath 

tutor'd, 
Whose whit£ investments figure innocence, 
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, 
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself 
Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace, 
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ; 
Turning your books to \ graves, your ink to blood, 
Your pens to lances and your tongue divine 51 
To a loud trumpet and a point of war ? 

Arch. Wherefore do I this? so the question 
stands. 
Briefly to this end : we are all diseased, 
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours 
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
And we must bleed for it ; of which disease 
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, 
I take not on me here as a physician, 60 

Nor do I as an enemy to peace 
Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
But rather show awhile like fearful war, 
To diet rank minds sick of happiness 
And purge the obstructions which begin to stop 
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we 

suffer, 
And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 
We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
And are enforced from our most quiet there 71 
By the rough torrent of occasion ; 
And have the summary of all our griefs, 
When time shall serve, to show in articles ; 
Which long ere this we offer'd to the king, 
And might by no suit gain our audience : 
When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs, 
We are denied access unto his person 
Even by those men that most have done us wrong. 
The dangers of the days but newly gone, 80 

Whose memory is written on the earth 
With yet appearing blood, and the examples 
Of every minute's instance, present now, 
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms, 
Not to break peace or any branch of it, 
But to establish here a peace indeed, 
Concurring both in name and quality. 

West. When ever yet was your appeal denied? 
Wherein have you been galled by the king? 
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you, go 
That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine 
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge ? 

A rch. f My brother general, the commonwealth, 
To brother born an household cruelty, 
I make my quarrel in particular. 



West. There is no need of any such redress ; 
Or if there were, it not belongs to you. 

Mowb. Why not to him in part, and to us all 
That feel the bruises of the days before, 100 

And suffer the condition of these times 
To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
Upon our honours? 

West. O, my good Lord Mowbray, 

Construe the times to their necessities, 
And you shall say indeed, it is the time, 
And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
Yet for your part, it not appears to me 
Either from the king or in the present time 
That you should have an inch of any ground 
To build a grief on : were you not restored 110 
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories, 
Your noble and right well remember'd father's? 
Motvb. What thing, in honour, had my father 

lost, 
That need to be revived and breathed in me? 
The king that loved him, as the state stood then, 
Was force perforce compell'd to banish him : 
And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he, 
Being mounted and both roused in their seats, 
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, 119 
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, 
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel 
And the loud trumpet blowing them together, 
Then, then, when there was nothing could have 

stay'd 
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
O, when the king did throw his warder down, 
His own life hung upon the staff he threw ; 
Then threw he down himself and all their lives 
That by indictment and by dint of sword 
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 

West. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you 

know not what. 130 

The Earl of Hereford was reputed then 
In England the most valiant gentleman : 
Who knows on whom fortune would then have 

smiled? 
But if your father had been victor there, 
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry: 
For all the country in a general voice 
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers and 

love 
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on 
And bless'd and gracedindeed, more than the king. 
But this is mere digression from my purpose. 140 
Here come I from our princely general 
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace 
That he will give you audience ; and wherein 
It shall appear that your demands are just, 
You shall enjoy them, every thing set off 
That might so much as think you enemies. 

Mowb. But he hath forced us to compel this 

offer; 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 

West. Mowbray, you overween to take it so ; 
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear: 150 
For, lo ! within a ken our army lies, 
Upon mine honour, all too confident 
To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
Our battle is more full of names than yours, 
Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; 
Then reason will our hearts should be as good: 
Say you not then our offer is compell'd. 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



427 



Mowb. Well, by my will we shall admit no 

parley. 
West. That argues but the shame of your 
offence : . l6 ° 

A rotten case abides no handling. 

Hast. Hath the Prince John a full commission, 
In very ample virtue of his father, 
To hear and absolutely to determine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon? 

// 'est. That is intended in the general's name : 
I muse you make so slight a question. 
Arch. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, 
this schedule, 
For this contains our general grievances : 
Each several article herein redress'd, 170 

All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
That are insinew'd to this adtion, 
Acquitted by a true substantial form 
And present execution of our wills 
To us and to our purposes confined, 
We come within our awful banks again 
And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 

West. This will I show the general. Please 
you, lords, 
In sight of both our battles we may meet ; 
And either end in peace, which God so frame ! 180 
Or to the place of difference call the swords 
Which must decide it. 

Arch. Mv lord, we will do so. [Exit West. 
Mowb. The're is a thing within my bosom tells 
me 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our 
peace 
Upon such large terms and so absolute 
As our conditions shall consist upon, 
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. 

Mowb. Yea, but our valuation shall be such 
That every slight and false-derived cause, 190 
Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason 
Shail to the king taste of this action ; 
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, 
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind 
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff 
And good from bad find no partition. 
Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this; the king 
is weary 
Of dainty and such picking grievances : 
For he hath found to end one doubt by death 
Revives two greater in the heirs of life, 200 

And therefore will he wipe his tables clean 
And keep no tell-tale to his memory 
That may repeat and history his loss 
To new remembrance ; for full well he knows 
He cannot so precisely weed this land 
As his misdoubts present occasion : 
His foes are so enrooted with his friends 
That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend: 
So that this land, like an offensive wife 210 

That hath enraged him on to offer strokes, 
As he is striking, holds his infant up 
And hangs resolved correction in the arm 
That was uprear'd to execution. _ 

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his 
rods 
On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
The very instruments of chastisement : 
So that his power, like to a fangless lion, 



May offer, but not hold. 

Arch. 'Tis very true : 

And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal, 
If we do now make our atonement well, 221 

Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
Grow stronger for the breaking. 

Mowb. B e il: so - . . 

Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 
West. The prince is here at hand: pleaseth 
your lordship 
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies. 
Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name, 

then, set forward. 
Arch. Before, and greet his grace : my lord, 
we come. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A notherpart 0/ the forest. 

Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; 
afterwards the Archbishop, Hastings, and 
others: from the other side, Prince John of 
Lancaster, and Westmoreland ; Officers, 
and others with them. 

Lan. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin 
Mowbray : 
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop ; 
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. 
My Lord of York, it better show'd with you 
When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
Encircled you to hear with reverence 
Your exposition on the holy text 
Than now to see you here an iron man, 
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 
Turning the word to sword and life to death. 10 
That man that sits within a monarch's heart, 
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, 
Would he abuse the countenance of the king, 
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach 
In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord 

bishop, 
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken 
How deep you were within the books ot God? 
To us the speaker in his parliament ; 
To us the imagined voice of God himself; 
The very opener and intelligencer 20 

Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven 
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe 
But you misuse the reverence of your place, 
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, 
As a false favourite doth his prince's name, 
In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up, 
Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
The subjects of his substitute, my father, 
And both against the peace of heaven and him 
Have here up-swarm'd them. 

A rch. Good my Lord of Lancaster, 30 

I am not here against your father's peace ; 
1 But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, 
I The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, 
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form, 
["o hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
The parcels and particulars of our grief, 
The which hath been with scorn shoved from the 

court, 
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born ; 
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep 
With grant of our most just and right desires, 40 



428 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act iv. 



And true obedience, of this madness cured, 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 

Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
To the last man. 

Hast. And though we here fall down. 

We have supplies to second our attempt : 
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them ; 
And so success of mischief shall be born 
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up 
Whiles England shall have generation. 

Lan. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
shallow, 50 

To sound the bottom of the after-times. 

West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them 
directly 
How far forth you do like their articles. 

Lan. I like them all, and do allow them well, 
And swear here, by the honour of my blood, 
My father's purposes have been mistook, 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning and authority. 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ; 
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, 
Discharge your powers unto their several counties, 
As we will ours : and here between the armies 
Let's drink together friendly and embrace, 
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home 
Of our restored love and amity. 

A rch. I take your princely word for these re- 
dresses. 

Lan. I give it you, and will maintain my word : 
And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 

Hast. Go, captain, and deliver to the army 69 

This news of peace : let them have pay, and part : 

I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain. 

[Exit Officer. 

A rch. To you, my noble Lord of Westmore- 
land. 

West. I pledge your grace ; and, if you knew 
what pains 
I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, 
You would drink freely : but my love to ye 
Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 

A rch. I do not doubt you. 

West. I am glad of it. 

Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 

Mowb. You wish me health in very happy 
season ; 
For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 80 

A rch. Against ill chances men are ever merry ; 
But heaviness foreruns the good event. 

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden 
sorrow 
Serves to say thus, 'some good thing comes to- 
morrow. ' 

Airh. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 

Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule 
be true. [Shouts within. 

Lan. The word of peace is render'd: hark, 
how they shout ! 

Mowb. This had been cheerful after victory. 

Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest ; 
For then both parties nobly are subdued, 90 

And neither party loser. 

Lan. Go, my lord, 

And let our army be discharged too. 

[Exit Westmoreland. 
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
March by us, that we may peruse the men 



We should have coped withal. 

Arch. Go, good Lord Hastings, 

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. . 
[Exit Hastings. 
Lan. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night toge- 
ther. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 
Now cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? 
West. The leaders, having charge from you to 
stand, 
Will not go off until they hear you speak. 100 
Lan. They know their duties. 

Re-enter Hastings. 
Hast. My lord, our army is dispersed already : 
Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their 

courses 
East, west, north, south; or, like a school 

broke up, 
Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place. 
West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for 
the which 
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : 
And you, lord archbishop, and you, lord Mow- 
bray, 
Of capital treason I attach you both. 

Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable ? 
West. Is your assembly so? in 

Arch. Will you thus break your faith? 
Lan. I pawn'd thee none : 

I promised you redress of these same grievances 
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine 

honour, 
I will perform with a most Christian care. 
But for you, rebels, look to taste the due 
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. 
Most shallowly did you these arms commence, 
Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence. 
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray: 
God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. 121 
Some guard these traitors to the block of death, 
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the forest. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff 
and Colevile, meeting. 

Fal. What 's your name, sir ? of what condi- 
tion are you, and of what place, I pray? 

Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is 
Colevile of the dale. 

Fal. Well, then, Colevile is your name, a 
knight is your degree, and your place the dale : 
Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your 
degree, and the dungeon your place, a place 
deep enough; so shall you be still Colevile of 
the dale. 10 

Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 
Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I 
do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and 
they weep for thy death : therefore rouse up 
fear and trembling, and do observance to my 
mercy. 

Cole. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and 
in that thought yield me. 19 

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in 



Scene hi.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



429 



this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them 
all speaks any other word but my name. An I 
had but a belly of any indifferency, I were 
simply the most active fellow in Europe: my 
womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me. Here 
comes our general. 

Enter Prince John of Lancaster, West- 
moreland, Blunt, and others. 

Lan. The heat is past ; follow no further now : 
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exit 11 'estmoreland. 
Now, FalstafF, where have you been all this 

while? 
When every thing is ended, then you come : 30 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should 
be thus : I never knew yet but rebuke and check 
was the reward of valour. Do you think me a 
swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my 
poor and old motion, the expedition of thought/ 
I have speeded hither with the very extremest 
inch of possibility; I have foundered nine score 
and odd posts : and here, travel-tainted as I am, 
have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken 
Sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious 
knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? 
he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say, 
with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, ' I came, 
saw, and overcame.' 

Lan. It was more of his courtesy than your 
deserving. . ... 

Fal. I know not : here he is, and here I yield 
him : and I beseech your grace, let it .be booked 
with the rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the Lord, 
I will have it in a particular ballad else, with 
mine own pifture on the top on't, Colevile 
kissing my foot: to the which course if I be 
enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two- 
pences to me, and I in the clear sky of fame 
o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the 
cinders of the element, which show like pins' 
heads to her, believe not the word of the noble : 
therefore let me have right, and let desert 
mount. " x 

Lan. Thine's too heavy to mount. 
Fal. Let it shine, then. 
Lan. Thine's too thick to shine. 
Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, 
that may do me good, and call it what you will. 
Lan. Is thy name Colevile? 
Cole. It is, my lord. 

Lan. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 70 
Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are 
That led me hither : had they been ruled by me, 
You should have won them dearer than you have. 
Fal. I know not how they sold themselves: 
but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away 
gratis ; and I thank thee for thee. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

Lan. Now, have you left pursuit? 
West. Retreat is made and execution stay'd. 
Lan. Send Colevile with his confederates 
To York, to present execution : 80 



Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him 
sure. 

[Exeunt Blunt and others with Colevile. 
And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords : 
I hear the king my father is sore sick : 
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, 
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him, 
And we with sober speed will follow you. 

Fal. My lord, 1 beseech you, give me leave 
to go 
Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come 

to court, 
Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. 
Lan. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my con- 
dition, 9° 
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. 

{Exeunt all but Falstaff. 
FaL I would you had but the wit: 'twere 
better than your dukedom. Good faith, this 
same young sober-blooded boy doth not love 
me ; nor a man cannot make him laugh ; but 
that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's 
never none of these demure boys come to any 
proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their 
blood, and making many fish-meals, that they 
fall into a kind of male green-sickness ; and then, 
when they marry, they get wenches: they are 
generally fools and cowards ; which some of us 
should be too, but for inflammation. A good 
sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It 
ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the 
foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ 
it ; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full 
of nimble fiery and delectable shapes; which, 
delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which 
is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second 
property of your excellent sherris is, the warming 
of the blood; which, before cold and settled, 
left the liver white and pale, which is the badge 
of pusillanimity and cowardice ; but the sherris 
warms it and makes it course from the inwards 
to the parts extreme: it illumineth the face, 
which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest 
of this little kingdom, man. to arm: and then 
the vital commoners and inland petty spirits 
muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, 
great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any 
deed of courage ; and this valour comes of sherris. 
So that skill in the weapon is nothing without 
sack, for that sets it a-work ; and learning a mere 
hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack com- 
mences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof 
comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the 
cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, 
he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, manured, 
husbanded and tilled with excellent endeavour 
of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, 
that he is become very hot and valiant. If I 
had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I 
would teach them should be, to forswear thin 
potations and to addict themselves to sack. 

Enter Bardolph. 

How now, Bardolph? 

Bard. The army is discharged all and gone. 

Fal. Let them go. I'll through Gloucester- 
shire; and there will I visit Master Robert Shal- 
low, esquire: I have him already tempering 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV 



[Act iv. 



between my finger and my thumb, and shortly 
will I seal with him. Come away. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem 
Chamber. 

Enter the King, the Princes Thomas of 

Clarence and Humphrey of Gloucester, 

Warwick, and others. 

King. Now, lords, if God doth give success- 
ful end 
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, 
We will our youth lead on to higher fields 
And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
Our navy is address'd, our power collected, 
Our substitutes in absence well invested, 
And every thing lies level to our wish: 
Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 10 

War. Both which we doubt not but your 
majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

King. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, 

Where is the prince your brother? 

Glou. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at 
Windsor. 

King. And how accompanied? 

Glou. I do not know, my lord. 

King. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
with him? 

Glou. No, my good lord ; he is in presence here. 

Clar. What would my lord and father? 

King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of 
Clarence. 
How chance thou art not with the prince thy 
brother? 20 

He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas ; 
Thou hast a better place in his affection 
Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy, 
And noble offices thou mayst effect 
Of mediation, after I am dead, 
Between his greatness and thy other brethren : 
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love, 
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace 
By seeming cold or careless of his will; 
For he is gracious, if he be observed : 30 

He hath a tear for pity and a hand 
Open as day for melting charity : 
Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint, 
As humorous as winter and as sudden 
As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
His temper, therefore, must be well observed: 
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth; 
But, being moody, give him line and scope, 
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 40 
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, 

Thomas, 
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, 
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, 
That the united vessel of their blood, 
Mingled with venom of suggestion— 
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in — 
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
As aconitum or rash gunpowder. 

Clar. I shall observe him with all care and love. 

King. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
Thomas? 50 



Clar. He is not there to-day; he dines in 

London. 
King. And how accompanied? canst thou tell 

that? 
Clar. With Poins, and other his continual fol- 
lowers. 
King. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; 
And he, the noble image of my youth, 
Is overspread with them : therefore my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death: 
The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape 
In forms imaginary the unguided days 
And rotten times that you shall look upon 60 

When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, 
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
When means and lavish manners meet together, 
O, with what wings shall his affections fly 
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay ! 

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him 
quite : 
The prince but studies his companions 
Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the lan- 
guage, 
'Tis needful that the most immodest word 70 

Be look'd upon and learn'd ; which once attain' d» 
Your highness knows, comes to no further use 
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, 
The prince will in the perfectness of time 
Cast off his followers; and their memory 
Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
By which his grace must mete the lives of others, 
Turning past evils to advantages. 
King. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave 
her comb 
In the dead carrion. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

Who's here? Westmoreland? 80 
West. Health to my sovereign, and new hap- 
piness 
Added to that that I am to deliver ! 
Prince John your son doth kiss your grace's hand : 
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings and all 
Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, 
But Peace puts forth her olive every where. 
The manner how this action hath been borne 
Here at more leisure may your highness read, 
With every course in his particular. go 

King. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer 
bird, 
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
The lifting up of day. 

Enter Harcourt. 

Look, here's more news. 
Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; 
And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
As those that I am come to tell you of ! 
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, 
With a great power of English and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
The manner and true order of the fight 100 

This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
King. And wherefore should these good news 
make me sick? 
Will Fortune never come with both hands full, 
But write her fair words still in foulest letters? 



Scene i\\] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



43 1 



She either gives a stomach and no food : 
Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast 
And takes away the stomach; such are the rich, 
That have abundance and enjoy it not. 
I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy : 
O me ! come near me ; now I am much ill. in 
Glou. Comfort, your majesty ! 
Clar. O my royal father ! 

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, 

look up. 
War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, these 
fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 
Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be 
well. 
Clar. No, no, "he cannot long hold out these 
pangs : 
The incessant care and labour of his mind 
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in 
So thin that life looks through and will break out. 
Glou. The people fear me ; for they do observe 
Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature : 
The seasons change their manners, as the year 
Had found some months asleep and leap'd them 
over. 
Clar. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb 
between ; 
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
Say it did so a little time before 
That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'dand died. 
War. Speak lower, princes, for the king re- 
covers. 
Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end. 130 
King. I pray you, take me up, and bear me 
hence 
Into some other chamber : softly, pray. 

Scene V. Another chamber. 

The King lying on a bed: Clarence, Glouces- 
ter, Warwick, and others in attendance. 

King. Let there be no noise made, my gentle 
friends ; 
Unless some dull and favourable hand 
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 

Wor. Call for the music in the other room. 

King. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 

Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 

War. Less noise, less noise ! 



Enter Prince Henry. 

Prince. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? 

Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 

Prince. How now ! rain within doors, and 
none abroad ! 
How doth the king? 10 

Glou. Exceeding ill. 

Prince. Heard he the good news yet? 

Tell it him. 

Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 

Prince. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover 
without physic. 

War. Not so much noise, my lords: sweet 
prince, speak low ; 
The king your father is disposed to sleep. 

Clar. Let us withdraw into the other room. 



War. Will't please your grace to go along 

with us? 
Prince. No; I will sit and watch here by the 

king. [Exeunt all but tlie Prince. 20 

Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 
O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
To many a watchful night ! sleep with it now ! 
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet 
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound 
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! 
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 30 

That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
There lies a downy feather which stirs not: 
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
Perforce must move. My gracious lord ! my 

father ! 
This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep 
That from this golden rigol hath divorced 
So many English kings. Thy due from me 
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, 
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously : 40 
My due from thee is this imperial crown, 
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, 
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, 
Which God shall guard: and put the world's 

whole strength 
Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
This lineal honour from me : this from thee 
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 
King. Warwick ! Gloucester ! Clarence ! 

Re-enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, 

and the rest. 

Clar. Doth the king call? 

War. W T hat would your majesty? How fares 

your grace ? c 

King. Why did you leave me here alone, my 

lords? 
Clar. We left the prince my brother here, my 
liege, 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
King. The Prince of Wales ! Where is he ? 
let me see him : 
He is not here. 

War. This door is open ; he is pone this way. 
Glou. He came not through the chamber 

where we stay'd. 
King. Where is the crown ? who took it from 

my pillow? 
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left 

it here. 
King. The prince hath ta'en it hence : go, 
seek him out. 60 

Is heso hasty that he doth suppose 
My sleep my death? 

Find him, my Lord of Warwick : chide him 
hither. {Exit Warwick. 

This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
And helps to end me. See, sons, what things. 

you are ! 
How quickly nature falls into revolt 
When gold becomes her object ! 
For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their 
brains with care, 



432 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act iv. 



Their bones with industry ; 70 

For this they have engrossed and piled up 
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; 
For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
Their sons with arts and martial exercises : 
When, like the bee, culling from every flower 
The virtuous sweets, 
Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with 

honey, 
We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, 
Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste 
Yield his engrossments to the ending father. 80 

Re-enter Warwick. 
Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
Till his friend sickness hath determined me? 

War. My lord, I found the prince in the 
next room, 
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, 
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow 
That tyranny, which never quaff 'd but blood, 
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 

King. But wherefore did he take away the 



Re-enter Prince Henry. 

Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. 

Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 91 

[Exeunt Warwick and the rest. 

Prince. I never thought to hear you speak 

again. 
King. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 

thought : 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair 
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours 
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth ! 
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm 

thee. 
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind 100 

That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
Thou hast stolen that which after some few 

hours 
Were thine without offence ; and at my death 
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not, 
And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 
Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 109 

What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? 
Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself, 
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse 
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head : 
Only compound me with forgotten dust; 
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. 
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
For now a time is come to mock at form : 
Harry the Fifth is crown'd : up, vanity ! 120 

Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, 

hence! 
And to the English court assemble now, 
From every region, apes of idleness ! 
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your 



Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, 
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? 
Be happy, he will trouble you no more ; 
England shall double gild his treble guilt, 
England shall give him office, honour, might ; 130 
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. 

my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? 

O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
Prince. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for my 
tears, 
The moist impediments unto my speech, 140 

1 had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke 
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
And He that wears the crown immortally 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more 
Than as your honour and as your renown, 
Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit 
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. 
God witness with me, when I here came in, 150 
And found no course of breath within your ma- 1 

jesty, 
How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 
O, let me in my present wildness die 
And never live to show the incredulous world 
The noble change that I have purposed ! 
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, 
I spake unto this crown as having sense, 
And thus upbraided it : ' The care on thee de- 
pending 
Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 160 

Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of gold ; 
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, 
Preserving life in medicine potable ; 
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most re- 

nown'd, 
Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal 

liege, 
Accusing it, I put it on my head, 
To try with it, as with an enemy 
That had before my face murder'd my father, 
The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
But if it did infect my blood with joy, 170 

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
Did with the least affection of a welcome 
Give entertainment to the might of it, 
Let God for ever keep it from my head 
And make me as the poorest vassal is 
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 

King. O my son, 
God put it in thy mind to take it hence, 
That thou mightst win the more thy father's 
love, 180 

Pleading so wisely in excuse of it ! 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, 
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways 
I met this crown; and I myself know well 
How troublesome it sat upon my head. 



Scene v.j 



SECOND PAR T OF KING HENRY IV. 



To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 190 

With me into the earth. It seem'd in me 
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand, 
And I had many living to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances ; 
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, 
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears 
Thou see'st with peril I have answered ; 
For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
Acting that argument : and now my death 
Changes the mode ; for what in me was pur- 
chased, 200 
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
Yet, though thou stand' st more sure than I 

could do, 
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
And all my friends, which thou must make thy 

friends, 
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 
By whose fell working I was first advanced 
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
To be again displaced : which to avoid, 
I cut them off; and had a purpose now 210 

To lead out many to the Holy Land, 
Lest rest and lying still might make them look 
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds 
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne 

out, 
May waste the memory of the former days. 
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so 
That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
How I came by the crown, O God forgive ; 
And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 

Prince. My gracious liege, 221 

You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
Then plain and right must my possession be : 
Which I with more than with a common pain 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 

Enter Lord John of Lancaster. 

Kin*. Look, look, here comes my John of 

Lancaster. 
Lati. Health, peace, and happiness to my 

royal father ! 
King. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, 
son John ; 
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
From this bare wither'd trunk : upon thy sight 
My worldly business makes a period. 231 

Where is my Lord of Warwick ? 

Prince. My Lord of Warwick ! 

Enter Warwick, and others. 

King. Doth any name particular belong 
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ? 

War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 

King. Laud be to God ! even there my life 
must end. 
It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
I should not die but in Jerusalem; 
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land : 
But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; 240 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Gloucestershire. Shallow's house. 

Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolfh, 
and Page. 

Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not 
away to-night. What, Davy, I say ! 

Fal. You must excuse me, Master Robert 
Shallow. 

Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be 
excused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is 
no excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused. 
Why, Davy ! 

Enter Daw, 

Davy. Here, sir. g 

Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, 
Davy ; let me see, Davy ; let me see : yea, marry, 
William cook, bid him come hither. Sir John, 
you shall not be excused. 

Davy. Marry, sir, thus; those precepts can- 
not be served : and, again, sir, shall we sow the 
headland with wheat? 

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William 
cook : are there no young pigeons? 

Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note 
for shoeing and plough-irons. 20 

Shal. Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you 
shall not be excused. 

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket 
must needs be had : and, sir, do you mean to stop 
any of William's wages, about the sack he lost 
the other day at Hinckley fair? 

Shal. A' shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, 
a couple of short-legged hens, a joint of mutton, 
and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William 
cook. 30 

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, 
sir? 

Shal. Yea, Davy. I will use him well: a 
friend i' the court is better than a penny in purse. 
Use his men well, Davy; for they are arrant 
knaves, and will backbite. 

Davy. No worse than the;' are backbitten, 
sir; for they have marvellous fou. 'inen. 

Shal. Well conceited, Davy : about thy busi- 
ness, Davy. 40 

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance 
William Visor of Woncot against Clement Perkes 
of the hill. 

Shal. There is many complaints, Davy, against 
that Visor : that Visor is an arrant knave, on my 
knowledge. 

Davy. I grant your worship that he is a knave, 
sir; but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should 
have some countenance at his friend's request. 
An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, 
when a knave is not. I have served your wor- 
ship truly, sir, this eight years ; and if I cannot 
once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against 
an honest man, I have but a very little credit with 
your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, 
sir ; therefore, I beseech your worship, let him be 
countenanced. 

Shal. Go to ; I say he shall have no wrong. 
Look about, Davy, [Exit Davy.'] Where are 
you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off with 



28 



434 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act v. 



your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bar- 
dolph. 

Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind 
Master Bardolph : and welcome, my tall fellow 
[to the Page]. Come, Sir John. 

Fal. I'll follow you, good Master Robert 
Shallow. {Exit Shallow.] Bardolph, look to 
our horses. {Exeunt Bardolph and Page.] If 
I were sawed into quantities, I should make four 
dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master 
Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the sem- 
bable coherence of his men's spirits and his ; they, 
by observing of him, do bear themselves like 
foolish justices; he, by conversing with them, is 
turned into a j ustice-Iike serving-man : their spirits 
are so married in conjunction with the participa- 
tion of society that they flock together in consent, 
like so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to Mas- 
ter Shallow, I would humour his men with the 
imputation of being near their master: if to his 
men, I would curry with Master Shallow that no 
man could better command his servants. It is 
certain that either wise bearing or ignorant car- 
riage is caught, as men take diseases, one of 
another: therefore let men take heed of their 
company. I will devise matter enough out of 
this Shallow to keep Prince Harry in continual 
laughter the wearing out of six fashions, which is 
four terms, or two actions, and a' shall laugh 
without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie 
with a slight oath and a jest with a sad brow will 
do with a fellow that never had the ache in his 
shoulders ! O, you shall see him laugh till his 
face be like a wet cloak ill laid up ! 

Shal. [Within] Sir John ! 

Fal. I come, Master Shallow; I come. Mas- 
ter Shallow. {Exit. 

Scene II. Westminster. The palace. 

Enter Warwick and the Lord Chief-Justice, 
meeti?ig. 
War. How now, my lord chief-justice ! whither 

away? 
Ch. Just. How doth the king? 
War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all 

ended. 
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 
War. He's walk'd the way of nature ; 

And to our purposes he lives no more. 

Ch. Just. I would his majesty had call'd me 
with him : 
The service that I truly did his life 
Hath left me open to all injuries. 

War. Indeed I think the young king loves 

you not. 
Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do arm 
myself 10 

To welcome the condition of the time, 
Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 

Enter Lancaster, Clarence, Gloucester, 
Westmoreland, and others. 
War. Here come the heavy issue of dead 
Harry : 
O that the living Harry had the temper 
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 



How many nobles then should hold their places, 
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort ! 

Ch. Just. O God, I fear all will be over- 
turn' d ! 
Lan. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good 
morrow. 20 

Glou.y „ , 
Clar ( " 00t * morrow, cousin. 

Lan. We meet like men that had forgot to 

speak. 
War. We do remember ; but our argument 
Is all too heavy to admit much talk. 
Lan. Well, peace be with him that hath made 

us heavy ! 
Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be 

heavier ! 
Glou. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend 
indeed ; 
And I Hare swear you borrow not that face 
Of seeming sorrow, it is sure your own. 
Lan. Though no man be assured what grace 
to find, 30 

You stand in coldest expectation : 
I am the sorrier ; would 'twere otherwise. 

Clar. Well, you must now speak Sir John 
Falstaff fair ; 
Which swims against your stream of quality. 
Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in 
honour, 
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; 
And never shall you see that I will beg 
A ragged and forestall'd remission. 
If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
I '11 to the king my master that is dead, 40 

And tell him who hath sent me after him. 
War. Here comes the prince. 

Enter King Henry the Fifth, attended. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow; and God save your 
majesty ! 

King. This new and gorgeous garment, ma- 
jesty, 
Sits not so easy on me as you think. 
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear : 
This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, 
But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, 
For, by my faith, it very well becomes you : 50 
Sorrow so royally in you appears 
That I will deeply put the fashion on 
And wear it in my heart : why then, be sad ; 
But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
For me, by heaven, I bid you be assured, 
I '11 be your father and your brother too ; 
Let me but bear your love, I '11 bear your cares : 
Yet weep that Harry's dead ; and so will I ; 
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears 60 
By number into hours of happiness. 

Princes. We hope no other from your majesty. 

King. You all look strangely on me : and you 
most ; 
You are, I think, assured I love you not. 

Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured 
rightly, 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me, 

King. No ! 
How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
So great indignities you laid upon me? 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



435 



V? 






What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy? 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? 
Ck. Just. I then did use the person of your 

father • 
The image of his power lay then in me : 
And, in the administration of his law, 
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
The majesty and power of law and justice, 
The image of the king whom I presented, 
And struck me in my very seat of judgement; 80 
Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
I gave bold way to my authority 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
Be you contented, wearing now the garland, 
To have a son set your decrees at nought, 
To pluck down justice from your awful bench, 
To trip the course of law and blunt the sword 
That guards the peace and safety of your person ; 
"ay, more, to spurn at your most royal image 
.-iiio pock your workings in a second body. 90 
a your royal thoughts, make the case 

yours; 
Be now the father and propose a son, 
Hear your own dignity so much profaned. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd ; 
And then imagine me taking your part 
Andi n your power soft silencing your son : 
After this cold considerance, sentence me ; 
And, as you are a king, speak in your state 
What I have done that misbecame my place, 100 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 
King. You are right, justice, and you weigh 

this well : 
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword : 
And I do wish your honours may increase, 
Till you do live to see a son of mine 
Offend you and obey you, as I did. 
So shall I live to speak my father's words : 
' Happy am I, that have a man so bold, 
That dares do justice on my proper son ; 
And not less happy, having such a son, no 

That would deliver up his greatness so 
Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me: 
For which, I do commit into your hand 
The unstained sword that you have used to bear; 
With this remembrance, that you use the same 
With the like bold, ju^t and impartial spirit 
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand. 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
My vice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear, 
And I will stoop and humble my intents 120 

To your well-practised wise directions. 
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; 
My father is gone wild into his grave, 
For in his tomb lie my affections ; 
And with his spirit sadly I survive, 
To mock the expectation of the world, 
To frustrate prophecies and to raze out 
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now : 130 

Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, 
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods 
And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament : 
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, 



That the great body of our state may go 

In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ; 

That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 

As things acquainted and familiar to us; 

In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. 

Our coronation done, we will accite, 141 

As I before remember'd, all our state : 

And, God consigning to my good intents, 

No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, 

God shorten Harry's happy life one day ! 

\Extunt. 



Scene III. Gloucestershire. Shallow's 
orchard. 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Davy, 
Bardolph, and the Page. 

Shal. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, 
in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin 
of my own grafting, with a dish of caraways, 
and so forth : come, cousin Silence : and then 
to bed. 

Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly 
dwelling and a rich. 

Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, 

beggars all, Sir John : marry, good air. Spread, 

Davy; spread, Davy: well said, Davy. 10 

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he 

is your serving-man and your husband. 

Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very 
good varlet, Sir John : by the mass, I have 
drunk too much sack at supper : a good varlet. 
Now sit down, now sit down : come, cousin. 
Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, we shall 
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 

[Singing: 
And praise God for the merry year; 
When flesh is cheap and females dear, 20 

And lusty lads roam here and there 

So merrily, 
And ever among so merrily. 
Fal. There's a merry heart! Good Master 
Silence, I'll give you a health for that anon. 

Shal. Give Master Bardolph some wine, 
Davy. 

Davy. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon ; 
most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good master 
page, sit. Proface ! What you want in meat, 
we '11 have in drink : but you must bear ; the 
heart's all. [Exit. 

Shal. Be merry, Master Bardolph ; and, my 
little soldier there, be merry. 

Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all ; 

[Singing. 
For women are shrews, both short and tall : 
'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all, 
And welcome merry Shrove-tide. 
Be merry, be merry. 
Fal. I did not think Master Silence had been 
a man of tin* mettle. 41 

Sil. Who, 1 '! I have been merry twice and 
once ere now. 

Re-enter Davy. 
Davy. There's a dish of leather-coats for you. 
[To Bardolph. 
Sim I. Davy ? 



30 — a 



436 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act v. 



Davy. Your worship ! I '11 be with you 
straight [to Bardolph], A cup of wine, sir? 

Sil. A cup of wine that's brisk and fine, 

[Singing. 
And drink unto the leman mine ; 

And a merry heart lives long-a. 50 

Fal. Well said, Master Silence. 

Sil. An we shall be merry, now comes in the 
sweet o' the night. 

Fal. Health and long life to you, Master 
Silence. 

Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; [Singing. 
I '11 pledge you a mile to the bottom. 

Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou 
wantest any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy 
heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief [to the 
Page], and welcome indeed too. I'll drink to 
Master Bardolph, and to all the cavaleros about 
London. 

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 

Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — 

Shal. By the mass, you '11 crack a quart to- 
gether, ha! will you not, Master Bardolph? 

Bard. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot. 

Shal. By God's liggens, I thank thee : the 
knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that. 
A' will not out ; he is tme bred. 71 

Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. 

Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack no- 
thing: be merry. [Knocking within.} Look 
who's at door there, ho! who knocks? 

[Exit Davy. 

Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 

[To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper. 

Sil. Do me right, [Shiging. 

And dub me knight : 
Samingo. 
Is't not so? 80 

Fal. 'Tis so. 

Sil. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can 
do somewhat. 

Re-enter Davy. 
Davy. An't please your worship, there's one 
Pistol come from the court with news. 
Fal. From the court ! let him come in. 

Enter Pistol. 

How now, Pistol ! 

Pist. Sir John, God save you! 

Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? 89 

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man 
to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the 
greatest men in this realm. 

Sil. By'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman 
Puff of Barson. 

Pist. Puff! 
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! 
Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, 
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee, 
And tidings do I bring and lucky joys 
And golden times and happy news of price. 100 

Fal. I pray thee now, deliver them like a 
man of this world. 

Pist. A foutre for the world and worldlings 
base ! 
I speak of Africa and golden joys. 

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy 



Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. 

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. 

[Singing. 

Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Heli- 
cons ? 
And shall good news be baffled? 
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 110 

Sil. Honest gentleman, I know not your 
breeding. 

Pist. Why then, lament therefore. 

Shal. Give me pardon, sir : if, sir, you come 
with news from the court, I take it there's but 
two ways, either to utter them, or to conceal 
them. I am, sir, under the king, in some au- 
thority. 

Pist. Under which king, Besonian? speak, 
or die. 

Shal. Under King Harry. 

Pist. Harry the Fourth? or Fifth? 

Shal. Harry the Fourth. 

Pist. A foutre for thine office! 120 

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth : 
When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like 
The bragging Spaniard. 

Fal. What, is the old king dead? 

Pist. As nail in door : the things I speak are 
just. 

Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse. 
Master Robert Shallow, choose what office thou 
wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double- 
charge thee with dignities. 130 

Bard. O joyful day ! 
I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. 

Pist. What ! I do bring good news. 

Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master 
Shallow, my Lord Shallow, — be what thou wilt ; 
I am fortune 's steward — get on thy boots : we '11 
ride all night. O sweet Pistol ! Away, Bardolph ! 
[Exit Bard. ~\ Come, Pistol, utter more to me; 
and withal devise something to do thyself good. 
Boot, boot, Master Shallow : I know the young 
king is sick for me. Let us take any man's 
horses ; the laws of England are at my command- 
ment. Blessed are they that have been my 
friends; and woe to my lord chief-justice ! 

Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs 
also ! 
' Where is the life that late I led?' say they : 
Why, here it is ; welcome these pleasant days ! 

[Exeimt. 

Scene IV. London. A street. 

E?iter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly 
and Doll Tearsheet. 

Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would to God 
that I might die, that I might have thee hanged : 
thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. 

First Bead. The constables have delivered 
her over to me ; and she shall have whipping- 
cheer enough, I warrant her : there hath been a 
man or two lately killed about her. 

Dol. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you He. Come on ; 
I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged 
rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, 
thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, 
thou paper-faced villain. 

Host. O the Lord, that Sir John were come ! 



Scene iv.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



he would make this a bloody day to somebody. 
But I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! 

First Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen 
of cushions again ; you have but eleven now. 
Come, I charge you both go with me : for the 
man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you. 

Dol. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a 
censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for 
this, — you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished 
correctioner, if you be not swinged, I '11 forswear 
half-kirtles. 

First Bead. Come, come, you she knight- 
errant, come. 

Host. O God, that right should thus overcome 
might ! Well, of sufferance comes ease. 

Dol. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to a 
justice. 30 

Host. Ay, come, you starved blood-hound. 

Dol. Goodman death, goodman bones ! 

Host. Thou atomy, thou ! 

Dol. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal. 

First Bead. Very well. ' [Exeunt. 

Scene V. A public f>lacc mar Westminster 
Abbey. 

Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 
First Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 
Sec. Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
First Groom. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they 
come from the coronation : dispatch, dispatch. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bar- 
dolph, and Page. 

Fal. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shal- 
low : I will make the king do you grace : I will 
leer upon him as a' comes by ; and do but mark 
the countenance that he will give me. 

Fist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 9 

Fal. Come here, Pistol ; stand behind me. O, 
if I had had time to have made new liveries, 
I would have bestowed the thousand pound I 
borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter ; this poor 
show doth better : this doth infer the zeal 1 had 
to see him. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection, — 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion, — 

Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 20 

Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and 
not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have 
patience to shift me, — 

Shal. It is best, certain. 

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and 
sweating with desire to see him ; thinking of no- 
thing else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, as 
if there were nothing else to be done but to see 
him. 29 

Fist. 'Tis ' semper idem,' for ' obsque hoc 
nihil est :' 'tis all in every part. 

Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. 

Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
And make thee rage. 

Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
Is in base durance and contagious prison; 
Haled thither 
By most mechanical and dirty hand : 



Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Aledto's 
snake, 39 

For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth. 
Fal. I will deliver her. 

[Shouts within, and the trumpets sound. 
Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor 
sounds. 

Enter the King and his train, the Lord Chief- 
JUSTICE among them. 
Fal. God save thy grace, King Hal ! my royal 
Hal ! 

Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most 
royal imp of fame ! 

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 

King. My lord chief-justice, speak to that 

vain man. 
Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 

'tis you speak ? 
Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my 



heart ! 



50 



King. I know thee not,, old man : fall to thy 
prayers ; 
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester 
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, 
So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane ; 
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream. 
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace ; 
Leave gormandizing ; know the grave doth gape 
For thee thrice wider than for other men. 
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest : 
Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 60 

For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, 
That I have turn'd away my former self; 
So will I those that kept me company. 
When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, 
As I have done the rest of my misleaders, 
Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
For competence of life I will allow you, 70 

That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
We will, according to your strengths and qualities, 
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my 

lord, 
To see perform'd the tenour of our word. 
Set on. [Exeunt King, &>c. 

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
pound. 

Shal. Yea, marry, Sir John ; which I beseech 

you to let me have home with me. 80 

Fal. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. 

Do not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in 

private to him : look you, he must seem thus to 

I the world : fear not your advancements; I will be 

1 the man yet that shall make you great. 

I Shal. I cannot well perceive how, unless you 
should give me your doublet and stuff me out 
with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let 
me have five hundred of my thousand. 

Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this 
that you heard was but a colour. 91 

Shal. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir 
John. 

Fal. Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: 
come, Lieutenant Pistol ; come, Bardolph : I shall 

' be sent for soon at nighL 



433 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act v. 



Re-enter Prince John, //^Lord Chief-Justice; 
Officers with them. 

Ch. Just. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the 
Fleet: 
Take all his company along with him. 
Fal. My lord, my lord, — 
Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear 
you soon. ioo 

Take them away. 

Fist. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero contenta. 
[Exeunt all but Pri7ice John and the 
Chief- Justice. 
Lan. I like this fair proceeding of the king's : 
He hath intent his wonted followers 
Shall all be very well provided for ; 
But all are banish'd till their conversations 
Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
Ch. Just. And so they are. 
Lan. The king hath call'd his parliament, my 

lord. 
Ch. Just. He hath. no 

Lan. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire, 
We bear our civil swords and native fire 
As far as France : I heard a bird so sing, 
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king. 
Come, will you hence ? \_Exeu?it. 

EPILOGUE. 
Spoken by a Dancer. 
First my fear; then my courtesy; last my 
speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my cour- 
tesy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your 



pardons. If you look for a good speech now, you 
undo me : for what I have to say is of mine own 
making ; and what indeed I should say will, I 
doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the pur- 
pose, and so to the venture. Be it known to you, 
as it is very well, I was lately here in the end of 
a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it 
and to promise you a better. I meant indeed to 
pay you with this ; which, if like an ill venture it 
come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle 
creditors, lose. Here I promised you I would be 
and here I commit my body to your mercies : bate 
me some and I will pay you some and, as most 
debtors do, promise you infinitely. 

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
will you command me to use my legs? and yet 
that were but light payment, to dance out of your 
debt. But a good conscience will make any pos- 
sible satisfaction, and so would I. All the gentle- 
women here have forgiven me : if the gentlemen 
will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with 
the gentlewomen, which was never seen before 
in such an assembly. 

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not 
too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author 
will continue the story, with Sir John in it, and 
make you merry with fair Katharine of France : 
where, for any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of 
a sweat, unless already a' be killed with your hard 
opinions ; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is 
not the man. My tongue is weary ; when my legs 
are too, I will bid you good night : and so kneel 
down before you; but, indeed, to pray for the 
queen. 



THE LIFE OF 

KING HENRY THE FIFTH 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Fifth. 
Duke of Gloucester, 1. rtf i „«. .1 «-• 
Duke of Bedford, 'j brothers to the king. 
Duke of Exeter, uncle to the King. 
Duke of York, cousin to the King. 
Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and 

Warwick. 
Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Bishop of Ely. 
Earl of Cambridge. 
Lord Scroop. 
Sir Thomas Grey. 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluel- 

len, Macmorris, Jamy, officers in King 

Henry's army. 
Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the 

same. 
Pistol, Nym, Bardolph. 
Boy. 
A Herald. 



PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 
Chor. O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 
The brightest heaven of invention, 
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act 
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels, 
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and 

fire 
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, 
The flat unraised spirits that have dared 
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth 10 

So great an object : can this cockpit hold 
The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram 
Within this wooden O the very casques 
That did affright the air at Agincourt ? 
O. pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
Attest in little place a million ; 
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, 
On your imaginary forces work. 
Suppose within the girdle of these walls 
Are now confined two mighty monarchies, 20 

Whose high upreared and abutting fronts 
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder : 
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; 
Into a thousand parts divide one man, 
And make imaginary puissance : 
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them 
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth ; 
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our 

kings, 
Carry them here and there : jumping o'er times, 
Turning the accomplishment of many years 30 



Charles the Sixth, King of France. 
Lewis, the Dauphin. 

Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and 
Bourbon. 

The Constable of France. 

Rambukes and Gkandpre, French Lords. 

Governor of Harfleur. 

MONTJOY, a French Herald. N 

Ambassadors to the King of England. 

Isabel, Queen of France. 

Katharine, daughter to Charles and Isabel. 

Alice, a lady attending on her. 

Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. formerly 

Mistress Quickly, and now married to 

Pistol. 
j Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens, Mes- 
sengers, and Attendants. 
Chorus. 
Scene : England; afterwards France. 



Into an hour-glass : for the which supply, 
Admit me Chorus to this history ; 
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, 
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. [Exit. 

ACT I. 

Scene I. London. An ante-cJuimbcr in tlie 
K 1 xg's palace. 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the 
Bishop of Ely. 

Cant. My lord, I '11 tell you ; that self bill is 
urged, 
Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign 
Was like, and had indeed against us passed, 
But that the scambling and unquiet time 
Did push it out of farther question. 

Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? 

Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass 
against us, 
We lose the better half of our possession : 
For all the temporal lands which men devout 
By testament have given to the church 10 

Would they strip from us ; being valued thus : 
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, 
Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, 
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; 
And, to relief of lazars and weak age, 
Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil, 
A hundred almshouses right well supplied ; 
And to the coffers of the king beside, 
A thousand pounds by the year : thus runs the bill. 

Ely. This would drink deep. 

Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all. 20 



Ely. But what prevention? 

Cant. The king is full of grace and fair regard. 

Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 

Cant. The courses of his youth promised it not. 
The breath no sooner left his father's body, 
But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
Seem'd to die too ; yea, at that very moment 
Consideration, like an angel, came 
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, 
Leaving his body as a paradise, 30 

To envelope and contain celestial spirits. 
Never was such a sudden scholar made ; 
Never came reformation in a flood, 
With such a heady currance, scouring faults ; 
Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness 
So soon did lose his seat and all at once 
As in this king. 

Ely. We are blessed in the change. 

Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
And all-admiring with an inward wish 
You would desire the king were made a prelate : 40 
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
You would say it hath been all in all his study : 
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
A fearful battle render'd you in music: 
Turn him to any cause of policy, 
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
Familiar as his garter : that, when he speaks, 
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, 
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, 
To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences ; 50 

So that the art and practic part of life 
Must be the mistress to this theoric: 
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, 
Since his addiction was to courses vain, 
His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, 
His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, 
And never noted in him any study, 
Any retirement, any sequestration 
From open haunts and popularity. 

Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the 
nettle 60 

And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best 
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: 
And so the prince obscured his contemplation 
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, 
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 

Cant. It must be so ; for miracles are ceased ; 
And therefore we must needs admit the means 
How things are perfected. 

Ely. But, my good lord, 

How now for mitigation of this bill 70 

Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty 
Incline to it, or no? 

Cant. He seems indifferent, 

Or rather swaying more upon our part 
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us ; 
For I have made an offer to his majesty, 
Upon our spiritual convocation 
And in regard of causes now in hand, 
Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
As touching France, to give a greater sum 
Than ever at one time the clergy yet 80 

Did to his predecessors part withal. 

Ely. How did this offer seem received, my 
lord? 

Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; 
Save that there was not time enough to hear, 



As I perceived his grace would fain have done, 
The severals and unhidden passages 
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms 
And generally to the crown and seat of France 
Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. 

Ely. What was the impediment that broke 
this off? 90 j 

Cant. The French ambassador upon that i 
instant 
Craved audience ; and the hour, I think, is come i 
To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? 

Ely. It is. 

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy; 
Which I could with a ready guess declare, 
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 

Ely. I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. The Presence chamber. 

Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, 
Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and 
Attendants. 

K. Hen. Where is my gracious Lord of Can- 
terbury? 
Exe. Not here in presence. 
K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 

West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my 

liege? 
K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin : we would be 
resolved, 
Before we hear him, of some things of weight 
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
the Bishop of Ely. 
Cant. God and his angels guard your sacred 

throne 
And make you long become it ! 

K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 

My learned lord, we pray you to proceed 
And justly and religiously unfold 10 

Why the law Salique that they have in France 
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim : 
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, 
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your 

reading, 
Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
Suits not in native colours with the truth ; 
For God doth know how many now in health 
Shall drop their blood in approbation 
Of what your reverence shall incite us to. 20 

Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, 
How you awake our sleeping sword of war: 
We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; 
For never two such kingdoms did contend 
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops 
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 
'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the 

swords 
That make such waste in brief mortality. 
Under this conjuration speak, my lord ; 
For we will hear, note and believe in heart 30 
That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd 
As pure as sin with baptism. 

Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and 

you peers, 
That owe yourselves, your lives and services 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY V. 



441 



To this imperial throne. There is no bar 
To make against your highness' claim to France 
But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 
' In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant : ' 
'No woman shall succeed in Salique land :' 
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze 40 
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
The founder of this law and female bar. 
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm 
That the land Salique is in Germany, 
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ; 
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the 

Saxons, 
There left behind and settled certain French; 
Who, holding in disdain the German women 
For some dishonest manners of their life, 
Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female 50 
Should be inheritrix in Salique land : 
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, 
Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. 
Then doth it well appear the Salique law 
Was not devised for the realm of France ; 
Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
Until four hundred one and twenty years 
After defunction of King Pharamond, 
Idly supposed the founder of this law; 
Who died within the year of our redemption 60 
Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the Great j 
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 
Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 
King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, 
Did, as heir general, being descended 
Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, 
Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
Hugh Capet also, who usurp'd the crown 69 

Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male 
Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, 
To find his title with some shows of truth, 
Though, in pure truth, it was corruDt and naught, 
Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, 
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son 
Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, 
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
Could not keep quiet in his conscience, 
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 80 

That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, 
Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, 
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine : 
By the which marriage the line of Charles the 

Great 
Was re-united to the crown of France. 
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, 
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
To hold in right and title of the female : 
So do the kings of France unto this day ; 90 

Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law 
To bar your highness claiming from the female, 
And rather choose to hide them in a net 
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles 
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 

A". Hen. May I with right and conscience 

make this claim? 
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ! 
For in the book of Numbers is it writ, 
When the man dies, let the inheritance 
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 100 



Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag ; 

Look back into your mighty ancestors : 

Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, 

From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit, 

.And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, 

Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 

Making defeat on the full power of France, 

Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 

Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp 

Forage in blood of French nobility. no 

O noble English, that could entertain 

With half their forces the full pride of France 

And let another half stand laughing by, 

All out of work and cold for action ! 

Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead 
And with your puissant arm renew their feats: 
You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; 
The blood and courage that renowned them 
Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege 
Is in the very May-morn of his youth, 120 

Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 

Exe. "Your brother kings and monarchs of the 
earth 
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, 
As did the former lions of your blood. 

West. They know your grace hath cause and 
means and might ; 
So hath your highness ; never king of England 
Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, 
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England 
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 129 

Ca?it. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege. 
With blood and sword and fire to win your right ; 
In aid whereof we of the spiritualty 
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum 
As never did the clergy at one time 
Bring in to any of your ancestors. 

A". Hen. We must not only arm to invade the 
French, 
But lay down our proportions to defend 
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us 
With all advantages. 

Gant. They of those marches, gracious 
sovereign, 140 

Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 



Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 

A". Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers 
only, 
But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 
Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ; 
For you shall read that my great-grandfather 
Never went with his forces into France 
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
With ample and brim fulness of his force, 150 

Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, 
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns ; 
That England, beino: empty of defence, 
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. 

Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than 
harm'd, my liege ; 
For hear her but exampled by herself: 
When all her chivalry hath been in France 
And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
She hath herself not only well defended 
But taken and impounded as a stray 160 

The King of Scots ; whom she did send to France, 
To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings 
And make her chronicle as rich with praise 



As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 

West. But there's a saying very old and true, 
'If that you will France win, 
Then with Scotland first begin:' 
For once the eagle England being in prey, 
To her unguarded nest the' weasel Scot 170 

Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, 
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, 
To tear and havoc more than she can eat. 

Exe. It follows then the cat must stay at home : 
Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, 
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, 
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, 
The advised head defends itself at home; 
For government, though high and low and lower, 
Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, 181 

Congreeing in a full and natural close, 
Like music. 

Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide 
The state of man in divers functions, 
Setting endeavour in continual motion ; 
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
Obedience : for so work the honey-bees, 
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach 
The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
They have a king and officers of sorts ; 190 

Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, 
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, 
Which pillage they with merry march bring 

home 
To the tent-royal of their emperor ; 
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold, 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey, 
The poor mechanic porters crowding in 200 

Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, 
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, 
That many things, having full reference 
To one consent, may work contrariously : 
As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
Come to one mark ; as many ways meet in one 

town; 
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea ; 
As many lines close in the dial's centre; 210 

So may a thousand actions, once afoot, 
End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
Divide your happy England into four ; 
Whereof take you one quarter into France, 
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
If we, with thrice such powers left at home, 
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, 
Let us be worried and our nation lose 
The name of hardiness and policy. 220 

K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the 

Dauphin. [Exettnt some Attendants. 

Now are we well resolved ; and, by God's help, 
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, 
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, 
Or break it all to pieces : or there we'll sit, 
Ruling in large and ample empery 
O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, 
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 



Tombless, with no remembrance over them : 
Either our history shall with full mouth 230 

Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, 
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, 
Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 

Enter Ambassadors of France. 

Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure 
Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for we hear 
Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 
First A i/tb. May 't please your majesty to give 
us leave 
Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? 240 
K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian 
king ; 
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject 
As are our wretches fettered in our prisons : 
Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plain- 
ness 
Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 

First Amb. Thus, then, in few. 

Your highness, lately sending into France, 
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
Of your great predecessor, King Edward the 

Third. 
In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
Says that you savour too much of your youth, 250 
And bids you be advised there 's nought in France 
That can be with a nimble galliard won; 
You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, 
This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this, 
Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim 
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. 
K. Hen. What treasure, uncle? 
Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 

K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so 
pleasant with us; 
His present and your pains we thank you for : 260 
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, 
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set 
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. 
Tell him he hath made a match with such a 

wrangler 
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
With chaces. And we understand him well, 
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, 
Not measuring what use we made of them. 
We never valued this poor seat of England ; 
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 270 
To barbarous license ; as 'tis ever common 
That men are merriest when they are from home. 
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, 
Be like a king and show my sail of greatness 
When I do rouse me in my throne of France : 
For that I have laid by my majesty 
And plodded like a man for working-days, 
But I will rise there with so full a glory 
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 280 
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his 
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful venge- 
ance 
That shall fly with them : for many a thousand 
widows 



Shall this his mock mock out of their dear hus- 
bands ; 
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down ; 
And some are yet ungotten and unborn 
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's 

scorn. 
But this lies all within the will of God, 
To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name 290 
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on, 
To venge me as I may and to put forth 
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
So get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin 
His jest will savour but of shallow wit, 
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. 
Convey them with safe conduct Fare you well. 
\_Exeunt Ambassadors. 
Exe. This was a merry message. 
K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush 
at it. 
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour 300 
That may give furtherance to our expedition ; 
For we have now no thought in us but France, 
Save those to God, that run before our business. 
Therefore let our proportions for these wars 
Be soon collected and all things thought upon 
That may with reasonable swiftness add 
More feathers to our wings ; for, God before, 
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. 
Therefore let every man now task his thought, 
That this fair action may on foot be brought. 310 
\_Exeunt. Flourish. 

ACT II. 
PROLOGUE. 
Enter Chorus. 
Chor. Now all the youth of England are on 
fire, 
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: 
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, 
Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
For now sits Expectation in the air, 
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point 
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, 10 
Promised to Harry and his followers. 
The French, advised by good intelligence 
Of this most dreadful preparation, 
Shake in their fear and with pale policy 
Seek to divert the English purposes. 
O England ! model to thy inward greatness, 
Like little body with a mighty heart, 
What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, 
Were all thy children kind and natural ! 
But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out 
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 21 

With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted 

men, 
One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, 
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, 
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, 
Have, for the gilt of France, — O guilt indeed ! — 
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; 
And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
If hell and treason hold their promises, 
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. 



Linger your patience on ; fand we'll digest 31 
The abuse of distance ; force a play: 
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
The king is set from London ; and the scene 
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton ; 
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: 
And thence to France shall we convey you safe, 
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 
We'll not offend one stomach with our play. 40 
But, till the king come forth, and not till then, 
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. 

Scene I. London. A street. 
Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. Well met, Corporal Nym. 

Nym. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you 
friends yet? 

Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little; 
but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; 
but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight ; but 
I will wink and hold out mine iron : it is a simple 
one; but what though? it will toast cheese, and 
it will endure cold as another man's sword will : 
and there's an end. XI 

Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you 
friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to 
France : let it be so, good Corporal Nym. 

Nym. Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's 
the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any 
longer, I will do as I may : that is my rest, that 
is the rendezvous of it. 

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married 
to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you 
wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. 21 

Nym. I cannot tell : things must be as they 
may : men may sleep, and they may have their 
throats about them at that time ; and some say 
knives have edges. It must be as it may : though 
patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There 
must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. 

Enter Pistol and Hostess. 

Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his 
wife : good corporal, be patient here. How now, 
mine host Pistol ! 30 

Fist. Base tike, call'st thou me host? 
Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term ; 
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 

Host. No, by my troth, not long; for we 
cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gen- 
tlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their 
needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy 
house stra ; ght. [Nym and Pistol draw.] O well 
a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now ! we shall 
see wilful adultery and murder committed. 40 

Bard. Good lieutenant ! good corporal ! offer 
nothing here. 

Nym. Pish ! 

Fist. Pish for thee. Iceland dog ! thou prick- 
ear'd cur of Iceland ! 

Host. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, 
and put up your sword. 

Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you 
solus. 

Fist. 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile ! 
The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; 50 



444 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act 



The ' solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat, 
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, 
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! 
I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels; 
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
And flashing fire will follow. 

Nym. I am not Barbason ; you cannot conjure 
me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently 
well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, 1 will 
scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms : 
if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a 
little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the 
humour of it. 

Pist. O braggart vile and damned furious 
wight ! 
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near ; 
Therefore exhale. 

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : he that 
strikes the first stroke, I '11 run him up to the hilts, 
as I am a soldier. [Draws. 

Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury shall 
abate. 70 

Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give : 
Thy spirits are most tall. 

Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, 
in fair terms : that is the humour of it. 

Pist. 'Couple a gorge !' 
That is the word. I thee defy again. 

hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? 
No ; to the spital go, 

And from the powdering-tub of infamy 

Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 80 

Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse : 

1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly 
For the only she; and— pauca, there's enough. 
Go to. 

Enter the Boy. 

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my 
master, and you, hostess : he is very sick, and 
would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face 
between his sheets, and do the office of a warm- 
ing-pan. Faith, he's very ill. 

Bard. Away, you rogue ! 90 

Host. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a 

pudding one of these days. The king has killed 

his heart. Good husband, come home presently. 

{Exeunt Hostess and Boy. 

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? 
We must to France together : why the devil should 
we keep knives to cut one another's throats ? 

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food 
howl on ! 

Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won 
of you at betting? 

Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 100 

Nym. That now I will have : that's the humour 
of it. 

Pist. As manhood shall compound : push home. 
[ Tkey draw. 

Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first 
thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. 

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have 
their course. 

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, 
be friends : an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies 
with me too. Prithee, put up. 

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won of 
you at betting? in 



Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; 
And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: 
I '11 live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; 
Is not this just? for I shall sutler be 
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
Give me thy hand. 

Nym. I shall have my noble ? 

Pist. In cash most justly paid. 120 

Nym. Well, then, that's the humour oft. 

Re-enter Hostess. 

Host. As ever you came of women, come in 
quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart ! he is so 
shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is 
most lamentable, to behold. Sweet men, come to 
him. 

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the 
knight ; that's the even of it. 

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; 
His heart is fracled and corroborate. 130 

Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be 
as it may; he passes some humours and careers. 

Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins 
we will live. 

Scene II. Southampton. A cotmcil-chamber. 
EnterJLxETER, Bedford, ^^Westmoreland. 
Bed. ' Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these 

traitors. 
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. 
West. How smooth and even they do bear 
themselves ! 
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, 
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. 

Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, 
By interception which they dream not of. 

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, 
Whom he hath dull'd and cloyM with gracious 

favours, 
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell 10 
His sovereign's life to death and treachery. 

Trmnfiets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
Cambridge, Grey, and Attendants. 
K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will 

aboard. 
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of 

Masham, 
And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts : 
Think you not that the powers we bear with us 
Will cut their passage through the force of France, 
Doing the execution and the acl: 
For which we have in head assembled them? 
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do 

his best. 
K. Hen. I doubt not that ; since we are well 

persuaded 20 

We carry not a heart with us from hence 
That grows not in a fair consent with ours, 
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish 
Success and conquest to attend on us. 

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and 

loved 
Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a 

subject 
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
Under the sweet shade of your government. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY V. 



Grey. True: those that were your father's 
enemies 
Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you 
With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 31 

K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of 
thankfulness ; 
And shall forget the office of our hand. 
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit 
According to the weight and worthiness. 

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews 
toil, 
And labour shall refresh itself with hope, 
To do your grace incessant services. 

K. Hen. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, 
Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 40 

That rail'd against our person : we consider 
It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
And on his more advice we pardon him. 

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security: 
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example 
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 
K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 
Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish 

too. 
Grey. Sir, 
You show great mercy, if you give him life, 50 
After the taste of much correction. 

A". Hen. Alas, your too much love and care 
of me 
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch ! 
If little faults, proceeding on distemper, 
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our 

eye 
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and di- 
gested, 
Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, 
Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their 

dear care 
And tender preservation of our person, 
Would have him punish'd. And now to our 
French causes: 60 

Who are the late commissioners? 

Cam. I one, my lord : 
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 
Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. 
A". lien. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 
there is yours ; 
There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham : and, sir 

knight. 
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours : 
Read them: and know, 1 know your worthiness. 
My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, 70 
We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gen- 
tlemen ! 
What see you in those papers that you lose 
So much complexion? Look ye, how they change ! 
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you 

there, 
That hath so cowarded and chased your blood 
Out of appearance ? 

Cam. I do confess my fault ; 

And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 

Scrocf. } To which we all appeal. 

A". Hen. The mercy that was quick in us but 
late, 
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 80 
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 



For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. 
See you, my princes and my noble peers, 
These English monsters ! My Lord of Cambridge 

here, 
You kno-.v how apt our love was to accord 
To furnish him with all appertinents 
Belonging to his honour; and this man 
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, 
And sworn unto the practices of France, 90 

To kill us here in Hampton : to the which 
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise swi >rn. 1 !ut. < ). 
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou 

cruel, 
Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature ! 
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, 
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, 
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use, 
May it be possible, that foreign hire 100 

Could out of thee extract one spark of evil 
That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, 
That, though the truth of it stands off as £ 
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. 
Treason and murder ever kept together, 
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, 
Working so grossly in a natural cause, 
That admiration did not whoop at them : 
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: no 
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was 
That wrought upon thee so preposterously 
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence : 
All other devils that suggest by treasons 
Do botch and bungle up damnation 
With patches, colours, and with forms being 

fetch' d 
From glistering semblances of piety ; 
But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, 
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do 

treason. 
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 120 
If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus 
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, 
He might return to vasty Tartar back, 
And tell the legions ' I can never win 
A soul so easy as that Englishman'-.' 
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful? 
Why, so didst thou : seem they grave and learned ? 
Why, so didst thou : come they of noble family? 
Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? 130 

Why, so didst thou : or are they spare in diet, 
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger. 
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, 
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, 
Not working with the eye without the ear. 
And but in purged judgement trusting neither? 
Such and so finely bolted didst thou scorn: 
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
To mark the full-fraught man and best indued 
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; 140 
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
Another fall of man. Their faults are open : 
Arrest them to the answer of the law ; 
Ami ( Jod acquit them of their practices ! 

Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name 
of Richard Earl of Cambridge. 



446 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act 



I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. 150 

Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath disco- 
ver'd ; 
And I repent my fault more than my death ; 
Which I beseech your highness to forgive, 
Although my body pay the price of it. 

Cam. For me, the gold of France did not 
seduce ° 
Although I did admit it as a motive 
The sooner to effecl what I intended : 
But God be thanked for prevention ; 
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, 
Beseeching God and you to pardon me. 160 

Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
At the discovery of most dangerous treason 
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, 
Prevented from a damned enterprise : 
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 

K. He7i. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear 
your sentence. 
You have conspired against our royal person, 
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his 

coffers 
Received the golden earnest of our death ; 
Wherein you would have sold your king to 
slaughter, 170 

His princes and his peers to servitude, 
His subjects to oppression and contempt 
And his whole kingdom into desolation. 
Touching our person seek we no revenge ; 
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, 
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws 
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, 
Poor miserable wretches, to your death : 
The taste whereof, God of his mercy give 
You patience to endure, and true repentance 180 
Of all your dear offences ! Bear them hence. 

{Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, 
guarded. 
Now, lords, for France ; the enterprise whereof 
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, 
Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
This dangerous treason lurking in our v/ay 
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now 
But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
Then forth, dear countrymen : let us deliver 
Our puissance into the hand of God, 190 

Putting it straight in expedition. 
Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
No king of England, if not king of France. 

\_Exe71nt. 

Scene III. London. Before a tavern. 

E?ttcr Pistol, Hostess, Nym, Bardolph, and 
Boy. 

Host. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me 
bring thee to Staines. 

Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. 
Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting 

veins: 
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead, 
And we must yearn therefore. 

Bard. Would I were with him, wheresome'er 
he is, either in heaven or in hell ! 



Host. Nay, sure, he's not in heil: he's in 
Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's 
bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an 
it had been any christom child ; a' parted even 
just between twelve and one, even at the turning 
o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the 
sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his 
fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way ; for 
his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of 
green fields. ' How now, Sir John !' quoth I : 
' what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 
'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, 
to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of 
God; I hoped there was no need to trouble him- 
self with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me 
lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into 
the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as 
any stone ; then I felt to his knees, and they were 
as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, 
and all was as cold as any stone. 

Nym. They say he cried out of sack. 

Host. Ay, that a' did. 30 

Bard. And of women. 

Host. Nay, that a' did not. 

Boy. Yes, that a' did ; and said they were 
devils incarnate. 

Host. A' could never abide carnation ; 'twas 
a colour he never liked. 

Boy. A' said once, the devil would have him 
about women. 

Host. A' did in some sort, indeed, handle 
women ; but then he was rheumatic, and talked 
of the whore of Babylon. 41 

Boy. Do you not remember, a' saw a flea 
stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a 
black soul burning in hell-fire? 

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained 
that fire : that's all the riches I got in his service. 

Nym. Shall we shog? the king will be gone 
from Southampton. 

Pist. Come, let's away. My love, give me 
thy lips. 
Look to my chattels and my movables : 50 

Let senses rule ; the word is ' Pitch and Pay :' 
Trust none ; 

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer- 
cakes, 
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck : 
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. 
Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, 
Let us to France ; like horse-leeches, my boys. 
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 

Boy. And that's but unwholesome food, they 
say. 60 

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 

Bard. Farewell, hostess.. {Kissing her. 

Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humoui of it ; 
but, adieu. 

Pist. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I 
thee command. 

Host. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. France. The King' s palace. 

Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dau- 
phin, the Dukes of Berri and Bretagne, 
the Constable, and others. 
Fr. King. Thus comes the English with full 
power upon us ; 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY V. 



And more than carefully it us concerns 
To answer royally in our defences. 
Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, 
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forih, 
And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dis- 
patch, 
To line and new repair our towns of war 
With men of courage and with means defendant ; 
For England his approaches makes as herce 
As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 10 

It fits us then to be as provident 
As fear may teach us out of late examples 
Left by the fatal and neglected English 
Upon our fields. 

Dan. My most redoubted father, 

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe ; 
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, 
Though war nor no known quarrel were in ques- 
tion, 
But that defences, musters, preparations, 
Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, 
As were a war in expectation. 20 

Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth 
To view the sick and feeble parts of France : 
And let us do it with no show of fear ; 
No, with no more than if we heard that England 
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: 
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, 
Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, 
That fear attends her not. 

Con. O peace, Prince Dauphin ! 

You are too much mistaken in this king : 30 

Question your grace the late ambassadors, 
With what great state he heard their embassy, 
How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
How modest in exception, and withal 
How terrible in constant resolution, 
And you shall find his vanities forespent 
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
That shall first spring and be most delicate. 40 
Dan. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high con- 
stable ; 
But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh 
The enemy more mighty than he seems : 
So the proportions of defence are fill'd ; 
Which of a weak and niggardly projection 
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting 
A little cloth. 

Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong; 
And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. 
The kindred of him halh been flesh'd upon us ; 50 
And he is bred out of that bloody strain 
That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
Witness our too much memorable shame 
When Cressy battle fatally was struck, 
And all our princes captived by the hand 
Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of 

Wales ; 
Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain stand- 
ing, 
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, 
Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, 
Mangle the work of nature and deface 60 

The patterns that by God and by French fathers 
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 



Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
The native mightiness and fate of him. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Ambassadors from Harry King of 
England 
Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. 
Go, and bring them. 

[Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords. 
You see this chase is hotly follow*d, friends. 
Dan. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward 
dogs 
Most spend their mouths when what they seem 
to threaten 70 

Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, 
Take up the English short, and let them know 
Of what a monarchy you are the head: 
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
As self-neglecting. 

Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and train. 

Fr. King. From our brother England? 

Exe. From him; and thus he greets your 
majesty. 
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, 
By law of nature and of nations, 'long 80 

To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown 
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain 
By custom and the ordinance of times 
Unto the crown of France. That you may know 
'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, 
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, 
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, 
He sends you this most memorable line, 
In every branch truly demonstrative; 
Willing you overlook this pedigree : go 

And when you find him evenly derived 
From his most famed of famous ancestors, 
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign 
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
From him the native and true challenger. 

Fr. King. Or else what follows? 

Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the 
crown 
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it : 
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, 
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, 100 
That, if requiring fail, he will compel ; 
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy 
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war 
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your 
Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, 
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, 
That shall be swallow' d in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threatening and my mes- 
sage ; no 
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, 
To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 

Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this 
further: 
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
Back to our brother England. 

Dan. For the Dauphin, 

I stand here for him : what to him from England? 



443 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act hi. 



Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, con- 
tempt, 
And any thing that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Thus says my king ; an if your father's highness 
Do not, in grant of all demands at large, 121 

Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, 
That caves and womby vaultages ot France 
Shall chide your trespass and return your mock 
In second accent of his ordnance. 

Dau. Say, if my father render fair return, 
It is against my will ; for I desire 
Nothing but odds with England : to that end, 
As matching to his youth and vanity, 130 

I did present him with the Paris balls. 

Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake 
for it, 
Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe : 
And, be assured, you'll find a difference, 
As we his subjects have in wonder found, 
Between the promise of his greener days 
And these he masters now : now he weighs time 
Even to the utmost grain : that you shall read 
In your own losses, if he stay in France. 

Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our 
mind at full. 140 

Exe. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that 
our king 
Come here himself to question our delay; 
For he is footed in this land already. 

Fr. King. You shall be soon dispatch'd with 
fair conditions : 
A night is but small breath and little pause 
To answer matters of this consequence. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 
Ckor. Thus with imagined wing our swift 

scene flies 
In motion of no less celerity 
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have 

seen 
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet 
With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning : 
Play with your fancies, and in them behold 
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; 
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give 
To sounds confused ; behold the threaden sails, 
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, 11 
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, 
Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think 
You stand upon the rivage and behold 
A city on the inconstant billows dancing; 
For so appears this fleet majestical, 
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow : 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, 
And leave your England, as dead midnight still, 
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, 
Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance ; 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France ? 



Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a 

siege ; 
Behold the ordnance on their carriages, 
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
Suppose the ambassador from the French conies 

back; 
Tells Harry that the king doth offer him 
Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, 
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 31 

The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 

[A lamm, and chambers go off. 
And down goes all before them. Still be kind, 
And eke out our performance with your mind. 

[Exit. 

Scene I. France. Before Harfleur. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bed- 
ford, Gloucester, rtWSoldiers, withscaling- 
ladders. 

K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear 
friends, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility : 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage ; 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspe6t ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head 10 
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it 
As fearfully as : doth a galled rock 
O'erhang and jtitty his confounded base, 
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, 
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit 
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof ! 
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 19 

Have in these parts from morn till even fought 
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: 
Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest 
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
And teach them how to war. And you, good 

yeomen, 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding; which I 

doubt not; 
For there is none of you so mean and base, 
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 30 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot : 
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge 
Cry ' God for Harry, England, and Saint George !' 
[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. 

Scene II. The same. 

Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy. 

Burd. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to 
the breach ! 

Nym. Pray thee, corporal, stay : the knocks 
are too hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not 
a case of lives : the humour of it is too hot, that 
is the very plain-song of it. 



Scene it. 



KING HENRY V. 



419 



Pist. The plain-song is most just; forhumours 
do abound : 
Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and die ; 
And sword and shield, 
In bloody field, 10 

Doth win immortal fame. 
Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in London ! 
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and 
safety. 
Pist. And I : 

If wishes would prevail with me. 
My purpose should not fail with me, 
But thither would I hie. 
Boy. As duly, but not as truly, 

As bird doth sing on bough. 20 

Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. Up to the breach, you dogs ! avaunt, 
you cullions ! [Driving them forward. 

Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of 
mould. 
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, 
Abate thy rage, great duke ! 

Good bawcock, bate thy rage ; use lenity, sweet 
chuck ! 

Nym. These be good humours ! your honour 
wins bad humours. \_Exeu71t all but Boy. 

Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these 
three swashers. I am boy to them all three : but 
all they three, though they would serve me, could 
not be man to me ; for indeed three such antics 
do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is 
white-livered and red-faced ; by the means where- 
of a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he 
hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword ; by the 
means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole 
weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of 
few words are the best men ; and therefore he 
scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought 
a coward : but his few bad words are matched 
with as few good deeds ; for a' never broke any 
man's head but his own, and that was against a 
post when he was drunk. They will steal any 
thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute- 
case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three 
half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn bro- 
thers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire- 
shovel : I knew by that piece of service the men 
would carry coals. They would have me as 
familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or 
their handkerchers : which makes much against 
my manhood, if I should take from another's 
pocket to put into mine ; for it is plain pocketing 
up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some 
better service : their villanj' goes against my weak 
stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit. 

Re-enter Fluellen, Gower following. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come pre- 
sently to the mines ; the Duke of Gloucester 
would speak with you. 60 

Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not 
so good to come to the mines ; for, look you, the 

*'nes is not according to the disciplines of the 
r : the concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, 
look you, th' athversary, you may discuss unto 
the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard 



under the countermines : by Cheshu, I think a' 
will plow up all, if there is not better directions. 

Gow. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the 
order of the siege is given, is altogether directed 
by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. 

Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? 

Gow. I think it be. 

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world : 
I will verify as much in his beard : he has no 
more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, 
look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a 
puppy-dog. 

Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy. 

Gow. Here a' comes ; and the Scots captain, 
Captain Jamy, with him. 80 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous 
gentleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition 
and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my 
particular knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, 
he will maintain his argument as well as any 
military man in the world, in the disciplines of 
the pristine wars of the Romans. 

Jamy. I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. 

Flu. God-den to your worship, good Captain 
James. 90 

Gow. How now, Captain Macmorris ! have 
you quit the mines? have the pioners given o'er? 

Mac. By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work 
ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By 
my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work 
ish ill done ; it ish give over : I would have blowed 
up the town, so Chrish save me, la ! in an hour: 
O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish 
ill done ! 99 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, 
will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputa- 
tions with you, as partly touching or concerning 
the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in 
the way of argument, look you, and friendly com- 
munication ; partly to satisfy my opinion, and 
partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, 
as touching the direction of the military discipline ; 
that is the point. 

Jamy. It sail be vary gud, gud feith, gud 
captains bath : and I sail quit you with gud leve, 
as I may pick occasion ; that sail I, marry. in 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish 
save me : the day is hot, and the weather, and 
the wars, and the king, and the dukes : it is no 
time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and 
the trumpet call us to the breach ; and we talk, 
and, be Chrish, do nothing : 'tis shame for us all : 
so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still ; it is shame, 
by my hand : and there is throats to be cut, and 
works to be done ; and there ish nothing done, so 
Chrish sa' me, la ! 121 

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine 
take themselves to slomber, ay '11 de gud service, 
or ay'll Iig i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; 
and ay'll pay 't as valorously as I may, that sail 
I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. 
Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween 
you tway. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you. 
under your correction, there is not many of your 
nation — 131 

Mac. Of my nation ! What ish my nation? 
Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a 



2 9 



r 



450 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act hi. 



! rascal. What ish my nation ? Who talks of my 
nation ? 

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter other- 
wise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, perad- 
venture I shall think you do not use me with that 
affability as in discretion you ought to use me, 
look you ; being as good a man as yourself, both 
in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of 
my birth, and in other particularities. 

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as 
myself: so Chrish save me, I will out off your 
head. 

Cow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each 
other. 

Jamy. A ! that's a foul fault. 

[A parley sounded. 

Gow. The town sounds a parley. 149 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
better opportunity to be required, look you, I 
will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines 
of war ; and there is an end. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. Before the gates. 

The Governor and some Citizens 011 the walls ; 

the English forces below. Enter King H en k v 

and his trai7i. 

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of 
the town? 
This is the latest parle we will admit : 
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves ; 
Or like to men proud of destruction 
Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, 
If I begin the battery once again, 
I will not leave the half-achieved Harneur 
Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, 10 

And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, 
In liberty of bloody hand shall range 
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass 
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. 
What is it then to me, if impious war, 
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, 
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 
EnHnk'd to waste and desolation? 
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 20 

Of hot and forcing violation ? 
What rein can hold licentious wickedness 
When down the hill he holds his fierce career? 
We may as bootless spend our vain command 
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil 
As send precepts to the leviathan 
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 
Take pity of your town and of your people, 
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; 
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 31 
Of heady murder, spoil and villany. 
If not, why, in a moment look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; 
Your fathers taken by the silver beards, 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 40 
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 



What say you ? will you yield, and this avoid, 
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? 

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated, 
Returns us that his powers are yet not ready 
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, 
We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. 
Enter our gates ; dispose of us and ours ; 
For we no longer are defensible. 50 

K. Hen. Open your gates. Come, uncle 
Exeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain, 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : 
Use mercy to them all. For us. dear uncle, 
The winter coming on and sickness growing 
Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest ; 
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 

[Flourish. The King and his train enter 
the town. 

Scene IV. The French King's palace. 
Enter Katharine and Alice. 

Kath. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu 
paries bien le langage. 

Alice. Un peu, madame. 

Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez ; il faut que 
j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la 
main en Anglois? 

Alice. La main? elle est appelee de hand. 

Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ? 

Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; 
mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense 
qu'ils sont appeles de fingres ; oui, de fingres. 11 

Kath. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de 
fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier ; j'ai 
gagne deux mots dAnglois vitement. Comment 
appelez-vous les ongles? 

Alice. Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. 

Kath. De nails. Ecoutez ; dites-moi, si je 
parle bien : de hand, de fingres, et de nails. 

Alice. C'est bien dit, madame ; il est fort bon 
Anglois. 

Kath. 

Alice. 

Kath. 

A lice. 

Kath. 
de tows 
present. 

A lice. 
pense. 

Kath. Excusez-moi, Alice ; ecoutez : de hand, 
de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. 31 

A lice. De elbow, madame. 

Kath. O Seigneur Dieu, jem'enoublie! de 
elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? 

Alice. De neck, madame. 

De nick. Etlementon? 

De chin. 

De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton. 



Dites-moi 1' Anglois pour le bras. 
De arm, madame. 
Et le coude? 
De elbow. 

De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition 
es mots que vous m'avez appris des a 

II est trop difficile, madame, comme je 



Kath. 
A lice. 
Kath. 
de sin. 
Alice. 



39 



Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite 
vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs 
d' Angleterre. 

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la 
grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY V. 



Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je 
vous ai enseigne? 

Kath. Non, je reciterai a vous proniptement : 
de hand, de fingres, de mails, — 

Alice. De nails, madame. 

Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. 50 

Alice. Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. 

Kath. Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de 
sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe ? 

Alice. De foot, madame ; et de coun. 

Kath. De foot et de coun ! O Seigneur Dieu ! 
ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, 
et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur 
d'user : je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant 
les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. 
Foh ! le foot et le coun ! Neanmoins, je reciterai 
une autre fois ma lecon ensemble : de hand, de 
fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de 
sin, de foot, de coun. 

Alice. Excellent, madame ! 

Kath. C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous 
a diner. {Exeunt. 



5CENI 



The same. 



Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, the 

Duke of Bourbon, the Constable of 

France, and others. 

Fr. King. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the 
river Somme. 

Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord. 
Let us not live in France ; let us quit all 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 

Dan. O Dieu vivant ! shall a few sprays 
of us, 
The emptying of our fathers' luxury, 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, 
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
And overlook their grafters? 

Bonr. Normans, but bastard Normans, Nor- 
man bastards ! 10 
Mort de ma vie ! if they march along 
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, 
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 

Con. Dieu de batailles ! where have they this 
mettle? 
Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, 
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden 

water, 
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, 
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? 20 
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, 
Let us not hang like roping icicles 
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty 

people 
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ! 
Poor we may call them in their native lords. 

Dan. By faith and honour, 
Our madams mock at us, and plainly say 
Our mettle is bred out and they will give 
Their bodies to the lust of English youth 30 

To new-store France with bastard warriors. 

Bour. They bid us to the English dancing- 
schools, 
And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos ; 
Saying our grace is only in our heels, 



And that we are most lofty runaways. 

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy the herald? 

speed him hence : 
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. 
Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged 
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field : 
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France ; 40 
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, 
Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; 
Jaques Chatillon, Ramburcs, Vaudemont, 
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; 
High dukes, great 'princes, barons, lords and 

knights, 
For your great seats now quit you of great 

shames. 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur: 
Rush on his host.^as doth the melted snow 50 
Upon the valleys,* whose low vassal seat 
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon : 
Go down upon him, you have power enough, 
And in a captive chariot into Rouen 
Bring him our prisoner. 

Con. This becomes the great. 

Sorry am I his numbers are so few, 
His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, 
For I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear 
And for achievement offer us his ransom. 60 

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on 

Montjoy, 
And let him say to England that we send 
To know what willing ransom he will give. 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. 
Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain 

with us. 
Now forth, lord constable and princes all, 
And quickly bring us word of England's fall. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. The English camp in Ficardy. 

Enter Gower and Fluellen, meeting. 

Gow. How now, Captain Fluellen ! come you 
from the bridge? 

Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent 
services committed at the bridge. 

Gow. Is the Duke of Exeter safe? 

Fin. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous 
as Agamemnon; and a man that 1 love and 
honour with my soul, and my heart, and my 
duty, and my life, and my living, and my utter- 
most power: he is not — God be praised and 
blessed ! — any hurt in the world ; but keeps the 
bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. 
There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the 
pridge, 1 think in my very conscience he is as 
valiant a man as Mark Antony ; and he is a man 
of no estimation in the world; but I did see him 
do as gallant service. 

Gow. What do you call him? 

Flu. He is called Aunchient Pistol. 

Gow. I know him not. 20 

Enter Pistol. 
Flu. Here is the man. 



:: h 



45^ 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act hi. 



Fist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me fa- 
vours : 
The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 

Flu. Ay, I praise God ; and I have merited 
some love at his hands. 

Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of 
heart, 
And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, 
And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
That goddess blind, 3° 

That stands upon the rolling restless stone— 

Flu. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. 
Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore 
her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind ; 
and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to 
you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, 
and inconstant, and mutability, and variation : 
and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical 
stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good 
truth, the poet makes a most excellent descrip- 
tion of it : Fortune is an excellent moral. 40 
Pist. Fortune is Bardolph' s foe, and frowns 
on him ; 
For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be : 
A damned death ! 

Let gallows gape for dog ; let man go free 
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate : 
But Exeter hath given the doom of death 
For pax of little price. 

Therefore, go speak : the duke will hear thy voice : 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord and vile reproach : 50 
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee 
requite. 
Fhi. Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand 
your meaning. 

Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore. 
Flu. Certainly, aunchient, it is not a thing to 
rejoice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, 
I would desire the duke to use his good pleasure, 
and put him to execution ; for discipline ought to 
be used. 

Pist. Die and be damn'd ! and figo for thy 
friendship ! 60 

Flu. It is well. 

Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit. 

Flu. Very good. 

Goiv. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; 
I remember him now ; a bawd, a cutpurse. 

Flu. I '11 assure you, a' uttered as brave words 
at the bridge as you shall see in a summer's day. 
But it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that 
is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. 69 

Goiv. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that 
now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself 
at his return into London under the form of a 
soldier. And such fellows are perfect in the great 
commanders' names : and they will learn you by 
rote where services were done ; at such and such 
a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who 
came off" bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, 
what terms the enemy stood on ; and this they 
con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they 
trick up with new-tuned oaths : and what a beard 
of the general's cut and a horrid suit of the camp 
will do among foaming bottles and ale-washed 
wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you must 
learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you 
may be marvellously mistook. 



Flu. I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do 
perceive he is not the man that he would gladly 
make show to the world he is : if I find a hole in 
his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.} 
Hark you, the king is coming, and I must speak 
with him from the pridge. 91 

Drum and colours. Enter King Henry, 
Gloucester, and Soldiers. 
God pless your majesty ! 

K. Hen. How now, Fluellen! earnest thou 
from the bridge ? 

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke 
of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the 
pridge: the French is gone off, look you; and 
there is gallant and most prave passages ; marry, 
th' athversary was have possession of the pridge ; 
but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of 
Exeter is master of the pridge : I can tell your 
majesty, the duke is a prave man. 101 

K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? 

Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been 
very great, reasonable great : marry, formy part, 
I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one 
that is like to be executed for robbing a church, 
one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man : 
his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, 
and flames o' fire : and his lips blows at his nose, 
and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue and 
sometimes red; but his nose is executed, and his 
fire's out. 

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so 
cut off: and we give express charge, that in our 
marches through the country, there be nothing 
compelled from the villages, nothing taken but 
paid for, none of the French upbraided or abused 
in disdainful language ; for when lenity and 
cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester 
is the soonest winner. 120 

Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. You know me by my habit. 

K. Hen. Well then I know thee: what shall 
I know of thee ? 

Mont. My master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it. 

Mont. Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry 
of England : Though we seemed dead, we did but 
sleep : advantage is a better soldier than rashness. '■ 
Tell him we could have rebuked him at Harfleur, 
but that we thought not good to bruise an injury 
till it were full ripe : now we speak upon our cue, 
and our voice is imperial : England shall repent 
his folly, see his weakness, and admire our suffer- 
ance. Bid him therefore consider of his ransom ; 
which must proportion the losses we have borne, 
the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have 
digested ; which in weight to re-answer, his petti- 
ness would bow under. For our losses, his exche- 
quer is too poor ; for the effusion of our blood, the j 
muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and j 
for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our I 
feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To 
this add defiance : and tell him, for conclusion, he 
hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation 
is pronounced. So far my king and master ; so 
much my office. 

K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy 
quality. 



Scene vi.] 



KING HENRY V. 



453 



Mont. Montjoy. 

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn 
thee back, 
And tell thy king I do not seek him now ; 
But could be willing to march on to Calais 150 
Without impeachment : for, to say the sooth, 
Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage, 
My people are with sickness much enfeebled, 
My numbers lessened, and those few I have 
Almost no better than so many French ; 
Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 
I thought upon one pair of English legs 
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive mc, 
God, 159 

That I do brag thus ! This your air of France 
Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
Go therefore, tell thy master here I am ; 
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk, 
My army but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
Though France himself and such another neigh- 
bour 
Stand in our way. There 's for thy labour, Mont- 
joy. 
Go, bid thy master well advise himself: 
Tf we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd, 169 
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood 
Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our answer is but this: 
We would not seek a battle, as we are ; 
Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it : 
So tell your master. 
Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your 
highness. {Exit. 

Glaic. I hope they will not come upon us now. 
K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not 
in theirs. 
March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night : 
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves, 180 

And on to-morrow bid them march away. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene VII. The French camp, near Agincourt. 

Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ram- 
bureSj Orleans, Dauphin, with others. 

Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the 
world. Would it were day ! 

Orl. You have an excellent armour ; but let 
my horse have his due. 

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 

Orl. Will it never be morning? 

Dau. My Lord of Orleans, and my lord high 
constable, you talk of horse and armour? 

Orl. You are as well provided of both as any 
prince in the world. 10 

Dau. What a long night is this ! I will not 
change my horse with any that treads but on four 
pasterns. Ca, ha ! he bounds from the earth, as 
if his entrails were hairs ; le cheval volant, the 
•Pegasus, chez les narines de feu ! When I bestride 
him, I soar, I am a hawk : he trots the air ; the 
earth sings when he touches it; the basest hum 
of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of 
Hermes. 

Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. 20 

Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a 



beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the 
dull elements of earth and water never appear in 
him, but only in patient stillness while his rider 
mounts him : he is indeed a horse ; and all other 
jades you may call beasts. 

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute 
and excellent horse. 

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is 
like the bidding of a monarch and his countenance 
enforces homage. 31 

Orl. No more, cousin. 

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, 
from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the 
lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is 
a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into 
eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for 
them all : 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason 
on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; 
and for the world, familiar to us and unknown to 
lay apart their particular functions and wonder at 
him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and 
began thus: 'Wonder of nature,' — 

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's 
mistress. 

Dau. Then did they imitate that which I com- 
posed to my courser, for my horse is my mistress. 

Orl. Your mistress bears well. 

Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise 
and perfection of a good and particular mistress. 

Con. Nay, for methought yesterday your 
mistress shrewdly shook your back. 

Dau. So perhaps did yours. 

Con. Mine was not bridled. 

Dau. O then belike she was old and gentle ; 
and you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French 
hose off, and in your strait strossers. 

Con. You have good judgement in horseman- 
ship. 59 

Dau. Be warned by me, then : they that ride 
so and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had 
rather have my horse to my mistress. 

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 

Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears 
his own hair. 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if 
I had a sow to my mistress. 

Dau. 'Le chien est retourne a son propre 
vomissement, et la truie lavee au bourbier : ' thou 
makest use of any thing. 70 

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, 
or any such proverb so little kin to the purpose. 

Ram. My lord constable, the armour that I 
saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or suns 
upon it? 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 

Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 
■ Dau. That may be, for you bear a many 
I superfluously, and 'twere more honour some were 
' away. 81 

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; 
who would trot as well, were some of your brags 
dismounted. 

Dau. Would I were able to load him with his 
desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to- 
morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with 
English faces. 

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be 
faced out of my way: but I would it were morn- 



454 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act iv. 



ing ; for I would fain be about the ears of the 
English. 

Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for 
twenty prisoners? 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere 
you have them. 

Dan. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself. [Exit. 

Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. 

Ram. He longs to eat the English. 

Con. I think he will eat all he kills. ioo 

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a 
gallant prince. 

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread 
out the oath. 

Orl. He is simply the most aaive gentleman 
of France. 

Con. Doing is activity; and he will still be 
doing. 

Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will 
keep that good name still. in 

Orl. I know him to be valiant. 

Con. I was told that by one that knows him 
better than you. 

Orl. What's he? 

Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he 
said he cared not who knew it. 

Orl. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in 
him. 119 

Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any 
body saw it but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour ; 
and when it appears, it will bate. 

Orl. Ill will never said well. 

Con. I will cap that proverb with ' There is 
flattery In friendship.' 

Orl. And I will take up that with ' Give the 
devil his due.' 

Con. Well placed: there stands your friend 
for the devil : have at the very eye of that proverb 
with 'A pox of the devil.' 130 

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how 
much ' A fool's bolt is soon shot.' 

Con. You have shot over. 

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. 

Eiiter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie 
within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 

Con. Who hath measured the ground ? 

Mess. The Lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. 
Would it were day ! Alas, poor Harry of England ! 
he longs not for the dawning as we do. 141 

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is 
this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained 
followers so far out of his knowledge ! 

Con. If the English had any apprehension, 
they would run away. 

Orl. That they lack* for if their heads had 
any intellectual armour, they could never wear 
such heavy head-pieces. 149 

Ram. That island of England breeds very 
valiant creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatch- 
able courage. 

Orl. Foolish curs, that run winking into the 
mouth of a Russian bear and have their heads 
crushed like rotten apples ! You may as well say, 
that's a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on 
the lip of a lion. 



Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathize 
with the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming 
on, leaving their wits with their wives: and then 
give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, 
they will eat like wolves and fight like devils. 

Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out 
of beef. 

Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they have 
only stomachs to eat and none to fight. Now is 
it time to arm: come, shall we about it? 

Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, 
by ten 
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. 

\_Exeuni. 

ACT IV. 
PROLOGUE. 

Etiter Chorus. 
Cltor. Now entertain conjecture of a time 
When creeping murmur and the poring dark 
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
From camp to camp through the foul womb of 

night 
The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
That the fixed sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each other's watch : 
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face ; 9 

Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents 
The armourers, accomplishing the knights, 
With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
Give dreadful note of preparation : 
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, 
The confident and over-lusty French 
Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night 20 

Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
Sit patiently and inly ruminate 
The morning's danger, and their gesture sad 
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats 
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold 
The royal captain of this ruin'd band 
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
Let him cry ' Praise and glory on his head !' 31 
For forth he goes and visits all his host, 
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile 
And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen. 
Upon his royal face there is no note 
How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
Unto the weary and all-watched night, 
But freshly looks and over-bears attaint 
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ; 40 
That every wretch, pining and pale before. 
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : 
A largess universal like the sun 
His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
Thawing cold fear, fthat mean and gentle all, 
Behold, as may unworthiness define, 
A little touch of Harry in the night. 
And so our scene must to the battle fly ; 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY V 



Where — O for pity! — we shall much disgrace 
With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 50 
Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, 
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, 
Minding true things by what their mockeries be. 

[Exit. 

Scene I. The English camp at Agincourt. 

Enter King Henry, Bedford, and GLOU- 
CESTER. 

A'. Hen. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in 
great danger ; 
The greater therefore should our courage be. 
Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty ! 
There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
Would men observingly distil it out. 
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, 
Which is both healthful and good husbandry : 
Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
And preachers to us all, admonishing 
That we should dress us fairly for our end. 10 
Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 
Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham : 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlish turf of Fran.ce. 

Erp. Not so, my liege : this lodging likes me 
better, 
Since I may say ' Now lie I like a king.' 

A". Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their pres- 
ent pains 
Upon example ; so the spirit is eased: 
And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt. 
The organs, though defunct and dead before, 2: 
Break up their drowsy grave and newly move, 
With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both, 
Commend me to the princes in our camp ; 
Do my good morrow to them, and anon 
Desire them all to my pavilion. 

Glou. We shall, my liege. 

Erp. Shall I attend your grace? 

K. Hen. No, my good knight ; 

Go with my brothers to my lords of England : 30 
I and my bosom must debate a while, 
And then I would no other company. 

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble 
Harry ! [E.reunt all but King. 

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou speak' st 
cheerfully. 

Enter Pistol. 

Pist. Qui va la? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Pist. Discuss unto me ; art thou officer? 
Or art thou base, common and popular? 

K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 

Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? 40 

A". Hen. Even so. What are you? 

Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 

K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 

Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of 
gold, 
A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
Of parents good, of fist most valiant . 
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string 



I love the lovely bully. What is thy name? 

A". Hen. Harry le Roy. 

Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name : art thou of 
Cornish crew? 5<3 

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 

Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen? 

K. Hen. Yes. 

Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his 
pate 
Upon Saint Davy's day. 

A". Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in 
your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. 

Pist. Art thou his friend? 

A'. Hen. And his kinsman too. 

Pist. The figo for thee, then ! 60 

K. Hen. I thank you : God be with you ! 

Pist. My name is Pistol call'd. [Exit. 

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 

Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen ! 

Flu. So ! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak 
lower. It is the greatest admiration in the uni- 
versal world, when the true and aunchient pre- 
rogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you 
would take the pains but to examine the wars of 
Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, 
that there is no tiddle taddle nor pibble pabble in 
Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find 
the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, 
and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the 
modesty of it, to be otherwise. 

_ Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you hear him 
ail night. 

Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a 
prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we 
should also, look you, be an ass and a fool and a 
prating coxcomb? in your own conscience, now? 

Gow. I will speak lower. 

Flu. I pray you and beseech you that you 
will. [Exeunt Gower a?id Fluellen. 

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of 
fashion. 
There is much care and valour in this Welshman. 

Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander 
Court, and Michael Williams. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the 
morning which breaks yonder? 

Bates. I think it be : but we have no great 
cause to desire the approach of day. go 

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the 
day, but I think we shall never see the end of it. 
Who goes there ? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Will. Under what captain serve you? 

K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. 

Will. A good old commander and a most 
kind gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he of 
our estate? 

A". Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, 
that look to be washed off the next tide. 101 

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the 
king? 

A", lie;/. No : nor it is not meet he should. 
For, though I speak it to you, I think the king is 
but a man, as I am : the violet smells to him as it 



456 



KING HENRY V 



[Act iv. 



doth to me ; the element shows to him as it doth 
to me ; all his senses have but human condi- 
tions: his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness 
he appears but a man ; and though his affections 
are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they 
stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Therefore 
when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, 
out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are : 
yet, in reason, no man should possess him with 
any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, 
should dishearten his army. 

Bates. He may show what outward courage 
he will ; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he 
could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; 
and so I would he were, and I by him, at all ad- 
ventures, so we were quit here. 

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my con- 
science of the king : I think he would not wish 
himself any where but where he is. 

Bates. Then I would he were here alone ; so 
should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many 
poor men's lives saved. 

K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill, to 
wish him here alone, howsoever you speak this 
to feel other men's minds : methinks I could not 
die any where so contented as in the king's 
company; his cause being just and his quarrel 
honourable. 

Will. That 's more than we know. 

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; 

I for we know enough, if we know we are the 

: king's subjects : if his cause be wrong, our obe- 

I dience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us. 

Will. But if the cause be not good, the king 

I himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, when 

; all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in 

i a battle, shall join together at the latter day and 

1 cry all ' We died at such a place ; some swearing, 

some crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives 

left poor behind them, some upon the debts they 

owe, some upon their children rawly left. I am 

afeard there are few die well that die in a battle ; 

for how can they haritably dispose of any thing, 

when blood is their argument? Now, if these 

men do not die well, it will be a black matter for 

the king that led them to it ; whom to disobey 

were against all proportion of subjection. 

K. Hen. So, if a son that is by his father sent 
about merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the 
sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your 
rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent 
him: or if a servant, under his master's com- 
mand transporting a sum of money, be assailed 
by robbers and die in many irreconciled iniqui- 
ties, you may call the business of the master the 
author of the servant's damnation ; but this is not 
so : the king is not bound to answer the particular 
endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor 
the master of his servant ; for they purpose not 
their death, when they purpose their services. 
Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so 
spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, 
can try it out with all unspotted soldiers : some 
peradventure have on them the guilt of premedit- 
| ated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling 
! virgins with the broken seals of perjury ; some, 
l making the wars their bulwark, that have before 
j gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and 
I robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the 



law and outrun native punishment, though they 
can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from 
God : war is his beadle, war is his vengeance ; so 
that here men are punished for before-breach of 
the king's laws in now the king's quarrel : where 
they feared the death, they have borne life away ; 
and where they would be safe, they perish : then 
if they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty 
of their damnation than he was before guilty of 
those impieties for the which they are now visited. 
Every subject's duty is the king's ; but every 
subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every 
soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his 
bed, wash every mote out of his conscience : and 
dying so, death is to him advantage ; or not 
dying, the time was blessedly lost wherein such 
preparation was gained : and in him that escapes, 
it were not sin to think that, making God so free 
an offer, He let him outlive that day to see His 
greatness and to teach others how they should 
prepare. 

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, 
the ill upon his own head, the king is not to an- 
swer it. 199 

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for 
me ; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say he would 
not be ransomed. 

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheer- 
fully : but when our throats are cut, he may be 
ransomed, 2nd we ne'er the wiser. 

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust 
his word after. 

Will. You pay him then. That's a perilous 
shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and private 
displeasure can do against a monarch ! you may 
as well go about to turn the sun to ice with fan- 
ning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll 
never trust his word after ! come, 'tis a foolish 
saying. 

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round : 
I should be angry with you, if the time were 
convenient. 

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you 
live. 220 

K. Hen. I embrace it. 

Will. How shall I know thee again ? 

K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I 
will wear it in my bonnet : then, if ever thou 
darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 

Will. Here's my glove: give me another of 
thine. 

K. Hen. There. 

Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if ever 
thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, 'This 
is my glove,' by this hand, I will take thee a box 
on the ear. 

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will chal- 
lenge it. 

Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take 
thee in the king's company. 

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. 

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be 
friends: we have French quarrels enow, if you 
could tell how to reckon. 241 

A". Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
French crowns to one, they will beat us ; for 
they bear them on their shoulders : but it is no 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY V. 



457 



English treason to cut French crowns, and to- 
morrow the king himself will be a clipper. 

[Exeunt Soldiers. 
Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
Our debts, our careful wives, 
Our children and our sins lay on the king ! 
We must bear all. O hard condition, 250 

Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath 
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel 
But his own wringing ! What infinite heart's-easc 
Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! 
And what have kings, that privates have not too, 
Save ceremony, save general ceremony? 
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? 
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more 
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? 
What are thy rents? what are thy comings in? 

ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 261 
fWhat is thy soul of adoration ? 

Art thou aught else but place, degree and form, 

Creating awe and fear in other men? 

Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 

Than they in fearing. 

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 

But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great greatness, 

And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 

Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out 270 

With titles blown from adulation? 

Will it give place to flexure and low bending? 

Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's 

knee, 
Command the health of it ? No, thou proud dream, 
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 

1 am a king that find thee, and I know 
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball, 
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, 

The farced title running 'fore the king, 280 

The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 

That beats upon the high shore of this world, 

No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, 

Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 

Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, 

Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind 

Gets him to rest, cramm'dwith distressful bread ; 

Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, 

But, like a lackey, from the rise to set 

Sweats in the eye of Phcebus and all night 290 

Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, 

Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, 

And follows so the ever-running year, 

With profitable labour, to his grave : 

And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 

Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, 

Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 

The slave, a member of the country's peace, 

Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots 

What watch the king keeps to maintain thepeace, 

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 301 

Enter Eiu'ixc;ham. 

Er/>. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your 
absence, 
Seek through your camp to find you. 

A". Hen. Good old knight, 

Collecl them all together at my tent : 
I '11 be before thee. 

Erp v I shall do 't, my lord. \E*it. 



K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers' 

hearts ; 
Possess them not with fear ; take from them now 
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers 
Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O 

Lord, 
O, not to-day, think not upon the fault 310 

My father made in compassing the crown ! 
I Richard's body have interred new ; 
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears 
Than from it issued forced drops of blood : 
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 
Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up 
Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have 

built 
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do ; 
Though all that I can do is nothing worth, 320 
Since that my penitence comes after all, 
Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glou. My liege ! 

K. Hen. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; 
I know thy errand, I will go with thee : 
The day, my friends and all things stay for me. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene II. 



The Fre7ich camp. 

Rambures, 



X, 



Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, 

and others. 
Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my 

lords ! 
Dau. Montez a. cheval! My horse! varlet ! 

laquais ! ha ! 
Orl. O brave spirit ! 
Dau. Via ! les eaux et la terre. 
Orl. Rien puis? l'air et le feu. 
Dau. Ciel, cousin Orleans. 

Eiiter Constable. 
my lord constable ! 
Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service 

neigh ! 
Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their 
hides, 
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, 10 
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha ! 
Ram. What, will you have them weep our 
horses' blood ? 
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? 

Enter Messenger. 
Mess. The English are embattled, you French 

peers. 
Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight 

to horse ! 
Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
And your fair show shall suck away their souls. 
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
There is not work enough for all our hands ; 
Scarce blood enough m all their sickly veins 20 
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain. 
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out. 
And sheathe for lack of sport : let us but blow on 

them, 
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords. 



453 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act iv. 



That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, 

Who in unnecessary action swarm 

About our squares of battle, were enow 

To purge this field of such a hilding foe, 

Though we upon this mountain's basis by 30 

Took stand for idle speculation : 

But that our honours must not. What's to say? 

A very little little let us do. 

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 

The tucket sonance and the note to mount ; 

For our approach shall so much dare the field 

That England shall couch down in fear and yield. 

Enter Grandpre. 

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of 

France? 
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
Ill-favouredly become the morning field : 40 

Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, 
And our air shakes them passing scornfully: 
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host 
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps : 
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor 

jades 
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and 

hips, 
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, 
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless ; 
And their executors, the knavish crows, 51 

Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. 
Description cannot suit itself in words 
To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 

Con. They have said their prayers, and they 

stay for death. 
Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and 

fresh suits 
And give their fasting horses provender, 
And after fight with them? 

Con. I stay but for my guidon : to the field ! 
I will the banner from a trumpet take, 61 

And use it for my haste. Come, come, away ! 
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The English camp. 

Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Er- 
pingham, with all his host: Salisbury and 
Westmoreland. 

Glou. Where is the king? 

Bed. The king himself is rode tc view their 

battle. 
West. Of fighting men they have full three 

score thousand. 
Exe. There 's five to one ; besides, they all 

are fresh. 
Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful 
odds. 
God be wi' you, princes all ; I '11 to my charge : 
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, 
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, 
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord 

Exeter, 
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu ! to 



Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury ; and gocd 

luck go with thee ! 
Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly to- 
day : 
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, 
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour. 
[Exit Salisbury. 
Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness ; 
Princely in both. 

Enter the King. 

West. O that we now had here 

But one ten thousand of those men in England 
That do no work to-day ! 

K. Hen. What's he that wishes so? 

My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin : 
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 20 

To do our country loss ; and if to live, 
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
I By J ove > I am not covetous for gold, 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires: 
But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 29 

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : 
God's peace ! I would not lose so great an. honour 
As one man more, methinks, would share from 

me 
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one 

more ! 
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my 

host, 
That he which hath no stomach to this fight, 
Let him depart; his passport shall be made 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 
We would not die in that man's company 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian : 40 

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
He that shall live this day, and see old age, 
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, 
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:' 
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, 
And say ' These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' 
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, 
But he'll remember with advantages 50 

What feats he did that day : then shall our names, 
Familiar in his mouth as household words, 
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. 
This story shall the good man teach his son ; 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
From this day to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remembered ; 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; 60 
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 
This day shall gentle his condition : 
And gentlemen in England now a-bed 
Shall think themselves accursed they were not 

here, 
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's dav. 



Scene in.] 



KING HENRY V. 



459 



Re-enter Salisbury. 

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with 
speed : 
The French are bravely in their battles set, 
And will with all expedience charge on us. 70 
A'. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds 

be so. 
West. Perish the man whose mind is back- 
ward now ! 
A". Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from 

England, coz? 
West. God's will ! my liege, would you and 
I alone, 
Without more help, could light this royal battle ! 
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwi^h'd rive 
thousand men ; 
Which likes me better than to wish us one. 
You know your places : God be with you all ! 

Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, 
King Harry, 
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, So 
Before thy most assured overthrow: 
For certainly thou art so near the gulf, 
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in 

mercy, 
The constable desires thee thou wilt mind 
Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 
From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor 

bodies 
Must lie and fester. 

K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? 

Mont. The Constable of France. 

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer- 
back : go 
Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones. 
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows 

thus? 
The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting 

him. 
A many of our bodies shall no doubt 
Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust, 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
And those that leave their valiant bones in France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills. 
They shall be famed : for there the sun shall greet 
them, 100 

And draw their honours reeking up to heaven ; 
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in 

France. 
Mark then abounding valour in our English, 
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
Break out into a second course of mischief, 
Killing in relapse of mortality. 
Let me speak proudly: tell the constable 
We are but warriors for the working-day ; 
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd no 
With rainy marching in the painful field ; 
There's not a piece of feather in our host — 
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly — 
And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim ; 
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night 
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck 



The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' 

heads 
And turn them out of service. If they do this. — 
As, if God please, they shall, — my ransom then 
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy 

labour; 121 

Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald : 
They shall have none, I swear, but these my 

joints ; 
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, 
Shall yield them little, tell the constable. 
Mont. I shall, King Harry. And so fare 

thee well : 
Thou never shall hear herald any more. [Exit. 
A*. Hen. 1 fear thou 'It once more come again 

for ransom. 

Enter York. 
1'ori: My lord, most humbly on mv knee 
I beg 
Ihe leading of the vaward. 130 

A". Hen. Take it, brave York. Now, soldier,, 
march away : 
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The field of battle. 

Alarum. Excursions. En ter Pistol, French 
Soldier, and Boy. 

Fist. Yield, cur! 

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme 
de bonne qualite. 

Pist. Qualtitie calmie custure me ! Art thou 
a gentleman? what is thy name? discuss. 

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu ! 

Pist. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman : 
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark ; 
O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 10 

Egregious ransom. 

Fr. Sol. O, prenez misericorde ! ayez pitie 
de moi! 

Pist. Moy shall not serve ; I will have forty 
moys ; 
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat 
In drops of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force 
de ton bras? 

Pist. Brass, cur ! 
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 20 
Offer'st me brass? 

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi ! 

Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of 
moys ? 
Come hither, boy: ask me this .slave in French 
What is his name. 

Roy. Ecoutez : comment etes-vous appcle ? 

Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 

Roy. He says his name is Master Fer. 

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, 
and ferret him : discuss the same in French unto 
him. 31 

Roy. I do not know the French for fer, and 
ferret, and firk. 

Pist. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his 
throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur? 



460 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act iv. 



Boy. II me commande de vous dire que vous 
faites vous pret ; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout 
a cette heure de couper votre gorge. 

Fist. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, 
Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave 
crowns ; 40 

Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie, pour 1' amour de 
Dieu, me pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme de 
bonne maison : gardez ma vie, et je vous don- 
nerai deux cents ecus. 

Pist. What are his words? 

Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a 
gentleman of a good house; and for his ransom 
he will give you two hundred crowns. 

Pist. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I 50 
The crowns will take. 

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? 

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de 
pardonner aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour les 
ecus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de 
vous donner la liberte, le franchisement. 

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille 
remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que je suis 
tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, 
le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur 
d'Angleterre. 61 

Pist. Expound unto me, boy. 

Boy, He gives you, upon his knees, a thou- 
sand thanks ; and he esteems himself happy that 
he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, 
the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy 
signieur of England. 

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. 
Follow me ! 69 

Boy. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. [Exeunt 
Pistol, and French Soldier. ] I did never know 
so full a voice issue from so empty a heart : but 
the saying is true, ' The empty vessel makes the 
greatest sound.' Bardolph and Nym had ten 
times more valour than this roaring devil i' the 
old play, that every one may pare his nails with 
a wooden dagger ; and they are both hanged ; 
and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing 
adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, 
with the luggage of our camp : the French might 
have a good prey of us, if he knew of it ; for 
there is none to guard it but boys. [Exit. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourijon, 
Dauphin, and Rambures. 

Con. O diable ! 

Orl. O seigneur ! le jour est perdu, tout est 

perdu ! 
Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all ! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 
Sits mocking in our plumes. O median te fortune ! 
Do not run away. [A short alarum. 

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. 

Dau. O perdurable shame! let's stab our- 
selves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? 
Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his 

ransom ? 
Bour. Shame and eternal shame, nothing but 
shame ! 10 

Let us die in honour : once more back again ; 



And he that will not follow Bourbon now, 
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, 
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, 
His fairest daughter is contartiinated. 

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil' d us, friend us 
now! 
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. 

Orl. We are enow yet living in the field 
To smother up the English in our throngs, 20 
If any order might be thought upon. 

Bour. The devil take order now ! I '11 to the 
throng : 
Let life be short ; else shame will be too long. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VT. Another part 0/ the field. 

Alarums. Enter King Henry and forces, 
Exeter, and others. 

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant 
countrymen : 
But all's not done ; yet keep the French the field. 

Exe. The Duke of York commends him to 
your majesty. 

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within j 
this hour 
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting; 
From helmet to the spur all blood he was. 

Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, 
Larding the plain ; and by his bloody side, 
Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds, 
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. 10 

Suffolk first died : and York, all haggled over, 
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, 
And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes 
That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
And cries aloud ' Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk ! 
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven ; 
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, 
As in this glorious and well-foughten field 
We kept together in our chivalry !' 
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up : 20 
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand, 
And, with a feeble gripe, says ' Dear my lord, 
Commend my service to my sovereign.' 
So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck 
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips ; 
And so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd 
A testament of noble-ending love. 
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 
Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd ; 
But I had not so much of man in me, 30 

And all my mother came into mine eyes 
And gave me up to tears. 

K. Hen. I blame you not ; 

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. 

[Alarum. 
But, hark ! what new alarum is this same? 
The French have reinforced their scatter'd men : 
Then every soldier kill his prisoners; 
Give the word through. [Exeu?it> 

Scene VII. Another part of the field. 
Etiter Fluellen and Gower. 
Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis ex- 
pressly against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a 



Scene vi r.] 



KING HENRY V. 



461 



piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be 
offer't; in your conscience, now, is it not? 

Gow. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive ; 
and the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle 
ha' done this slaughter : besides, they have burned 
and carried away all that was in the king's tent; 
wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused 
every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis 
a gallant king! n 

Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain 
Gower. What call you the town's name where 
Alexander the Pig was born ! 

Gow. Alexander the Great. 

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the 
pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or 
the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save 
the phrase is a little variations. 19 

Gow. I think Alexander the Great was born 
in Macedon : his father was called Philip of 
Macedon, as I take it. 

Flu. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander 
IS porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the 
maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sail find, in the 
comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, 
that the situations, look you, is both alike. There 
is a river in Macedon ; and there is also moreover 
a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye at Mon- 
mouth ; but it is out of my prains what is the 
name of the other river ; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike 
as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is sal- 
mons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, 
Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indif- 
ferent well; for there is figures in all things. 
Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his 
rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his 
cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and 
his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates 
in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look 
you, kill his best friend, Cleitus. 41 

Gozv. Our king is not like him in that : he 
never killed any of his friends. 

Flit. It is not well done, mark you now, to 
take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made 
and finished. I speak but in the figures and 
comparisons of it : as Alexander killed his friend 
Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups; so also 
Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his 
good judgements, turned away the fat knight 
with the great belly-doublet: he was full of jests, 
and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have 
forgot his name. 

Gow. Sir John Falstaff. 

Flu. That is he : I '11 tell you there is good 
men porn at Monmouth. 

Gow. Here comes his majesty. 

Alarum. Enter King Henrv, and foixes; 
Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, and others. 
K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to 
France 
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald ; 
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill : 60 

If they will fight with us, bid them come down, 
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
If they'll do neither, we will come to them, 
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones 
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings: 
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have, 
And not a man of them that we shall take 



Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. 
Enter Montjov. 

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, 
my liege. 

Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used 
to be. 7 o 

A". Hen. How now ! what means this, herald ? 
know'st thou not 
That 1 have fined these bones of mine for ransom? 
Comest thou again for ransom ? 

Mont. No, great king : 

I come to thee for charitable license, 
That we may wander o'er this bloody field 
To look our dead, and then to bury them ; 
To sort our nobles from our common men. 
For many of our princes — woe the while! — 
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 80 
In blood of princes ; and their wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage 
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, 
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king. 
To view the field in safety and dispose 
Of their dead bodies ! 

A". Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 

I know not if the day be ours or no ; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer 
And gallop o'er the field. 

Mont. The day is yours. 

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, 



for it ! 



90 



What is this castle call'd that stands hard by 

Mont. They call it Agincourt. 

K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agin- 
court, 
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 

Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, 
an't please your majesty, and your great-uncle 
Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have 
read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle 
here in France. 

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 100 

Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your 
majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did 
good_ service in a garden where leeks did grow, 
wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps ; which, 
your majesty know, to this hour is an honourable 
badge of the service ; and I do believe your ma- 
jesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint 
Tavy's day. 

A". Heu. I wear it for a memorable honour ; 
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 

Flit. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can 
tell you that : God pless it and preserve it, as long 
as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too ! 

A". Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 

Flu. By Jeshu, I am your majesty's country- 
man, I care not who know it ; I will confess it to 
all the 'orld : I need not to be ashamed of your 
majesty, praised be God, so long as your majesty 
is an honest man. I20 

K.I I en. God keep me so! Our heralds go 
with him : 
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 
On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. 

[Points to Williams. Exeunt Heralds 
with. Mont joy. 



462 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act iv. 



Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 
A'. Hc7i. Soldier, why wearest thou that glove 
in thy cap? 

Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage 

1 of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 

j K. Hen. An Englishman? 129 

Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal that 

I swaggered with me last night; who, if alive and 

j ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn 

' to take him a box o' th' ear : or if I can see my 

glove in his cap, which he swore, as he was a 

soldier, he would wear if alive, I will strike it 

j out soundly. 

K. Hen. What think you, Captain Fluellen? 
is it Jit this soldier keep his oath? 

Flic. He is a craven and a villain else, an't 

! please your majesty, in my conscience. 140 

K. Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman 

of great sort, quite from the answer of his 

j degree. 

Flu. Though he be as good a gentleman as 

j the devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is 

j necessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow 

! and his oath : if he be perjured, see you now, his 

reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, 

as ever his black shoe trod upon God's ground 

l and his earth, in my conscience, la ! 150 

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when 

thou meetest the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 
K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? 
Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. 
Flu. Gower is a good captain, and is good 
knowledge and literatured in the wars. 
K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 
Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen, wear thou this favour 
for me and stick it in thy cap : when Alencon and 
myself were down together, I plucked this glove 
from his helm : if any man challenge this, he is a 
friend to Alencon, and an enemy to our person ; 
if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an 
thou dost me love. 

Flu. Your grace doo's me as great honours as 
can be desired in the hearts of his subjects : I 
would fain see the man, that has but two legs, 
that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove ; 
that is all ; but I would fain see it once, an please 
God of his grace that I might see. 
K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? 
Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 
K. He?i. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring 
him to my tent. 

Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 

K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, and my brother 
Gloucester, 
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels : 
The glove which I have given him for a favour 
May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear ; 1S1 
It is the soldier's ; I by bargain should 
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick : 
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge 
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word, 
Some sudden mischief may arise of it; 
For I do know Fluellen valiant 
And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder, 
And quickly will return an injury: 189 

Follow, and see there be no harm between them. 
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. 



Scene VIII. Before King HENRY's/aw'&«. 

Enter Gower and Williams. 

Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 

Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. God's will and his pleasure, captain, I 
beseech you now, come apace to the king : there 
is more good toward you peradventure than is in 
your knowledge to dream of. 

Will. Sir, know you this glove? 

Flu. Know the glove ! I know the glove is 
a glove. 

Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it. 

[Strikes him. 

Flu. 'Sblood ! an arrant traitor as any is in the 
universal world, or in France, or in England ! 11 

Goiv. How now, sir ! you villain ! 

Will. Do you think I '11 be forsworn ? 

Flu. Stand away, Captain Gower ; I will give 
treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. 

Will. I am no traitor. 

Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you 
in his majesty's name, apprehend him: he's a 
friend of the Duke Alencpn's. 19 

Enter Warwick and Gloucester. 

War. How now, how now ! what's the matter? 

Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is — praised 
be God for it ! — a most contagious treason come 
to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's 
day. Here is his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

K. Hen. How now ! what's the matter? 

Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, 
that, look your grace, has struck the glove which 
your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon. 

Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is 
the fellow of it ; and he that I gave it to in change 
promised to wear it in his cap : I promised to 
strike him, if he did : I met this man with my 
glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my 
word. 

Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your 
majesty's manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beg- 
garly, lousy knave it is: I hope your majesty is 
pear me testimony and witness, and will avouch- 
ment, that this is the glove of Alencon, that your 
majesty is give me; in your conscience, now? 40 

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier : look, here 
is the fellow of it. 

'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike; 
And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck 
answer for it, if there is any martial law in the 
world. 

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ? 

Will. All offences, my lord, come from the 
heart : never came any from mine that might 
offend your majesty. 51 

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 

Will. Your majesty came not like 3'ourself: 
you appeared to me but as a common man ; wit- 
ness the night, your garments, your lowliness ; 
and what your highness suffered under that shape, 
I beseech you take it for your own fault and not 
mine : for had you been as I took you for, I made 



Scene viii.] 



KING HENRY V 



V 3 



no offence ; therefore, I beseech yuur highness, 
pardon me. 60 

K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove 
with crowns, 
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; 
And wear it for an honour in thy cap 
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns : 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
mettle enough in his helly. Hold, there is twelve 
pence for you ; and I pray you to serve Got, and 
keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quar- 
rels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the 
better for you. 71 

Will. I will none of your money. 

Flu. It is with a good will; I can tell you, it 
will serve you to mend your shoes : come, where- 
fore should you be so pashful ? your shoes is not s. 1 
good: 'tis a good silling, i warrant you, or I will 
change it. 

Enter an English Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead number'd'.' 

Her. Here is the number of the slaughter' d 
French. 

K. Ha:. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 
uncle? 80 

Exc. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the 
king; 
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt : 
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 

K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thou- 
sand French 
That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this 

number, 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
One hundred twenty six : added to these, 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, 89 
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, 
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights : 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; 
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, 
And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
The names of those their nobles that lie dead: 
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France ; 
Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France; 
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures; 
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard 
Dolphin, 100 

John Duke of Alencon, Anthony Duke of Brabant, 
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, 
And Edward Duke of Bar : of lusty earls, 
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, 
Beaumont and Marie, Vaudemont and Lestrale. 
Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 
Where is the number of our English dead? 

{Herald shews him another taper. 
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire : 
None else of name ; and of all other men no 

But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here ; 
And not to us. but to thy arm alone, 
Ascribe we all ! When, without stratagem, 
But in plain shock and even play of battle, 
Was ever known so great and little loss 
On one part and on the other? Take it, God, 
For it is none but thine ! 



Exc. Tis wonderful ! 

A". Hen. Come, go we in procession to the 
village : 
And be it death proclaimed through our host 
To boast of this or take that praise from God 120 
Which is his only. 

Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, 
to tell how many is killed? 

A". Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknow- 
ledgement, 
That God fought for us. 

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good. 

A'. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; 
Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum ;' 
The dead with charity enclosed in clay: 
And then to Calais; and to England then . 130 
Where ne'er from France arrived more happy 
men. [/. , 

ACT Y. 
PROLOGUE. 

E)iter Chorus. 

Char. Vouchsafe to those that have not read 
the story, 
That I may prompt them : and of such as have, 
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
Of time, of numbers and due course of things, 
Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts 
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach 9 
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and 

boys, 
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep- 
mouth' d sea, 
Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king 
Seems to prepare his way : so let him land, 
And solemnly see him set on to London. 
So swift a pace hath thought that even now 
You may imagine him upon Blackheath ; 
Where that his lords desire him to have borne 
His bruised helmet and his bended sword 
Before him through the city: he forbids it, rg 
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride ; 
Giving full trophy, signal and ostent 
Quite from himself to God. But now behold. 
In the quick forge and working-house of th 
How London doth pour out her citizens! 
The mayor and all his brethren in best sort, 
Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels. 
Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in : 
As, by a lower but loving likelihood, 
Were now the general of our gracious empress, 30 
As in good time he may, from Ireland coming, 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
How many would the peaceful city quit, 
To welcome him ! much more, and much more 

cause, 
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; 
As yet the lamentation of the French 
Invites the King of England's stay at home; 
The emperor's coming in behalf of France, . 
To order peace between them ; and omit 
All the occurrences, whatever chanced, 40 

Till Harry's back-return again to France : 



4 6 4 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act v. 



There must we bring him ; and myself have 

play'd 
The interim, by remembering you 'tis past. 
Then brook abridgement, and your eyes advance, 
After your thoughts, straight back again to 

France. [Exit. 

Scene I. France. The English camp. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Gent'. Nay, that's right ; but why wear you 
your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past. 

Fin. There is occasions and causes why and 
wherefore in all things : I will tell you, asse my 
friend, Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beg- 
garly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you 
and yourself and all the world know to be no petter 
than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is 
come to me and prings me pread and salt yester- 
day, look you, and bid me eat my leek : it was in 
i a place where I could not breed no contention 
i with him ; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my 
' cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell 
him a little piece of my desires. 

Enter Pistol. 

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a 
turkey-cock. 

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his 
turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol ! 
you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you ! 

Fist. Ha ! art thou bedlam ? dost thou thirst, 
base Trojan, 20 

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? 
Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy 
knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my 
petitions, to eat, look you, this leek : because, 
look you, you do not love it, nor your affections 
and your appetites and your disgestions doo's not 
agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. 

Fist. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 

Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] 
Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it? 31 

Fist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 

Flu. You say very true, scauld knave, when 
God's will is: I will desire you to live in the 
mean time, and eat your victuals: come, there is 
sauce for it. [Strikes him. ] You called me yes- 
terday mountain-squire ; but I will make you to- 
day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to : 
if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. 

Gow. Enough, captain : you have astonished 
him. 41 

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of 
my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Bite, 
I pray you ; it is good for your green wound and 
your ploody coxcomb. 

Fist. Must I bite? 

Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out 
of question too, and ambiguities. 

Fist. By this leek, I will most horribly re- 
venge : I eat and eat, I swear — 50 

Flu. Eat, I pray you: will you have some 
more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough leek 
to swear by. 

Fist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see I eat. 



Flu. Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. 
Nay, pray you, throw none away ; the skin is 
good for your broken coxcomb. When you take 
occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock 
at 'em ; that is all. 

Fist. Good. 60 

Flu. Ay, leeks is good : hold you, there is a 
groat to heal your pate. 

Fist. Me a groat ! 

Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take 
it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which 
you shall eat. 

Fist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you 
in cudgels : you shall be a woodmonger, and buy 
nothing of me but cudgels. God b' wi' you, and 
keep you, and heal your pate. [Exit. 71 

Fist. All hell shall stir for this. 

Gow. Go, go ; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, 
begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a 
memorable trophy of predeceased valour and dare 
not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I 
have seen you gleeking and galling at this gen- 
tleman twice or thrice. You thought, because 
he could not speak English in the native garb, he 
could not therefore handle an English cudgel: 
you find it otherwise ; and henceforth let a Welsh 
correction teach you a good English condition. 
Fare ye well. [Exit. 

Fist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me 
now? 
News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
Of malady of France ; 
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I '11 turn, 90 
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal: 
And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars, 
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. 

Scene II. France. A royal palace. 

Enter, at one door, King Henry, Exeter, 
Bedford, Gloucester, Warwick, West- 
moreland, and other Lords ; at another, the 
French King, Queen Isabel, the Princess 
Katharine, Alice aiid other Ladies ; tJie ! 
Duke of Burgundy, and his train. 

K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we 

are met ! 
Unto our brother France, and to our sister, 
Health and fair time of day ; joy and good wishes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ; 
And, as a branch and member of this royalty, 
By whom this great assembly is contrived, 
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy ; 
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all ! J 
Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold \ 

your face, 
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : » 
So are you, princes English, every one. 
Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother Eng 

land, 
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting, 
As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY V 



465 



Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, 
Have lost their quality, and that this day 
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 20 

K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we 

Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute 
you. 

B?tr. My duty to you both, on equal love, 
Great Kings of F ranee and England ! That I 

have labour' d, 
With all my wits, my pains and strong endea- 
vours, 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal interview, 
Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd 
That, face to face and royal eye to eye, 30 

You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me, 
If I demand, before this royal view, 
What rub or what impediment there is, 
Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace, 
Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births, 
Should not in this best garden of the world 
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? 
Alas, she hath from France too long been chased, 
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, 
Corrupting in its own fertility. 40 

Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
Unpruned dies ; her hedges even-pleach'd, 
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 
Put forth disorder'd twigs ; her fallow leas 
The darnel, hemlock and rank fumitory 
Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts 
That should deracinate such savagery ; 
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover, 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 50 
Conceives by idleness and nothing teems 
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
Losing both beauty and utility. 
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges, 
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, 
Even so our houses and ourselves and children 
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, 
The sciences that should become our country ; 
But grow like savages, — as soldiers will 
That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 60 

To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire 
And every thing that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favour 
You are assembled : and my speech entreats 
That I may know the let, why gentle Peace 
Should not expel these inconveniences 
And bless us with her former qualities. 

A". Hen. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would 
the peace, 
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
With full accord to all our just demands ; 71 

Whose tenours and particular effects 
You have enscheduled briefly in your hands. 

Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which 
as yet 
There is no answer made. 

K. Hen. Well then the peace, 

Which you before so urged, lies in his answer. 

Fr. King: I have but with a cursorary eye 
O'erglanced the articles : pleaseth your grace 



To appoint some of your council presently 

To sit with us once more, with better heed 80 

To re-survey them, we will suddenly 

Pass our accept and peremptory answer. 

K. Hen. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter, 
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Glou- 
cester, 
Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king; 
And take with you free power to ratify, 
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
Shall see advantageable for our dignity, 
Any thing in or out of our demands, 
And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister, 
Go with the princes, or stay here with us? 91 

Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with 
them: 
Haply a woman's voice may do some good, 
\\ hen articles too nicely urged be stood on. 

A". Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here 
with us : 
She is our capital demand, comprised 
Within the fore-rank of our articles. 

Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 

\_Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine, 
and A lice. 

K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair, 

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear 100 

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 

Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I can- 
not speak your England. 

K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love 
me soundly with your French heart, I will be 
glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your 
English tongue. Do you like me, Kate? 

Kath. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is 
'like me.' 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate, and you 
are like an angel. 1 1 1 

Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les 
anges ? 

Alice. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi 
dit-il. 

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I 
must not blush to affirm it. 

Kath. O bon Dieu ! les langues des homines 
sont pleines de tromperies. 

K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the 
tongues of men are full of deceits? 121 

Alice. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be 
full of deceits: dat is de princess. 

K. Hen. The princess is the better English- 
woman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy 
understanding : I am glad thou canst speak no 
better English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst 
find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think 
I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know 
no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say 
' I love you :' then if you urge me farther than to 
say 'do you in faith?' I wear out my suit. Give 
me your answer ; i' faith, do : and so clap hands 
and a bargain : how say you, lady? 

Kath. Sauf votre honneur, me understand 
veil. 

A'. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses 
or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid 
me: for the one. 1 have neither words nor mea- 
sure, and for the other, I have no strength in 
measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. 



30 



4 66 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act v. 



If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting 
into my saddle with my armour on my back, 
under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I 
should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might 
buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her 
favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like 
a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, 
I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, 
nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only down- 
right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor 
never break for urging. If thou canst love a 
fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not 
worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass 
for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye 
be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier : if 
thou canst love me for this, take me ; if not, to 
say to thee that I shall die, is true ; but for thy 
love, by the Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. And 
while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of 
plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce 
must do thee right, because he hath not the gift 
to woo in other places : for these fellows of infi- 
nite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into 
ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves 
out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a 
rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall ; a 
straight back will stoop ; a black beard will turn 
white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face 
will wither ; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good 
heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon ; or rather 
the sun and not the moon; for it shines bright 
and never changes, but keeps his course truly. 
If thou would have such a one, take me ; and 
take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a 
king. And what sayest thou then to my love? 
speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 

Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy 
of France? 179 

K. Hen. No; it is not possible you should 
love the enemy of France, Kate : but, in loving 
me, you should love the friend of France ; for I 
love France so well that I will not part with a 
village of it; I will have it all mine: and; Kate, 
when France is mine and I am yours, then yours 
is France and you are mine. 

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K. Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; 
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like 
a new-married wife about her husband's neck, 
hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur le posses- 
sion de France, et quand vous avez le possession 
de moi,— let me see, what then? Saint Denis be 
my speed ! — done votre est France et vous etes 
mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer 
the kingdom as to speak so much more French : 
I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to 
laugh at me. 

Kath. Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que 
vous parlez, il est meilleur que l'Anglois lequel 
je parle. 301 

K. Hen. No, faith, is't not, Kate : but thy 
speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly- 
falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. 
But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much En- 
glish, canst thou love me? 

Kath. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, 
Kate? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou 
lovest me : and at night, when you come into 



your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman 
about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her 
dispraise those parts in me that you love with 
your heart : but, good Kate, mock me mercifully ; 
the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee 
cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have 
a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get 
thee with scambling, and thou must therefore 
needs prove a good soldier-breeder : shall not thou 
and I, between Saint Denis and Saint George, 
compound a boy, half French, half English, that 
shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by 
the beard? shall we not? what sayest thou, my 
fair flower-de-luce ? 

Kath. I do not know dat. 

K. Hen. No ; 'tis hereafter to know, but now 
to promise : do but now promise, Kate, you will 
endeavour for your French part of such a boy ; 
and for my English moiety take the word of a 
king and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus 
belle Katharine du monde, mon tres cher et de- 
vin deesse? 

Kath. Your majestee ave fausse French 
enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat 
is en France. 

K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French ! 
By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, 
Kate : by which honour I dare not swear thou 
lovest me ; yet my blood' begins to flatter me 
that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and 
untempering effe6t of my visage. Now, be- 
shrew my father's ambition ! he was thinking of 
civil wars when he got me : therefore was I 
created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect 
of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I 
fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I 
wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort is, 
that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do 
no more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, if 
thou hast me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear 
me, if thou wear me, better and better : and 
therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you 
have me? Put off your maiden blushes ; avouch 
the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an 
empress ; take me by the hand, and say ' Harry 
of England, I am thine:' which word thou shalt 
no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell 
thee aloud 'England is thine, Ireland is thine, 
France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine;' 
who, though I speak it before his face, if he be 
not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the 
best king of good fellows. Come, your answer 
in broken music ; for thy voice is music and thy 
English broken ; therefore, queen of all, Katha- 
rine, break thy mind to me in broken English ; 
wilt thou have me? 

Kath. Dat is as it sail please de roi mon pere. 

K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; 
it shall please him, Kate. 

Kath. Den it sail also content me. 370 

K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I 
call you my queen. 

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: 
ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre 
grandeur en baisant la main d'une de votre seig- 
neurie indigne serviteur ; excusez-moi, je vous 
supplie, mon tres-puissant seigneur. 

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Kath. Les dames et demoiselles pour etre 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY V. 



467 



1 baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume 
de France. 381 

K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says 
she? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les 
ladies of France, — I cannot tell vat is baiser en 
Anglish. 

K. Hen. To kiss. 

Alice. Your majesty entendre b^ttre que moi. 

K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in 
France to kiss before they are married, would 
she say? 

Alice. Oui, vraiment. 

K. Hen. Kate, nice customs curtsy to 
great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be 
confined within the weak list of a country's 
fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; 
and the liberty that follows our places stops the 
mouth of all find-faults ; as I will do yours, for 
upholding the nice fashion of your country in 
denying me a kiss : therefore, patiently and 
yielding. [Kissing her.] You have witchcraft 
in your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence in a 
sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the 
French council; and they should sooner persuade 
Harry of England than a general petition of 
monarchs. Here comes your father. 

Re-enter the French King and his Queen, 
Burgundy, and other Lords. 

Bur. God save your majesty ! my royal 
cousin, teach you our princess English? 

K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair 
cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is 
good English. 

Bur. Is she not apt? 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my 
condition is not smooth ; so that, having neither 
the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I 
cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, 
•that he will appear in his true likeness. 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I 
answer you for that. If you would conjure in 
her, you must make a circle ; if conjure up love 
in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked 
and blind. Can you blame her then, being a 
maid yet rosed over with the virgin crimson of 
modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked 
blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, mi- 
lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. 

K. Hen. Yet they do wink and yield, as love 
is blind and enforces. 

Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when 
they see not what they do. 430 

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your 
cousin to consent winking. 

Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, 
if you will teach her to know my meaning: for 
maids, well summered and warm kept, are like 
flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they 
have their eyes; and then they will endure hand- 
ling, which before would not abide looking on. 

K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time and 
a hot summer ; and so I shall catch the fly, your 
cousin, in the latter end and she must be blind too. 

Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 

A". Hen. It is so: and you may, some of you, 
thank love for my blindness, who cannot see 



many a fair French city for one fair French maid 
that stands in my way. 

Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them per- 
speclively, the cities turned into a maid ; for they 
are all girdled with maiden walls that war hath 
never entered. 450 

K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife? 
Fr. King. So please you. 
K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities 
you talk of may wait on her : so the maid that 
stood in the way for my wish shall show me the 
way to my will. 

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of 
reason. 

K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England? 459 
West. The king hath granted every article : 
His daughter first, and then in sequel all, 
According to their firm proposed natures. 

Exe. Only he hath not yet subscribed this : 
Where your majesty demands, that the King of 
France, having any occasion to write for matter 
of grant, shall name your highness in this form 
and with this addition, in French, Notre tres- 
cher fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre, He'ritier de 
France^; and thus in Latin, Praeclarissimus filius 
noster Henricus. Rex Angliaj, et Haeres Francias. 
Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so 
denied, 
But your request shall make me let it pass. 
K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear 
alliance, 
Let that one article rank with the rest; 
And thereupon give me your daughter. 

Fr. King. Take her, fair son, and from her 
blood raise up 
Issue to me ; that the contending kingdoms 
Of France and England, whose very shores look 

pale 
With envy of each other's happiness, 
May cease their hatred, and this dear con- 
junction 4 8o 
Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord 
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair 
France. 
All. Amen! 

K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate: and bear me 
witness all, 
That here I kiss her as my^sovereign queen. 

[Flourish. 
Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages. 
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one ! 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, 
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, 
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, 
To make divorce of their incorporate league ; 
That English may as French, French English- 
men, 
Receive each other. God speak this Amen ! 
All. Amen ! 

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage : on 
which day, 
My Lord of Burgundy, we '11 take your oath. 
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. 500 
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be ! 
[Sennet. Exeunt. 



4 68 



KING HENRY V 



[Act v. 



EPILOGUE. 
Enter Chorus. 



Clwr. Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, 
Our bending author hath pursued the story, 

In little room confining mighty men, _ 

Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 

Small time, but in that small most greatly lived 
This star of England : Fortune made his sword ; 

By which the world's best garden he achieved, 



And of it left his son imperial lord. 
Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King 
Of France and England, did this king suc- 
ceed; 10 
Whose state so many had the managing, 

That they lost France and made his England 
bleed : 
Which oft our stage hath shown ; and, for their 

sake, 
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. 

{.Exit. 



THE FIRST PART OF 

KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Duke of Gloucester, uncle to the King, 
and Protector. 

Duke of Bedford, uncle to the King, and 
Regent of France. 

Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great- 
uncle to the King. 

Henry Beaufort, great-uncle to the King, 
Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards 
Cardinal. 

John Beaufort, Earl, afterwards Duke, of 
Somerset. 

Richard Plantagenets son of Richard 
iate Earl of Cambridge, afterwards Duke 
of York. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Earl of Suffolk. 

Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrews- 
bury. 

John Talbot, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Sir John Fastolfe. 

Sir William Lucy. 

Sir William Glansdale. 

Sir Thomas Gargrave. 

Mayor of London. 

Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower. 

VERNON, of the White-Rose or York faction. 



Basset, of the Red-Rose or Lancaster 

faction. 
A Lawyer. Mortimer's Keepers. 

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King, 

of France. 
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King 

of Naples. 
Duke of Burgundy. 
Duke of Alencon. 
Bastard of Orleans. 
Governor of Paris. 

Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. 
General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. 
A French Sergeant. A Porter. 
An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. 

Margaret, daughter to Reignier, after- 
wards married to King Henry. 

Countess of Auvergne. 

Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan 
of Arc. 

Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, 
Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. 

Fiends appearing to La Pucelle. 

Scene: Partly in England, and partly in 
France. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Westminster Abbey. 

Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King 
Henry the Fifth, attended on by tlit Duke of 
Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of 
Gloucester, Protector; the Duke of Exe- 
ter, the Earl of Warwick, tlte Bishop of 
Winchester, Heralds, &c. 

Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield 
day to night ! 
Comets, importing change of times and states, 
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, 
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars 
That have consented unto Henry's death! 
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live lor.g! 
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 

Glou. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
Virtue he had, deserving to command : 
His brandish' d sword did blind men with his 
beams : 10 

His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ; 
His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, 
More dazzled and drove back his enemies 
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces 
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: 



He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. 
Exe. We mourn in black : why mourn we not 

in blood ? 
Henry is dead and never shall revive : 
Upon a wooden coffin we attend, 
And death's dishonourable victory 20 

We with our stately presence glorify, 
Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
What ! shall we curse the planets of mishap 
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ? 
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French 
Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him 
By magic verses have contrived his end? 

Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of 

kings. 
Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day 
So dreadful will not be as was his sight. 30 

The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : 
The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
Glou. The church! where is it? Had not 

churchmen pray'd, 
His thread of life had not so soon decayed : 
None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 
Win. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art 

protector 
And lookest to command the prince and realm. 



47° 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act 



Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe, 
More than God or religious churchmen may. 40 
Glou. Name not religion, for thou lovest the 

flesh, 
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st 
Except it be to pray against thy foes. 
Bed. Cease, cease these jars and rest your 

minds in peace : 
Let's to the altar : heralds, wait on us : 
Instead of gold, we '11 offer up our arms ; 
Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. 
Posterity, await for wretched years, 
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall 

suck, 
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, 50 

And none but women left to wail the dead. 
Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate : 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, 
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make 
Than Julius Caesar or bright 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all ! 
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture : 
Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, 60 

Paris, Guysors, Poicliers, are all quite lost. 

Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead 
Henry's corse? 
Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns 
Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. 

Glou. Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? 
If Henry were recall'd to life again, 
These news would cause him once more yield 
the ghost. 

Exe. How were they lost? what treachery 
was used? 

Mess. No treachery; but want of men and 
money. 
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, 70 

That here you maintain several factions, 
And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, 
You are disputing of your generals : 
One would have lingering wars with little cost; 
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings ; 
A third thinks, without expense at all, 
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
Let not sloth dim your honours new-begot : 
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 80 
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 

Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, 
These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. 

Bed. Me they concern; Regent I am of 
France. 
Give me my steeled coat. I '11 fight for France. 
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, 
To weep their intermissive miseries. 

Enter to them another Messenger. 
Mess : Lords, view these letters full of bad 
mischance. 
France is revolted from the English quite, ' 90 
Except some petty towns of no import : 
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims ; 
The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd ; 
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part ; 



The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. 
Exe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to 
him ! 
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach ? 
Glou. We will not fly, but to our enemies' 
throats. 
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out 
Bed. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my for- 
wardness? 100 
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, 
Wherewith already France is overrun. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments, 
Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, 
I must inform you of a dismal fight 
Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. 

Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is'tso? 

Mess. O, no ; wherein Lord Talbot was o'er- 
thrown : 
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. 
The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, no 
Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, 
By three and twenty thousand of the French 
Was round encompassed and set upon. 
No leisure had he to enrank his men ; 
He wanted pikes to set before his archers ; 
Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges 
They pitched in the ground confusedly, 
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
More than three hours the fight continued ; 120 
Where valiant Talbot above human thought 
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance : 
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand 

him; 
Flere, there, and every where, enraged he flew : 
The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms ; 
All the whole army stood agazed on him : 
His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit 
A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain 
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up. 130 
If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward : 
He, being in the vaward, placed behind 
With purpose to relieve and follow them, 
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 
Enclosed were they with their enemies : 
A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, 
Whom all France with their chief assembled 

strength 
Durst not presume to look once in the face. 140 

Bed. Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, 
For living idly here in pomp and ease, 
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. 

Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner, 
And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford : 
Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. 

Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay : 
I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne : 
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ; 150 
Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ours. 
Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I ; 
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, 
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal : 
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, 



Scene i.] 



FIRST PART OF ICING HENRV J 'I. 



Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 

Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besiege J ; 
The English army is grown weak and faint : 
The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, 
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 160 

Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 

Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry 
sworn, 
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, 
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 

Bed. I do remember it; and here take my 
leave, 
To go about my preparation. [Exit. 

Glou. I '11 to the Tower with all the haste i can, 
To view the artillery and munition ; 
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. 

(Exit. 

Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is, 
Being ordain'd his special governor, 171 

And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit. 

Win. Each hath his place and function to 
attend : 
I am left out ; for me nothing remains. 
But long 1 will not be Jack out of office: 
The king from Eltham I intend to steal 
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. France. Before Orleans. 

Sound a flourish. Enter Charles, Alencon, 

and Reignier, marching with drum and 

Soldiers. 

Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the 
heavens 
So in the earth, to this day is not known : 
Late did he shine upon the English side ; 
Now we are victors ; upon us he smiles. 
What towns of any moment but we have? 
At pleasure here we lie near Orleans ; 
Otherwhilesthe famish'd English, like pale ghosts, 
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 

A leu. They want their porridge and their fat 
bull-beeves: 
Either they must be dieted like mules 10 

I And have their provender tied to their mouths 
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 

Reig. Let's raise the siege : why live we idly 
here? 
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : 
Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury ; 
And he may well in fretting spend his gall, 
Nor men nor money hath he to make war. 

Char. Sound, sound alarum ! we will rush on 
them. 
Now for the honour of the forlorn French ! 
Him I forgive my death that killeth me 20 

When he sees me go back one foot or fly. [Exeunt. 

Here alarum; they are beaten back by the 

English with great loss. Re-enter Charles, 

Alencon, and Reignier. 

Char. Who ever saw the like? what men 
have I ! 
Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! I would ne'er have 

fled, 
But that they left me 'midst my enemies. 

Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; 
He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
The other lords, like lions wanting food, 



Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 

Alen. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, 
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred 30 

During the time Edward the Third did reign. 
More truly now may this be verified ; 
For none but Samsons and Goliases 
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
Lean raw-boned rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
They had such courage and audacity? 

Char. Let's leave this town ; for they are hare- 

brain'd slaves, 

And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: 

Of old I know them; rather with their teeth 39 

The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. 

Reig. I think, by some odd gimmors or device 
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on ; 
Else ne"cr could they hold out so as they do. 
By my consent, we'll even let them alone. 

Alen. Be it so. 

Enter the Bastard of Orleans. 
Bast. Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have 

news for him. 
Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome 

to us. 
Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer 
appall' d : 
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? 
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand: 50 

A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
Which by a vision sent to her from heaven 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege 
And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, 
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome : 
What's past and what's to come she can descry. 
Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, 
For they are certain and unfallible. 

Char. Go, call her in. [Exit Bastard.] But 
first, to try her skill, 60 

Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : 
Question her proudly ; let thy looks be stern : 
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 

Re-enter tlie Bastard of Orleans, with Joan- 
La Pucelle. 

Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these won- 
drous feats ? 

Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to be- 
guile me? 
Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind ; 
I know thee well, though never seen before. 
Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me : 
In private will I talk with thee apart. 69 

Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 

Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 

Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's 
daughter, 
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased 
To shine on my contemptible estate: 
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, 
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, 
God's mother deigned to appear to me 
And in a vision full of majesty 
Will'd me to leave my base vocation 80 

And free my country from calamity: 
Her aid she promised and assured success : 
In complete glory she reveal'd herself; 



4/2 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act 



And, whereas I was black and swart before, 

With those clear rays which she infused on me 

That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. 

Ask me what question thou canst possible, 

And I will answer unpremeditated: 

My courage try by combat, if thou darest, 

And thou*shalt find that I exceed my sex. 90 

Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, 

If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 

Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high 
terms : 
Only this proof I '11 of thy valour make, 
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, 
And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; 
Otherwise I renounce all confidence. 

Puc. I am prepared : here is my keen-edged 
sword, 
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side ; 
I The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's 
churchyard, 100 

Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. 
Char. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no 

woman. 
Puc. And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a 
man. 

[Here they fight, and Joan La Pucelle 
overcomes. 
Char. Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an 
Amazon 
And fightest with the sword of Deborah. 

Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were 

too weak. 
Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must 
help me : 
Impatiently I burn with thy desire; 
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. 
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, no 

Let me thy servant and not sovereign be : 
Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 

Pztc. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
For my profession's sacred from above : 
When I have chased all thy foes from hence, 
Then will I think upon a recompense. 

Char. Meantime look gracious on thy pros- 
trate thrall. 
Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 
Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her 
smock ; 
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 
Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps 
no mean? izr 

Alen. He may mean more than we poor men 
do know : 
These women are shrewd tempters with their 
tongues. 
Reig. My lord, where are you? what devise 
you on? 
Shall we give over Orleans, or no? 

Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! 
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. 
Char. What she says I '11 confirm : we'll fight 

it out. 
Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: 130 

Expedl Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, 
Since I have entered into these wars. 
Glory is like a circle in the water, 
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself 
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. 



With Henry's death the English circle ends; 
Dispersed are the glories it included. 
Now am I like that proud insulting ship 
Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. 

Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? 
Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 141 

Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. 
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, 
How may I reverently worship thee enough? 
Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the 

siege. 
Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our 
honours ; 
Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. 
Char. Presently we'll try : come, let 's away 
about it: 
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. 150 

[Exeu?it. 

Scene III. London. Before the Tower. 

Enter the Duke of Gloucester, with his 

Serving-men in blue coats. 

Glou. I am come to survey the Tower this 

day: 

Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. 

Where be these warders, that they wait not 

here? 
Open the gates ; 'tis Gloucester that calls. 
First Warder. [Within] Who's there that 

knocks so imperiously? 
First Serv. It is the noble Duke of Glou- 
cester. 
Second Warder. [Within] Whoe'er he be, 

you may not be let in. 
First Serv. Villains, answer you so the lord 

protector? 
First Warder. [Within] The Lord proteft 
him ! so we answer him : 
We do no otherwise than we are will'd. 10 

Glou. Who willed you? or whose will stands 
but mine? 
There's none protector of the realm but I. 
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize : 
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? 
[Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and 
Woodvile the Lie2ite7iant speaks within. 
Woodv. What noise is this? what traitors have 

we here? 
Glou. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? 
Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would 
enter. 
Woodv. Have patience, noble duke ; I may 
not open ; 
The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: 
From him I have express commandment 20 

That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. 
Glou. Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 
'fore me? 
Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, 
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could 

brook ? 
Thou art no friend to God or to the king : 
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. 
Serving-men. Open the gates unto the lord 
protector, 
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not 
quickly. 



Scene hi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



473 



Enter to the Proteclor at the Tower Gates Win- 
chester and his men in tawny coats. 

Win. How now, ambitious Humphry ! what 

means this? 
Glou. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to 
be shut out? 30 

Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor, 
And not protector, of the king or realm. 

Glou. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, 
Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord ; 
Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin : 
I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 

Win. Nay, stand thou back ; I will not budge 
a foot : 
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 40 

Glou. I will not slay thee, but I '11 drive thee 
back: 
Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth 
I'll use to carry thee out of this place. 

Win. Do what thou darest ; I beard thee to 

thy face. 
Glou. What ! am I dared and bearded to my 
face? 
Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your 
beard ; 
I I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly : 
! Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat : 
' In spite of pope or dignities of church, 50 

Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. 
Win. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this be- 
fore the pope. 
Glou. Winchester goose, I cry, a rope ! a rope ! 
Now beat them hence ; why do you let them stay? 
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. 
Out, tawny coats ! out, scarlet hypocrite ! 

Here Gloucester's men beat ov.t the CardinaVs 
men, and enter in tlie hurly-burly the Mayor 
of London and his Officers. 

May. Fie, lords ! that you, being supreme 
magistrates, 
Thus contumeliously should break the peace ! 

Glou. Peace, mayor! thou knovv'st little of my 
wrongs : 
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 61 

Win. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, 
One that still motions war and never peace, 
O'ercharging your free purses with large lines, 
That seeks to overthrow religion, 
Because he is protector of the realm, 
And would have armour here out of the Tower, 
To crown himself king and suppress the prince. 

Glou. I will not answer thee with words, but 
blows. [Here they skirmish again. 

May. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous 
strife 70 

But to make open proclamation : 
Come, officer ; as loud as e'er thou canst , 
Cry. 

Off. All manner of men assembled here in 
arms this day against God's peace and the king's, 
we charge" and command you, in his highness' 
name, to repair to your several dwelling-places ; 



and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, 
or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. 

Glou. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: 
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. 
Win. Gloucester, we will meet ; to thy cost, 
be sure : 
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. 
May. I 11 call for clubs, if you will not away. 
This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. 
Glou. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what 

thou mayst. 
Win. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head ; 
For I intend to have it ere long. 

[Exeunt, severally, Gloucester and Win- 
chester with tlieir Serving-men. 
May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will 
depart. 
Good God, these nobles should such stomachs 
bear ! 90 

I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Orleans. 

Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy. 

M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is 
besieged. 
And how the English have the suburbs won. 

Boy. Father, I know; and oft have shot at 
them, 
Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. 

M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou 
ruled by me : 
Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; 
Something I must do to procure me grace. 
The prince's espials have informed me 
How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, 
Wont through a secret grate of iron bars 10 

In yonder tower to overpeer the city 
And thence discover how with most advantage 
They may vex us with shot or with assault. 
To intercept this inconvenience, 
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; 
And even these three days have I watch'd, 
If I could see them. 

Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. 
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 

Boy. Father, I warrant you; take you no care ; j 
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. [Exit. , 

Enter, on the turrets, the Lords Salisbury and 

Talbot, Sir William Glansdale, Sir I 

Thomas Gargrave, and others. 

Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd ! 
How wert thou handled being prisoner? 
Or by what means got'st thou to be released? 
Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. 

Tal. The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner 
Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; 
For him was I exchanged and ransomed. 
But with a baser man of arms by far 30 

Once in contempt they would have barter'd me : 
Which I disdaining scorn'd and craved death 
Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd. 
In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. 
But, O ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart. 
Whom with my bare fists I would execute. 
If I now had him brought into my power. 



474 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act i. 



Sal. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert en- 

tertain'd. 
Tal. With scoffs and scorns and contumelious 

taunts. 
In open market-place produced they me, 40 

To be a public spectacle to all : 
Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
The scarecrow that affrights our children so. 
Then broke I from the officers that led me, 
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, 
To hurl at the beholders of my shame: 
My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure ; 
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread 
That they supposed I could rend bars of steel 51 
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had 
That walked about me every minute while ; 
And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 

Enter the Boy with a linstock. 
Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you en- 
dured, 
But we will be revenged sufficiently. 
Now it is supper-time in Orleans : 
Here, through this grate, I count each one 60 
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify : 
Let us look in ; the sight will much delight thee. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, 
Let me have your express opinions 
Where is best place to make our battery next. 
Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there 

stand lords. 
Gla7i. And I, here, at the bulwark of the 

bridge. 
Tal. For aught I see, this city must be 

famish'd, 
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 
[Here they shoot. Salisbury and Gargrave fall. 
Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched 

sinners ! 70 

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man ! 
Tal. What chance is this that suddenly hath 

cross'd us ? 
Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak : 
How farest thou, mirror of all martial men ? 
One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! 
Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand 
That hath contrived this woful tragedy ! 
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; 
Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars ; 
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, 
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. 81 
Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech 

doth fail, 
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : 
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. 
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, 
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! 
Hear hence his body ; I will help to bury it. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? 
Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. 
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; go 
Thou shalt not die whiles — 
He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, 
As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, 
Remember to avenge me on the French.' 



Plantagenet, I will ; and like thee, Nero, 
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
[Here an alarum, a7id it thunders and lightens. 
What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? 
Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have 
gather'd head : 100 

The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, 
A holy prophetess new risen up, 
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
[Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans. 
Tal. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth 
groan ! 
It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. 
Frenchmen, I '11 be a Salisbury to you : 
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, 
Your hearts I '11 stamp out with my horse's heels, 
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
Convey me Salisbury into his tent, no 

And then we '11 try what these dastard French- 
men dare. [Alarum. Exeunt. 

Scene V. Tlie same. 

Here an alarum again: and Talbot pursue th 
the Dauphin, and driveth him: then enter 
Joan La Pucelle, driving Englishmen 
before her, and exit after them: then re-enter 
Talbot. 

Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and 
my force ? 

Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; 

A woman clad in armour chaseth them. 

Re-enter La Pucelle. 
Here, here she comes. I '11 have a bout with thee ; 
Devil or devil's dam, I '11 conjure thee : 
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, 
And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. 
Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must dis- 
grace thee. [Here they fight. 
Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to pre- 
vail? 9 
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage 
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, 
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. 

[ They fight again. 
Puc. Talbot, farewell, thy hour is not yet 
come : 
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 

[A short alarum: then enter the town with 
soldiers. 
O'ertake me, if thou canst ; I scorn thy strength. 
Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men ; 
Help Salisbury to make his testament: 
This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Exit. 
Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's 
wheel ; 
I know not where I am, nor what I do : 20 

A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, 
Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists: 
So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench 
Are from their hives and houses driven away. 
They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs ; 
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 

[A short alarum. 



Scene v.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, 
Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead : 
Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, 
Or horse or oxen from the leopard, 31 

As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 

[A la-rum. Here another skirmish. 
It will not be : retire into your trenches: 
You all consented unto Salisbury's death, 
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. 
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, 
In spite of us or aught that we could do. 
O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. 
[Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat; flourish. 

Scene VI. The same. 

Enter, on the -walls, La Pucelle, Charles, 
Reignier, Alencon, and Soldiers. 
Puc. Advance our waving colours on the 
walls ; 
Rescued is Orleans from the English : 
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 

Char. Divinest creature, Astrsea's daughter, 
How shall I honour thee for this success? 
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens 
That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. 
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! 
Recover'd is the town of Orleans : 
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 10 
Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud 
throughout the town? 
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires 
And feast and banquet in the open streets, 
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth 
and joy, 
When they shall hear how we have play'd the 
men. 
Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day 
is won; 
For which I will divide my crown with her, 
And all the priests and friars in my realm 
Shall in procession sing her endless praise. 20 
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear 
Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: 
In memory of her when she is dead, 
Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
Than the rich-jewel' d coffer of Darius, 
Transported shall be at high festivals 
Before the kings and queens of France. 
No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, 
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
Come in, and let us banquet royally, 30 

After this golden day of victory. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Before Orleans. 

Enter a Sergeant of a band, -with two Sentinels. 

Serg. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant : 
If any noise or soldier you perceive 
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign 
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 

First Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Ser- 
geant.] Thus are poor servitors, 



When others sleep upon their quiet beds, 
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and 
forces, -with scaling-ladders, their drums 

beating a dead march. 

Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, 
By whose approach the regions of Artois, 
Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, 10 

This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, 
Having all day caroused and banqueted: 
Embrace we then this opportunity 
As fitting best to quittance their deceit 
Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. 

Bed. Coward of France ! how much he wrongs 
his fame, 
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude. 
To join with witches and the help of hell ! 

Bur. Traitors have never other company. 
But what's that Pucelle whom they term so 
pure ? 20 

Tal. A maid, they say. 

Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! 

Bur. Pray God she prove not masculine ere 
long, 
If underneath the standard of the French 
She carry armour as she hath begun. 

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
spirits : 
God is our fortress, in whose conquering name 
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow 
thee. 

Tal. Not all together : better far, I guess, 
That we do make our entrance several ways; 30 
That, if it chance the one of us do fail, 
The other yet may rise against their force. 

Bed. Agreed : I '11 to yond corner. 

Bur. And I to this. 

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make 
his grave. 
Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right 
Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
How much in duty I am bound to both. 

Sent. Arm ! arm ! the enemy doth make 
assault! [Cry: ' St George,' 'A Talbot.' 

The French leap over the walls in their shirts. 
Enter, several ways, the Bastard of Orleans, 
Alencon, «//</ Reignier, half 'ready, and ha If 
unready. 

Alen. How now, my lords! what, all un- 
ready so? 

Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so 
well. 40 

Reig . 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave 
our beds, 
Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. 

Alen. Of all exploits since first I follow'd 
arms, 
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise 
More venturous or desperate than this. 

Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 

Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour 
him. 

Alen. Here cometh Charles: I marvel how 
he sped. 

Bast. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. 



476 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii. 



Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 

Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful 
dame? 50 

Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
Make us partakers of a little gain, 
That now our loss might be ten times so much?_ 

Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his 
friend? 
At all times will you have my power alike? 
Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, 
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? 
Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good, 
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 

Char. Duke of Alengon, this was your de- 
fault, 60 
That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
Did look no better to that weighty charge. 

Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely 
kept 
As that whereof I had the government, 
We had not been thus shamefully surprised. 

Bast. Mine was secure. 

Rcig. And so was mine, my lord. 

Char. And, for myself, most part of all this 
night, 
Within her quarter and mine own precinct 
I was employ' d in passing to and fro, 
About relieving of the sentinels : 70 

Then how or which way should they first 
break in ? 

Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, 
How or which way: 'tis sure they found some 

place 
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. 
And now there rests no other shift but this ; 
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, 
And lay new platforms to endamage them. 

Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A 
Talbot! a Talbot!' They Jly, leaving their 
clothes behind. 

Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have 
left. 

The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 

For I have loaden me with many spoils, 80 

Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. 

Scene II. Orleans. Within the town. 

Entey Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a 
Captain, and others. 

Bed. The day begins to break, and night 
is fled, 
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 

[Retreat sounded. 

Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, 
And here advance it in the market-place, 
The middle centre of this cursed town. 
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; 
For every drop of blood was drawn from him 
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 
And that hereafter ages may behold 10 

What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, 
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect 
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interred: 
Upon the which, that every one may read, 
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, 



The treacherous manner of his mournful death 
And what a terror he had been to France. 
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, 
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, 
Nor any of his false confederates. 21 

Bed. 5 Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the 
fight began, 
Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, 
They did amongst the troops of armed men 
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 

Bur. Myself, as far as I could well discern 
For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, 
Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, 
When arm in arm they both came swiftlyrunning, 
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves 30 

That could not live asunder day or night. 
After that things are set in order here, 
We'll follow them with all the power we have. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of this 
princely train 
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
So much applauded through the realm of France? 
Tal. Here is the Talbot: who would speak 

with him? 
Mess. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, 
With modesty admiring thy renown, 
By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouch- 
safe 40 
To visit her poor castle where she lies, 
That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 

Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see our wars 
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, 
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. 
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for when a world 
of men 
Could not prevail with all their oratory, 
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled : 50 

And therefore tell her I return great thanks, 
And in submission will attend on her. 
Will not your honours bear me company? 

Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will : 
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests 
Are often welcomest when they are gone. 

Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, 
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] You per- 
ceive my mind? 
Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 
[Exeunt. 60 

Scene III. Auvergne. The Countess's castle. 
Enter the Countess and her Porter. 
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in 
charge ; 
And when you have done so, bring the keys 
to me. 
Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out 
right, 
I shall as famous be by this exploit 
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. 
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, 
And his achievements of no less account: 



Scene hi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



477 



Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, 
To give their censure of these rare reports. 10 

Enter Messenger and Talbot. 

Mess. Madam, 
According as your ladyship desired, 
By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. 
Count. And he is welcome. What ! is this 

the man? 
Mess. Madam, it is. 

Count. Is this the scourge of France? 

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad 
That with his name the mothers still their babes? 
! I see report is fabulous and false : 
\ I thought I should have seen some Hercules, 
! A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 20 

And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! 
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp 
Should strike such terror to his enemies. 

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you ; 
But since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
I'll sort some other time to visit you. 

Cou?it. What means he now? Go ask him 

whither he goes. 
Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady 
craves 
To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 30 
Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, 
I go to certify her Talbot's here. 

Re-enter Porter with keys. 

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 

Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 

And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
For in my gallery thy picture hangs: 
But now the substance shall endure the like. 
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
That hast by tyranny these many years 40 

Wasted our country, slain our citizens 
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 

Tal. Ha, ha, ha! 

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth 
shall turn to moan. 

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond 
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow 
Whereon to practise your severity. 

Count. Why, art not thou the man? 

Tal. 1 am indeed. 

Count. Then have I substance too. 

Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 50 
You are deceived, my substance is not here ; 
For what you see is but the smallest part 
And least proportion of humanity: 
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, 
Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't. 

Count. This is a riddling merchant for the 
nonce ; 
He will be here, and yet he is not here : 
How can these contrarieties agree? 

Tal. That will I show you presently. 60 

[ Winds his horn. Drums strike up : a 
peal 0/ ordnance. Enter Soldiers. 
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded 
That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 



These are his substance, sinews, arms and 1 

strength, 
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, 
Razeth your cities and subverts your towns 
And in a moment makes them desolate. 

Count. Victorious Talbot ! pardon my abuse : 
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited 
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ; 70 
For I am sorry that with reverence 
I did not entertain thee as thou art. 

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor mis- 
construe 
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
The outward composition of his body. 
What you have done hath not offended me ; 
Nor other satisfaction do I crave, 
But only, with your patience, that we may 
Taste of your wine and see what cates you have : 
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 80 
Count. With all my heart, and think me 
honoured 
To feast so great a warrior in my house. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene IV. London. The Temple-garden. 

Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and 

Warwick; Richard Plantagenet, Ver- 
non, and another Lawyer. 

Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means 
this silence ? 
Dare no man answer in a case of truth? 

Suf. Within the Temple-hall we were too loud ; 
The garden here is more convenient. 

Plan. Then say at once if I maintain'd the 
truth ; 
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error? 

Suf. Faith, I have been a truant in the law, 
And never yet could frame my will to it ; 
And therefore frame the law unto my will. 

Som. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, 
between us. 10 

War. Between two hawks, which flies the 
higher pitch ; 
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth ; 
Between two blades, which bears the better 

temper : 
Between two horses, which doth bear him best; 
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye ; 
I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement ; 
But in these nice sharp quiilets of the law, 
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 

Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance : 
The truth appears so naked on my side 20 

That any purblind eye may find it out. 

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
So clear, so shining and so evident 
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 

Plan. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath 
to speak. 
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : 
Let him that is a true-born gentleman 
And stands upon the honour of his birth, 
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 30 

Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flat- 
terer, 
But dare maintain the party of the truth. 



478 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii. 



Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me- 

War. I love no colours, and without all colour 
Of base insinuating flattery 
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 

Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset 
And say withal I think he held the right. 

Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck 
no more, 
Till you conclude that he upon whose side 40 

The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree 
Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 

Som. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected : 
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 

Plan. And I. 

Ver. Then for the truth and plainness of the 
case, 
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, 
Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, 
Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red 50 
And fall on my side so, against your will. 

Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt 
And keep me on the side where still I am. 

Som. Well, well, come on: who else? 

Law. Unless my study and my books be false, 
The argument you held was wrong in you ; 

[To Somerset. 
In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. 

Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argu- 
ment? 

Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that 
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 61 

Plan. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit 
our roses ; 
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
The truth on our side. 

Som. No, Plantagenet, 

'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks 
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, 
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 

Plait. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? 

Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? 

Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his 

truth ; 70 

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 

Som. Well, I '11 find friends to wear my bleed- 
ing roses, 
That shall maintain what I ha^e said is true, 
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 

Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my 
hand, 
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 

Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Planta- 
genet. 

Plan. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him 
and thee. 

Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. 

Som. Away, away, good William de la Pole ! 
We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. 81 

War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, 
Somerset ; 
His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, 
Third son to the third Edward King of England : 
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? 

Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, 
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 

Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my 
words 



On any plot of ground in Christendom. 
Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 
For treason executed in our late king's days? 9 
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, 
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? 
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; 
And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. 

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted. 
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; 
And that I '11 prove on better men than Somerset, j 
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
For your partaker Pole and you yourself, 100 
I'll note you in my book of memory, 
To scourge you for this apprehension : 
Look to it well and say you are well warn'd. 

Som. Ah, thou shalt find us readv for thee 
still; 
And know us by these colours for thy foes, 
For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. 

Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry 
rose, 
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
Will I for ever and my faction wear, 
Until it wither with me to my grave no 

Or flourish to the height of my degree. 

Suf. Go forward and be choked with thy am- 
bition ! 
And so farewell until I meet thee next. [Exit. 

Som. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, am- 
bitious Richard. [Exit. 

Plan. How I am braved and must perforce 
endure it ! 

War. This blot that they object against your 
house 
Shall be wiped out in the next parliament 
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester ; 
And if thou be not then created York, 
I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 120 

Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, 
Against proud Somerset and William Pole, 
Will I upon thy party wear this rose : 
And here I prophesy : this brawl to-day, 
Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden, 
Shall send between the red rose and the white 
A thousand souls to death and deadly night. 

Plan. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to 
you, 
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 

Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 

Lazu. And so will I. 131 

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
Come, let us four to dinner : I dare say 
This quarrel will drink blood another day. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. The Tower of London. 

Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and 
Gaolers. 

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. 
Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment ; 
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
Nestor-like aged in an age of care, 
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, 
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; 
Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief, 



Scene v.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



479 



And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine n 

That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is 

numb, 
Unable to support this lump of clay, 
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, 
As witting I no other comfort have. 
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 

First Gaol. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, 
will come : 
We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber ; 
And answer was return'd that he will come. 20 

Mor. Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied. 
Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
Since Henry Monmouth first began to rei gn, 
Before whose glory I was great in arms, 
This loathsome sequestration have I had ; 
And even since then hath Richard been obscured, 
Deprived of honour and inheritance. 
But now the arbitrator of despairs, 
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence : 
I would his troubles likewise were expired, 31 
That so he might recover what was lost. 

Enter Richard Plantagenet. 

First Gaol. My lord, your loving nephew now 
is come. 

Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he 
come? 

Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, 
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. 

Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his 
neck, 
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : 
O, tell me when my lips do touch his checks, 
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. 40 

And now declare, sweet stem from York's great 

stock, 
Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised ? 

Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine 
arm; 
And, in that ease, I '11 tell thee my disease. 
This day, in argument upon a case, 
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me ; 
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue 
And did upbraid me with my father's death: 
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, 
Else with the like I had requited him. 50 

Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, 
In honour of a true Plantagenet 
And for alliance sake, declare the cause 
My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 

Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd 
me 
And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth 
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
Was cursed instrument of his decease. 

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that 
was, 
For I am ignorant and cannot guess. 60 

Mor. I will, if that my fading breath permit 
And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, 
Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son, 
The first-begotten and the lawful heir 
Of Edward king, the third of that descent : 
During whose reign the Percies of the north, 



Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne : 
The reason moved these warlike lords to this 70 
Was, for that — young King Richard thus removed, 
Leaving no heir begotten of his body — 
I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
For by my mother I derived am 
From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son 
To King Edward the Third; whereas he 
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
But mark : as in this haughty great attempt 
They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 80 

I lost my liberty and they their lives. 
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, 
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, 
Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived 
J From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, 
Marrying my sister that thy mother was, 
Again in pity of my hard distress 
! Levied an army, weening to redeem 
And have install'd me in the diadem : 
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl 90 

I And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 

Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the 
last. 

Mor. True ; and thou seest that I no issue have 
And that my fainting words do warrant death : 
Thou art my heir ; the rest I wish thee gather : 
But yet be wary in thy studious care. 

Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with 
me : 
But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 100 

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic : 
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster 
And like a mountain, not to be removed. 
But now thy uncle is removing hence ; 
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
With long continuance in a settled place. 

Plan. O, uncle, would some part of my young 
years 
Might but redeem the passage of your age ! 

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me, as that 
slaughterer doth 109 

Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. 
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; 
Only give order for my funeral : 
And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes 
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war ! [Dies. 

Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting 
soul ! 
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage 
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. 
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ; 
And what I do imagine let that rest. 
Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself 120 
Will see his burial better than his life. 

[Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out tlic body 
of Jforti/ner. 
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
Choked with ambition of the meaner sort: 
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, 
I doubt not but with honour to redress; 
And therefore haste I to the parliament, 
Either to be restored to my blood, 
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit. 



480 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act hi. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. London. The Parliament-house. 
Flourish. Enter King, Exeter, Gloucester, 

Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk:; the 

Bishop of Winchester, Richard Planta- 

genet, and others. Gloucester offers to put 

up a bill; Winchester snatches it, and tears 

it. 

Win. Comest thou with deep premeditated 
lines, 
With written pamphlets studiously devised, 
Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse, 
Or aught intend' st to lay unto my charge, 
Do it without invention, suddenly; 
As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 

Glou. Presumptuous priest! this place com- 
mands my patience, 
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me. 
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd 10 

The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, 
That therefore I have forged, or am not able 
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks, 
As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
Thou art a most pernicious usurer, 
Froward by nature, enemy to peace ; 
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
A man of thy profession and degree ; 20 

And for thy treachery, what's more manifest? 
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, 
As well at London bridge as at the Tower. 
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 

Win. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, 
vouchsafe 
To give me hearing what I shall reply. 
If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse, 
As he will have me, how am I so poor? 30 

Or how haps it I seek not to advance 
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? 
And for dissension, who preferreth peace 
More than I do? — except I be provoked. 
No, my good lords, it is not that offends; 
It is not that that hath incensed the duke : 
It is, because no one should sway but he ; 
No one but he should be about the king ; 
And that engenders thunder in his breast 
And makes him roar these accusations forth. 40 
But he shall know I am as good — 

Glou. As good ! 

Thou bastard of my grandfather ! 

Win. Ay, lordly sir ; for what are you, I pray, 
But one imperious in another's throne? 

Glou. Am I not protector, saucy priest? 

Win. And am not I a prelate of the church? 

Glou. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps 
And useth it to patronage his theft. 

Win. Unreverent Gloster ! 

Glou. Thou art reverent 

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 50 

Win. Rome shall remedy this. 

War. Roam thither, then. 

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 

Som. Methinks my lord should be religious 



And know the office that belongs to such. 

War. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; 
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so 
near. 

War. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? 
Is not his grace protector to the king? 60 

Plan. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold 
his tongue, 
Lest it be said ' Speak, sirrah, when you should ; 
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?' 
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. 

King. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, 
The special watchmen of our English weal, 
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, 
To join your hearts in love and amity. 
O, what a scandal is it to our crown, 
That two such noble peers as ye should jar ! 70 
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell 
Civil dissension is a viperous worm 
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. 

[A noise within, ' Down with the tawny-coats !' 
What tumult's this? 

War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 

Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 

\_A noise again, 'Stones! stones!' 

Enter Mayor. 
May. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, 
Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, 
Forbidden late to carry any weapon, 
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones 80 
And banding themselves in contrary parts 
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate 
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out : 
Our windows are broke down in every street 
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. 

Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody 

pates. 
King. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, 
To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the 

peace. 
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. 

First Serv. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, 
we'll fall to it with our teeth. 90 

Sec. Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as re- 
solute. {Skirmish again. 
Glou. You of my household, leave this peevish 
broil 
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. 

Third Serv. My lord, we know your grace 
to be a man 
Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, 
Inferior to none but to his majesty : 
And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
So kind a father of the commonweal, 
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, 
We and our wives and children all will fight 100 
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 
First Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our 
nails 
Shall pitch a field when we are dead. 

[Begin again. 
Glou. Stay, stay, I say ! 

And if you love me, as you say you do, 
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile, 
King. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul ! 



Scene i.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



481 



Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold 
My sighs and tears and will not once relent? 
Who should be pitiful, if you be not? 
1 Or who should study to prefer a peace, no 

I If holy churchmen take delight in broils? 

War. Yield, my lord protector; yield, Win- 
chester; 
Except you mean with obstinate repulse 
To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. 
You see what mischief and what murder too 
Hath been enacted through your enmity ; 
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 
Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 
Glou. Compassion on the king commands me 
stoop ; 
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest 120 
Should ever get that privilege of me. 

War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the 
duke 
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, 
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: 
Why look you still so stern and tragical? 

Glou. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 
King. Fie, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard you 
preach 
That malice was a great and grievous sin ; 
And will not you maintain the thing you teach, 
But prove a chief offender in the same? 130 

War. Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly 
gird. 
For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent! 
What, shall a child instruct you what to do? 
Win. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield 
to thee ; 
Love for thy love and hand for hand I give. 
Glo:i. [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a 
hollow heart. — 
See here, my friends and loving countrymen , 
This token serveth for a Hag of truce 
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers: 
So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 140 

Win. [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it 

not! 
King. O lovinguncle, kind Duke of Gloucester, 
How joyful am I made by this contract ! 
Away, my masters ! trouble us no more ; 
But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
First Serv. Content: I'll to the surgeon's. 
Sec. Sen'. And so will I. 

Third Serv. And I will see what physic the 
tavern affords. 

[Exeunt Serving-uteri, Mayor, &>c. 
War. Accept this scroll, most gracious 
sovereign, 
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet 150 
We do exhibit to your majesty. 

Glou. Well urged, my Lord of Warwick : for. 
sweet prince, 
An if your grace mark every circumstance, 
You have great reason to do Richard right; 

illy for those occasions 
At Ehham Place I told youi majesty. 

King. And those occasions, uncle, were of force : 
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is 
That Richard be restored to his blood. 

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood: 

So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed. 161 

Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester 

King. If Richard will be true, not that alone 



But all the whole inheritance I give 
That doth belong unto the house of York, 
from whence you spring by lineal descent. 

Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience 
And humble service till the point of death. 

King. Stoop then and set your knee against 
my foot ; 
And, in reguerdon of that duty done, 170 

I gird thee with the valiant sword of York : 
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, 
And rise created princely Duke of York. 

Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may 
fall ! 
And as my duty springs, so perish they 
That grudge one thought against your majesty ! 

Ail. Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke 
of York! 

Som. [Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble 
Duke of York ! 

Glou. Now will it best avail your majesty 
To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France : 
The presence of a king engenders love 181 

Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, 
As it disanimates his enemies. 

King. When Gloucester says the word, King 
Henry goes; 
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 

Glou. Your ships already are in readiness. 

[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but E.veter. 

Exe. Ay, we may march in England or in 
France, 
Not seeing what is likely to ensue. 
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers 
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love 190 

And will at last break out into a flame : 
As fester'd members rot but by degree, 
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, 
So will this base and envious discord breed. 
And now I fear that fatal prophecy 
Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth 
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe ; 
That Henry born at Monmouth should win all 
And Henry born at Windsor lose all: 
Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish 200 

His days may finish ere that hapless tims. [Exit. 



Scene II. Era 



Be/ore Rouen. 



Enter La Pucelle disguised, with four Soldiers 
ivith sacks upon their backs. 

Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of 
Rouen, 
Through which our policy must make a breach : 
Take heed, be wary how you place jour words ; 
Talk like the vulgar sort of market men 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
If we have entrance, as I hope we shall, 
And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends, 
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 

First Sol. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack 
the city, 10 

And we be lords and riders over Rouen; 
Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks. 

U "atch. [ U "ithin ] Qui est la ? 

/'//<-. Paysans, pauvres gens de France ; 
Poor market folks that come to sell their corn. 

// 'atch. Enter, go in ; the market bell is rung. 



482 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act hi. 



Puc. Now, Rouen, I '11 shake thy bulwarks to 
the ground. [Exeunt. 

£«^r Charles, the Bastard oj Orleans, 
Alencon, Reignier, and forces. 

Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem ! 
And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. 

Bast. Hereenter'd Pucelle and her pradtisants ; 
Now she is there, how will she specify 21 

Where is the best and safest passage in ? 

Reign. By thrusting out a torch from yonder 
tower ; 
Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is, 
No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. 

Enter La Pucelle on the top, thrusting out a 
torch burning. 

Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch 

That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, 

But burning fatal to the Talbotites ! [Exit. 

Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our 

friend ; 

The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 30 

Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 

Reign. Defer no time, delays have dangerous 
ends : 
Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin !' presently, 
And then do execution on the watch. 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion. 
Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with 
thy tears. 
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. 
Pucelle, that Avitch, that damned sorceress, 
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, 
That hardly we escaped the pride of France. 40 

[Exit. 

An alarum: excursions. Bedford, brought in 
sick in a chair. Enter Talbot and Burgun- 
dy without: within La Pucelle, Charles, 
Bastard, Alencon, and Reignier, on the 
tv alls. 

Puc. Good morrow, gallants ! want ye corn 
for bread? 
I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast 
Before he'll buy again at such a rate : 
'Twas full of darnel ; do you like the taste? 

Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless court- 
ezan ! 
I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own 
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
Cha?: Your grace may starve perhaps before 

that time. 
Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this 

treason ! 
Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? 
break a lance, 50 

And run a tilt at death within a chair? 

Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all 
despite, 
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours ! 
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age 
And twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
Damsel, I '11 have a bout with you again, 
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 



Puc. Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold 
thy peace; 
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. 

[The English whisper together in council. 

God speed the parliament! who shall be the 

speaker? 60 

Tal. Dare ve come forth and meet us in the 

field? 
Puc. Belike your lordship takes us then for 
fools, 
To try if that our own be ours or no. 

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest; 
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? 
Alen. Signior, no. 

Tal. Signior, hang ! base muleters of France ! 
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls 
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 70 
Puc. Away, captains! let's get us from the 
walls ; 
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. 
God be wi' you, my lord ! we came but to tell you 
That we are here. [Exeunt from the walls. 

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, 
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! 
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France, 
Either to get the town again or die : 
And I, as sure as English Henry lives 80 

And as his father here was conqueror, 
As sure as in this late-betrayed town 
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried, 
So sure I swear to get the town or die. 

Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy 

vows. 
Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord, 
We will bestow you in some better place, 
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. 

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me : 
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen 91 

And will be partner of your weal or woe. 

Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now per- 
suade you. 
Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once 
I read 
That stout Pendragon in his litter sick 
Came to the field and vanquished his foes : 
Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
Because I ever found them as myself. 

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! 
Then be it so : heavens keep old Bedford safe ! 
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 101 

But gather we our forces out of hand 
And set upon our boasting enemy. 

[Exeunt all but Bedford and A ttendants. 

A71 alarum: excursions. Enter Sir John 
Fastolfe and a Captain. 

Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in 

such haste? 
Fast. Whither away ! to save myself by flight : 
We are like to have the overthrow again. 

Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave Lord 

Talbot? 
Fast. Ay, 

All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. 

[Exit. 



Scene ii.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



483 



Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow 
thee ! [Exit. 

Retreat: excursions. La Pucelle, Alencon, 
and Charles./Fj}'. 
Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven 
please, 1 10 

For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
What is the trust or strength of foolish man? 
They that of late were daring with their scoffs 
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 

[Bedford dies, and is carried in by two in 
/lis chair. 

An alarum. Re-enter Talbot, Burgundy, 
and the rest. 
Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again ! 
This is a double honour, Burgundy: 
Yet heavens have glory for this victory! 

Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects 
Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments. 120 

Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is 
Pucelle now? 
I think her old familiar is asleep: 
Now where 's the Bastard's braves, and Charles 

his gleeks? 
What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for 

grief 
That such a valiant company are fled. 
Now will we take some order in the town, 
Placing therein some expert officers, 
And then depart to Paris to the king, 
For there young Henry with his nobles lie. 
Bur. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Bur- 
gundy. 130 
Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased, 
But see his exequies fulfiird in Rouen: 
A braver soldier never couched lance, 
A gentler heart did never sway in court; 
But kings and mightiest potentates must die, 
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The plains near Rouen. 

Enter Chari.es, the Bastard 0/ Orleans, 
Alencon, La Pucelle, and forces. 

Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered : 
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
For things that are not to be remedied. 
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while 
And like a peacock sweep along his tail ; 
We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, 
If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled. 

Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto 
And of thy cunning had no diffidence : 10 

One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 

Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, 
And we wiil make thee famous through the world. 

Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, 
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint: 
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 

Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan 
devise : 
By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar' d words 
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy 
To leave the Talbot and to follow us. 20 



Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do 
that, 
France were no place for Henry's warriors ; 
Nor should that nation boast it so with us, 
But be extirped from our provinces. 
Alen. For ever should they be expulsed from 
France 
And not have title of an earldom here. 

Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will 
work 
To bring this matter to the wished end. 

[Drum sounds afar off. 
Hark ! by the sound of drum you may perceive 
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 30 

Here sound an English march. Enter, and 
pass over at a distance, Talbot and his 
forces. 
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, 
And all the troops of English after him. 

French march. Enter the Duke of Burgundy 

and forces. 
Now in the rearward comes the duke and his : 
Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. 
Summon a parley; we will talk with him. 

[ Trumpets sound a parley. 
Char. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy ! 
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Kurgundy? 
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy 

countryman. 
Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am 

marching hence. 
Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with 
thy words. 40 

Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of 
France ! 
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 
Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 
Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile 
France, 
And see the cities and the towns defaced 
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. 
As looks the mother on her lowly babe 
When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 
See, see the pining malady of France ; 49 

Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast. 
O, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that 

help. 
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's 

bosom 
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 

gore: 
Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, 
And wash away thy country's stained spots. 
Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her 
words, 



I Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 

***"■ Besides, all French and France exclaims 



Puc. 

on thee, 
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation 
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake? 
When Talbot hath set footing once in France 
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, 
Who then but English Henry will be lord 
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive? 



60 



31 — 2 



4 8 4 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof, 

Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe? 

And was he not in England prisoner? 70 

But when they heard he was thine enemy, 

They set him free without his ransom paid, 

In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. 

See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen 

And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 

Come, come, return; return, thou wandering 

lord 
Charles and the rest will take thee in their arm?. 
Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty words 
of hers 
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, 
And made me almost yield upon my knees. 80 
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen, 
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : 
My forces and my power of men are yours: 
So farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee. 
Puc. [Aside] Done like a Frenchman : turn, 

and turn again ! 
Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship 

makes us fresh. 
Bast. And doth beget new courage in our 

breasts. 
Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in 
this, 
And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our 
powers, 90 

And seek how we may prejudice the foe. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Paris. The palace. 

Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Win- 
chester, York, Suffolk, Somerset, War- 
wick, Exeter: Vernon, Basset, and o titers. 
To them with his Soldiers, Talbot. 
Tal. My gracious prince, and honourable 
peers, 
Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
I have awhile given truce unto my wars, 
To do my duty to my sovereign : 
In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd 
To your obedience fifty fortresses, 
Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength, 
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, 
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet, 
And with submissive loyalty of heart 10 

Ascribes the glory of his conquest got 
First to my God and next unto your grace. 

[Kneels. 
King. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Glou- 
cester, 
That hath so long been resident in France? 
Glou. Yes, if it please your majesty, my 

liege. 
King. Welcome, brave captain and victorious 
lord! 
When I was young, as yet I am not old, 
I do remember how my father said 
A stouter champion never handled sword. 
Long since we were resolved of your truth, 20 
Your faithful service and your toil in war ; 
Yet never have you tasted our reward, 
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, 
Because till now we never saw your face : 
Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deserts, 



We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury ; 
And in our coronation take your place. 

[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Vernon 
and Basset. 
Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at 
sea, 
Disgracing of these colours that T wear 
In honour of rny noble Lord of York : 30 

Darest thou maintain the former words thou 
spakest? 
Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
Against my lord the Duke of Somerset. 
Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. 
Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as 

^ York. 
Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness, take ye 
that. [Strikes him. 

Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is 
such 
That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death, 
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest 
blood. 40 

But I'll unto his majesty, and crave 
I may have liberty to venge this wrong ; 
When thou shalt see I '11 meet thee to thy cost. 
Ver. Well, miscreant, I '11 be there as soon 
as you ; 
And, after, meet you sooner than you would. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. Paris. A hall of state. 

Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Win- 
chester, York, Suffolk, Somerset, War- 
wick, Talbot, Exeter, the Governor of 
Paris, and others. 
Glou. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his 

head. 
Win. God save King Henry, of that name 

the sixth ! 
Glou. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, 
That you elect no other king but him ; 
Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, 
And none your foes but such as shall pretend 
Malicious practices against his state: 
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 

Eater Sir John Fastolfe. 
Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from 
Calais, 
To haste unto your coronation, 10 

A letter was deliver'd to my hands, 
Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy. 
Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and 
thee! 
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, 
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg, 

[Plucking it off. 
Which I have done, because unworthily 
Thou wast installed in that high degree. 
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest : 
This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 
When but in all I was six thousand strong 20 

And that the French were almost ten to one, 
Before we met or that a stroke was given, 
Like to a trusty squire did run away : 



Scene i.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



485 



In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; 
Myself and divers gentlemen beside 
Were there surprised and taken prisoners. 
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ; 
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
This ornament of knighthood, yea or no. 

Glou. To say the truth, this fact was infamous 
[ And iil beseeming any common man, 31 

Much more a knight, a captain and a leader. 
Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my 
lords, 
j Knights of the garter were of noble birth, 

Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, 
! Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, 
But always resolute in most extremes. 
He then that is not furnish'd in this sort 
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 40 
Profaning this most honourable order, 
And should, if I were worthy to be judge, 
Ee quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood." 
King. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st 
thy doom ! 
Ee packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight: 
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. 

I Exit Fastolfe. 
And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy. 

Glou. What means his grace, that he hath 
changed his style? 50 

I No more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king!' 
' Hath he forgot he is his sovereign ? 
; Or doth this churlish superscription 
Pretend some alteration in good will ? 
What's here? [Reads] 'I have, upon especial 

cause, 
Moved with compassion of my country's wreck, 
: Together with the pitiful complaints 
; Of such as your oppression feeds upon. 
Forsaken your pernicious faction 
And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of 
France.' 60 

I O monstrous treachery! can this be so, 

That in alliance, amity and oaths, 
i There should be found such false dissembling 
^ guile? 
King. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy re- 
volt? 
Glou. He doth, my lord, and is become your 

foe. 
King. Is that the worst this letter doth con- 
tain? 
Glou. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he 

writes. 
King. Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall 
talk with him 
And give him chastisement for this abuse. 
How say you, my lord? are you not content? 70 
Tal. Content, my liege ! yes, but that I am 
prevented, 
I should have begg'd I might have been em- 
ploy' d. 
King. Then gather strength and march unto 
him straight: 
Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason 
And what offence it is to flout his friends. 

Tal. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still 
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. 



Enter Vernon and Basset. 

/ T er. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign. 

Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the com- 
bat too. 

York. This is my servant: hear him, noble 
prince. 80 

Sow. And this is mine : sweet Henry, favour 
him. 

A'. II en. Be patient, lords; and give them 
leave to speak. 
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim? 
And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom? 
Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done 
me wrong. 

Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done me 
wrong. 

A". Hen. What is that wrong whereof you 
both complain? 
First let me know, and then I '11 answer you. 

Bas. Crossing the sea from England into 
France, 
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, 
Upbraided me about the rose I wear ; 91 

Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves 
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, 
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth 
About a certain question in the law 
Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him ; 
With other vile and ignominious terms : 
In confutation of which rude reproach 
And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
I crave the benefit of law of arms. 100 

Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord : 
For though he seem with forged quaint conceit 
To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him ; 
And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower 
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. 

York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? 

Sam. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, 
will out, 
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 1 10 

A'. Hen. Good Lord, what madness rules in 
brainsick men, 
When for so slight and frivolous a cause 
Such factious emulations shall arise ! 
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 

York. Let this dissension first be tried by 
fight, 
And then your highness shall command a peace. 

Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone ; 
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 119 

York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. 

Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 

Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. 

Glo7i. Confirm it so ! Confounded be j'our 
strife ! 
And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed 
With this immodest clamorous outrage 
To trouble and disturb the king and us? 
And you, my lords, methinks you do not well 
To bear with their perverse objections ; 
Much less to take occasion from their mouths 130 
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves: 
Let me persuade you take a better course. 



4 86 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



Exe. It grieves his highness : good my lords, 
be friends. 

K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be 
combatants : 
Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, 
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. 
And you, my lords, remember where we are ; 
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation : 
If they perceive dissension in our looks 
And that within ourselves we disagree, 140 

How will their grudging stomachs be provoked 
To wilful disobedience, and rebel ! 
Beside, what infamy will there arise, 
When foreign princes shall be certified 
That for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
King Henry's peers and chief nobility 
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of 

France ! 
O, think upon the conquest of my father, 
My tender years, and let us not forego 
That for a trifle that was bought with blood ! 150 
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 

[Putting on a red rose. 
That any one should therefore be suspicious 
I more incline to Somerset than York : 
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both : 
As well they may upbraid me with my crown, 
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd. 
But your discretions better can persuade 
Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 160 
So let us still continue peace and love. 
Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
To be our regent in these parts of France : 
And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite 
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot ; 
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
Go cheerfully together and digest 
Your angry choler on your enemies. 
Ourself, my lord protector and the rest 
After some respite will return to Calais ; 170 

From thence to England ; where I hope ere long 
To be presented, by your victories, 
With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout. 

[Flourish. Exeunt all but Yorkj Warwick, 
Exeter and Vernon. 

War. My Lord of York, I promise you, the 
king 
Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 

York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not, 
In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 

War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame 
him not; 
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no 
harm. 

York. An if I wist he did, — but let it rest ; 1S0 
Other affairs must now be managed. 

[Exeunt all but Exeter. 

Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress 
thy voice ; 
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 
Than yet can be imagined or supposed. 
But hovvsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
This jarring discord of nobility, 
This shouldering of each other in the court, 
This factious bandying of their favourites, 190 



But that it doth presage some ill event. 
'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands ; 
But more when envy breeds unkind division ; 
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. Before Bourdeaux. 
Enter Talbot, with trump and drum. 
Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trum- 
peter; 
Summon their general unto the wall. 

Trumpet sotmds. Enter General and others, 
aloft. 
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
Servant in arms to Harry King of England; 
And thus he would : Open your city gates; 
Be humble to us ; call my sovereign yours, 
And do him homage as obedient subjects ; 
And I '11 withdraw me and my bloody power : 
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, 
You tempt the fury of my three attendants, 10 
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
Who in a moment even with the earth 
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, 
If you forsake the offer of their love. 

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge ! 
The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
On us thou canst not enter but by death ; 
For, I protest, we are well fortified 
And strong enough to issue out and fight : 20 

If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, 
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee : 
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, 
To wall thee from the liberty of flight ; 
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, 
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil 
And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament 
To rive their dangerous artillery 
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 30 
Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, 
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit! 
This is the latest glory of thy praise 
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
For ere the glass, that now begins to run, 
Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, 
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead. 

[Drum afar off. 
Hark ! hark ! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, 
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 40 

And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 

[Exetint General, <&c. 

Tal. He fables not ; I hear the enemy : 
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. 
O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
How are we park'd and bounded in a pale, 
A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs! 
If we be English deer, be then in blood; 
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch, 
But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, 50 
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel 
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
Sell every man his life as dear as mine, 
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. 



Scene ii.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



4S7 



God and Saint George, Talbot and England's 

right, 
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! 

\Exeunt. 

Scene III. Plains in Gascony. 

Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter 
York with trumpet and many Soldiers. 

York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd 
again, 
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin ? 

Mess. They are return'd, my lord, and give it 
out 
That he is march'd to Bourdeau.x with his power, 
To fight with Talbot : as he march'd along, 
By your espials were discovered 
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, 
Which join'd with him and made their march lor 
Bourdeau.x. 

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
That thus delays my promised supply 10 

Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! 
Renowned Talbot doth expecl my aid, 
And I am lowted by a traitor villain 
And cannot help the noble chevalier: 
God comfort him in this necessity ! 
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 

Enter Sir William Lucy. 

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 

strength, 
Never so needful on the earth of France, 
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, 
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron 20 

And hemm'd about with grim destruction : 
To Bourdeau.x, warlike duke ! to Bourdeau.x, 

York ! 
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's 

honour. 
York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud 

heart 
Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place ! 
So should we save a valiant gentleman 
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep, 
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 
Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd 

lord ! 30 

York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike 

word ; 
We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily 

get; 
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Tal- 
bot's soul ; 
And on his son young John, who two hours since 
I met in travel toward his warlike father ! 
This seven years did not Talbot see his son; 
And now they meet where both their lives are 

done. 
York. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have 
To bid his young sen welcome to his grave? 40 
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. 
Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can, 
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. 
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 



'Long all of Somerset and his delay. 

\Exit. with his soldiers. 
L?tcy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror, 50 
That ever living man of memory, 
Henry the Fifth : whiles they each other cross, 
Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss. [Exit. 

Scene IV. Other plains in Gascony. 

Enter Somerset, with his army; a Captain of 
Talbot's with him. 

Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now : 
This expedition was by York and Talbot 
Too rashly plotted: all our general force 
Might with a sally of the very town 
Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour 
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure : 
York set him on to fight and die in shame, 
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the 
name. 

Cap. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me 
Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid. 11 

Enter Sir William Lucy. 
Som. How now, Sir William ! whither were 

you sent? 
Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and 
sold Lord Talbot ; 
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, 
Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
To beat assailing death from his weak legions : 
And whiles the honourable captain there 
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, 
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, 
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's 
honour, 20 

Keep off" aloof with worthless emulation. 
Let not your private discord keep away 
The levied succours that should lend him aid, 
While he, renowned noble gentleman, 
Yields up his life unto a world of odds: 
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, 
Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, 
And Talbot perisheth by your default. 

Som. York set him on; York should have sent 

him aid. 
Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace ex- 
claims ; 30 
Swearing that you withhold his levied host, 
Collected for this expedition. 

Som. York lies ; he might have sent and had 
the horse ; 
I owe him little duty, and less love; 
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. 
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of 
France, 
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot : 
Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen 
straight : 40 

Within six hours they will be at his aid. 

Lucy. Too late comes rescue : he is ta'en or 
slain ; 
For fly he could not, if he would have fled ; 



4 88 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
So7>i. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu ! 
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame 
in you. {Exeunt. 

Scene V. The English camp near Boiirdeaux. 
Enter Talbot «WJohn his son. 
Tal. O young John Talbot ! I did send for thee 
To tutor thee in stratagems of war, 
That Talbot's name might be in thee revived 
When sapless age and weak unable limbs 
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
But, O malignant and ill-boding stars ! 
Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
A terrible and unavoided danger : 
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse ; 
And I '11 direct thee how thou shalt escape 10 
By sudden flight : come, dally not, be gone. 
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your 
son? 
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, 
Dishonour not her honourable name, 
To make a bastard and a slave of me ! 
The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood, 
That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. 

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 
John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. 
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure 
to die. 20 

John. Then let me stay; and, father, do 
you fly : 
Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won ; 
But mine it will, that no exploit have done : 
You fled for vantage, every one will swear; 
But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. 
There is no hope that ever I will stay, 30 

If the first hour I shrink and run away. 
Here on my knee I beg mortality, 
Rather than life preserved with infamy. 

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one 

tomb? 
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's 

womb. 
Tal. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. 
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in thee. 
John. No part of him but will be shame 

in me. 
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not 
lose it. 40 

John. Yes, your renowned name : shall flight 

abuse it? 
Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee 

from that stain. 
John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. 
If death be so apparent, then both fly. 

Tal. And leave my followers here to fight 
and die? 
My age was never tainted with such shame. 
John. And shall my youth be guilty of such 
blame ? 
No more can I be sever'd from your side, 
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do T ; 50 



For live I will not, if my father die. 

Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, 
fair son, 
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
Come, side by side together live and die ; 
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. A field 0/ battle. 

Alarum: excursions, wherein Talbot's Son is 
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 
Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers, 

fight: 
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word 
And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy 

breath ; 
I gave thee life and rescued thee from death. 
John. O, twice my father, twice am I thy 

son ! 
The life thou gavest me first was lost and done, 
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, 
To my determined time thou gavest new date. 
Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy 

sword struck fire, 10 

It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age, 
Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, 
Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, 
And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. 
The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood 
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood 
Of thy first fight, I soon encountered, 
And interchanging blows I quickly shed 
Some of his bastard blood ; and in disgrace ao 
Bespoke him thus ; ' Contaminated, base 
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of 

mine 
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave 

boy :' 
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, 
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care, 
Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare? 
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? 
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead : 30 j 
The help of one stands me in little stead. 
O, too much folly is it, well I wot, 
To hazard all our lives in one small boat ! 
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, 
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age : 
By me they nothing gain an if I stay ; 
"fis but the shortening of my life one day : 
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, 
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's 

fame : 
All these and more we hazard by thy stay ; 40 
All these are saved if thou wilt fly away. 

John. The sword of Orleans hath not made 

me smart ; 
These words of yours draw life-blood from my 

heart : 
On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, 
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
The coward horse that bears me fall and die ! 
And like me to the peasant boys of France, 



Scene vi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



489 



To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance ! 

Surely, by all the glory you have won, 50 

An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son : 

Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot ; 

If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of 
Crete, 
Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet : 
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side; 
And, commendable proved, let's die in pride. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Another part of the Jleld. 

Alarum: excursions. Enter old Talbot 
led by a Servant. 

Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is 
gone ; 
O, where 's young Talbot? where is valiant John? 
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, 
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee : 
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, 
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, 
And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; 
But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
Tendering my ruin and assail'd of none, 10 

Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart 
Suddenly made him from my side to start 
Into the clustering battle of the French ; 
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
His over-mounting spirit, and there died, 
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 

Serv. O my dear lord, lo, where your son is 
borne ! 

Enter Soldiers, with the body of 'young T 'albot '. 
Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here 

to scorn, 
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, 
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, 20 

Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, 
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality. 
O thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd 

death, 
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath ! 
Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no ; 
Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. 
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks, as who should say, 
Had death been French, then death had died 

to-day. 
Come, come and lay him in his father's arms : 
My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 30 

Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have, 
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. 

[Dies. 

Enter Charles, Alencon, Burgundy, Bas- 
tard, La Pucelle, and forces. 
Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue 
in, 
We should have found a bloody day of this. 
Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging- 
wood, 
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 
Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus 1 said : 
'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid :' 
But, with a proud majestical high scorn, 
He answer' d thus : ' Young Talbot was not born 



To be the pillage of a giglot wench :' 41 

So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. 
Bur. Doubtless he would have made a noble 
knight : 
See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms 
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms ! 
Bast. ■ Hew them to pieces, hack their bones 
asunder, 
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 
Char. O, no, forbear ! for that which we have 
fled 
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 50 

Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; Herald of 
the French preceding. 

Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's 
tent, 
To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. 

Char. On what submissive message art thou 
sent? 

Lzicy. Submission, Dauphin ! 'tis a mere French 
word ; 
We English warriors wot not what it means. 
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en 
And to survey the bodies of the dead. 

Char. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our 
prison is. 
But tell me whom thou seek'st. 

L?tcy. But where"s the great Alcides of the 
field, 60 

Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, 
Created, for his rare success in arms, 
Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence ; 
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, 
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of 

Sheffield, 
The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge ; 
Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece; 
Great marshal to Henry the Sixth 70 

Of all his wars within the realm of France? 

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, 
Writes not so tedious a style as this. 
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles 
Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our 

Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only 
scourge, 
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? 
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn 5 •!, 
'I 'hat I in rage might shoot them at your faces ! So 
O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 
It were enough to fright the realm of France : 
Were but his picture left amongst you here, 
It would amaze the proud :sl of you all. 
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence 
And give them burial as beseems their worth. 

Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, 
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
For God's sake, let him have 'em ; to keep them 

here, 
They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 90 

Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 

Lucy. I'll bear them hence; but from their 
ashes shall be rear'd 
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. 



49° 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what 
thou wilt. 
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein : 
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 
Sennet. EnterKiKG, Gloucester, andExETER. 

King. Have you perused the letters from the 
pope, 
The emperor and the Earl of Armagnac? 

Glou. I have, my lord : and their intent is this : 
They humbly sue unto your excellence 
To have a godly peace concluded of 
Between the realms of England and of France. 

King. How doth your grace affect their motion ? 

Glou. Well, my good lord; and as the only 
means 
To stop effusion of our Christian blood 
And stablish quietness on every side. 10 

King. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always thought 
It was both impious and unnatural 
That such immanity and bloody strife 
Should reign among professors of one faith. 

Glou. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect 
And surer bind this knot of amity, 
The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, 
A man of great authority in France, 
Proffers his only daughter to your grace 19 

In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 

King. Marriage, uncle ! alas, my years are 
young ! 
And fitter is my study and my books 
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
Yet call the ambassadors ; and, as you please, 
So let them have their answers every one : 
I shall be well content with any choice 
Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. 

Enter Winchester in Cardinal's habit, a 
Legate and two Ambassadors. 

Exe. What! is my Lord of Winchester install'd, 
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? 
Then I perceive that will be verified 30 

Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy, 
' If once he come to be a cardinal, 
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.' 

King. My lords ambassadors, your several suits 
Have been consider'd and debated on. 
Your purpose is both good and reasonable ; 
And therefore are we certainly resolved 
To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean 
Shall be transported presently to France. 40 

Glou. And for the proffer of my lord your 
master, 
I have inform'd his highness so at large 
As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
Her beauty and the value of her dower, 
He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 

King. In argument and proof of which contract, 
Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. 
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded 
And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd 
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 50 

[Exeunt all but Winchester and Legate. 



Win. Stay, my lord legate : you shall first 
receive 
The sum of money which I promised 
Should be deliver'd to his holiness 
For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 

Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. 

Win. [Aside] Now Winchester will not sub- 
mit, I trow, 
Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive 
That, neither in birth or for authority, 
The bishop will be overborne by thee : 60 

I '11 either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, 
Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. France. Plains in Anjou. 

Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, Bas- 
tard, Reignier, La Pucelle, and forces. 

Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our 
drooping spirits : 
'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt 
And turn again unto the warlike French. 

A len. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of 
France, 
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 

Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us ; 
Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 

Enter Scout. 
Scout. Success unto our valiant general, 
And happiness to his accomplices ! 

Char. What tidings send our scouts ? I prithee, 
speak. 10 

Scout. The English army, that divided was 
Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one, 
And means to give you battle presently. 

Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warn- 
ing is; 
But we will presently provide for them. 

Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there : 
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 

Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accursed. 

Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine, 

Let Henry fret and all the world repine. 20 

Char. Then on, my lords ; and France be 

fortunate ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Before Anglers. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter L a Pucelle. 

Puc. The regent conquers, and the French- 
men fly. 
Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; 
And ye choice spirits that admonish me 
And give me signs of future accidents. [Thunder. 
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
Under the lordly monarch of the north, 
Appear and aid me in this enterprise. 

Enter Fiends. 
This speedy and quick appearance argues proof 
Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd 10 

Out of the powerful regions under earth, 
Help me this once, that France may get the field. 
[ They walk, and speak not. 
O, hold me not with silence over-long ! 



Scene hi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



491 



Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, 

I'll lop a member off and give it you 

In earnest of a further benefit, 

So you do condescend to help me now. 

[ They hang their heads. 
No hope to have redress? My body shall 
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 

[ They shake their heads. 
Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice 20 

Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? 
Then take my soul, my body, soul and all, 
Before that England give the French the foil. 

{They depart. 
See, they forsake me ! Now the time is come 
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest 
And let her head fall into England's lap. 
My ancient incantations are too weak, 
And hell too strong for me to buckle with : 
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. 

{Exit. 

Excursions. Re-enter La Pucelle fighting 
hand to hand with York: La Pucelle is 
taken. The French fy. 

York. Damsel of France, I think I have you 
fast : 30 

Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms 
And try if they can gain your liberty. 
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows, 
As if with Circe she would change my shape ! 
Puc. Changed to a worser shape thou canst 

not be. 
York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man ; 
No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 
Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and 
thee ! 
And may ye both be suddenly surprised 40 

By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 
York. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold 

thy tongue ! 
Puc. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile. 
York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to 
the stake. {Exeunt. 

Alarum. Enter Suffolk, with Margaret in 
his I land. 

Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 
{Gazes on her. 

fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly ! 

For I will touch thee but with reverent hands ; 

1 kiss these fingers for eternal peace, 
And lay them gently on thy tender side. 

Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. 50 
Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a 
king, 
The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 

Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
Be not offended, nature's miracle, 
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me : 
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, 
Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. 
Yet, if this servile usage once offend, 
Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend. 

{She is going. 
O, stay ! I have no power to let her pass ; 60 
My hand would free her, but my heart says no. 
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,* 



Twinkling another counterfeited beam, 

So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 

Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak : 

I '11 call for pen and ink, and write my mind. 

Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself; 

Hast not a tongue? is she not here? 

Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? 

Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such, 70 

Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough. 

Mar. Say, Earl of Suffolk — if thy name be so — 
What ransom must I pay before I pass? 
For I perceive I am thy prisoner. 

Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy 
suit, 
Before thou make a trial of her love? 

Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom 
must I pay? 

Suf She's beautiful and therefore to be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore to be won. 

Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom? yea, or no. 

Suf Fond man, remember that thou hast a 
wife ; 80 

Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? 

Mar. I were best to leave him, for he will not 
hear. 

Suf. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling 
card. 

Mar. He talks at random; sure, the man is 
mad. 

Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 

Mar. And yet I would that you would answer 
me. 

Suf. I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom? 
Why, for my king: tush, that's a wooden thing! 

Mar. He talks of wood : it is some carpenter. 

Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, 91 

And peace established between these realms. 
But there remains a scruple in that too ; 
For though her father be the King of Naples, 
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
And our nobility will scorn the match. 

Mar. Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure? 

Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much : 
Henry is youthful and will quickly yield. 
Madam, I have a secret to reveal. 100 

Mar. What though I be enthrall'd ? he seems 
a knight, 
And will not any way dishonour me. 

Suf Lady, vouchsafe to listen what T say. 

Mar. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French ; 
And then I need not crave his courtesy. 

Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a 
cause — 

Mar. Tush, women have been captivate ere 
now. 

Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so? 

Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for Quo. 

Suf Say, gentle princess, would you not sup- 
pose no 
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? 

Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile 
Than is a slave in luise servility; 
For princes should be free. 

Suf. And so shall you, 

If happy England's royal kin'T be free. 

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto nie? 

Suf I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen, 
To put a golden sceptre in thy hand 
And set a precious crown upon thy head, 



n 



4'->2 



FIX ST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



If thou wilt condescend to be my — 

Mar. What? 120 

Suf. His love. 

Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 

Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam, are ye so content? 

Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 

Suf. Then call our captains and our colours 
forth. 
And, madam, at your father's castle walls 
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him. 130 

A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the walls. 

See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner ! 

Reig. To whom? 

Suf. To me. 

Reig. Suffolk, what remedy? 

I am a soldier and unapt to weep 
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 

Suf. Yes, there is reined}' enough, my lord : 
Consent, and for thy honour give consent. 
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king; 
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto; 
And this her easy-held imprisonment 
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 140 

Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? 

Suf. Fair Margaret knows 

That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. 

Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend 
To give thee answer of thy just demand. 

[Exit from the walls . 

Suf And here I will expect thy coming. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Reignier, below. 

Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our terri- 
tories : 
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 

Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a 
child, 
Fit to be made companion with a king : 
What answer makes your grace unto my suit? 150 

Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little 
worth 
To be the princely bride of such a lord ; 
Upon condition I may quietly 
Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou, 
Free from oppression or the stroke of war, 
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 

Suf That is her ransom ; I deliver her ; 
And those two counties I will undertake 
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 

Reig. And I again, in Henry's royal name, 
As deputy unto that gracious king, 161 

Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 

Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly 
thanks, 
Because this is in traffic of a king. 
[Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well con- 
tent 
To be mine own attorney in this case. 
I '11 over then to England with this news, 
And make this marriage to be solemnized. 
So farewell, Reignier : set this diamond safe 
In golden palaces, as it becomes. 170 

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 



The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here. 
Mar. Farewell, my lord : good wishes, praise 
and prayers 
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 

Suf Farewell, sweet madam : but hark you, 
Margaret ; 
No princely commendations to my king? 
Mar. Such commendations as becomes a 
maid, 
A virgin and his servant, say to him. 

Suf. Words sweetly placed and modestly di- 
rected. 
But, madam, I must trouble you again ; 180 

No loving token to his majesty? 
Mar. Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted 
heart, 
Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 

Suf And this withal. [Kisses her. 

Mar. That for thyself: I will not so presume 
To send such peevish tokens to a king. 

[Exetait Reignier and Margaret. 
Suf. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, 
stay; 
Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ; 
There Minovaurs and ugly treasons lurk. 
Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise : 190 

Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, 
And natural graces that extinguish art ; 
Repeat their semblance often on the seas, 
That, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's 

feet, 
Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder. 

[Exit. 

Scene IV. Camp of the Duke of York 
in Anjou. 

Enter York, Warwick, and others. 
York. Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd 
to burn. 

E?iter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 
Shep. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart 
outright ! 
Have I sought every country far and near, 
And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death ? 
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with 
thee! 
Puc. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch ! 
I am descended of a gentler blood : 
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine. 

Shep. Out, out! My lords, an please you, 
'tis not so; 10 

I did beget her, all the parish knows : 
Her mother liveth yet, can testify 
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 

War. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy parent- 
age? 
Yoi'k. This argues what her kind of life hath 
been, 
Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. 
Shep. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obsta- 
cle ! 
God knows thou art a collop of my flesh ; 
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan. 20 

Puc. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd 
this man, 



Scene iv.] 



FIRST PART OF A'/XG HEXRY VI. 



493 



Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. 

Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest 
The morn that I was wedded to her mother. 
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. 
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time 
Of thy nativity ! I would the milk 
Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her 

breast, 
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, 
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 31 
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? 
O, burn her, burn her ! hanging is too good. 

[Exit. 
1 r ork. Take her away ; for she hath lived too 
long, 
To fill the world with vicious qualities. 
Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have 
condemn'd: 
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But issued from the progeny of kings; 
Virtuous and holy; chosen from above, 
By inspiration of celestial grace, 40 

To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
But you, that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
You judge it straight a thing impossible 
To compass wonders but by help of devils. 
No, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy, 50 

Chaste and immaculate in very thought : 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused, 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 
York. Ay, ay: away with her to execution ! 
War. And hark ye, sirs ; because she is a 
maid, 
Spare for no faggots, let there be enow : 
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting 
hearts? 
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, 60 

i That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. 
I am with child, ye bloody homicides: 
Murder not then the fruit within my womb, 
Although ye hale me to a violent de tth. 

York. Now heaven forfend ! the holy maid 

with child ! 
War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye 
wrought : 
Is all your strict preciseness come to this? 

York. She and the Dauphin have been jug- 
gling: 
I did imagine what would be her refuge. 

War.. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards 
live ; 70 

Especially since Charles must father it. 

Puc. You are deceived; my child is none' of 
his: 
It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love. 

York. Alencon ! that notorious Machiavel ! 
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 

Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you : 
'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named, 
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail' d. 
War. A married man ! that's most intolerable. 



York. Why, here's a girl ! 1 think she knows 
not well, 80 

There were so many, whom she may accuse. 
// 'ar. It's sign she hath been liberal and free. 
York. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. 
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee : 
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
Puc. Then lead me hence ; with whom I leave 
my curse : 
May never glorious sun reflex his beams 
Upon the country where you make abode ; 
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
Environ you, till mischief and despair 90 

Drive you to break your necks or hang your- 
selves I [Exit, guarded. 
York. Break thou in pieces and consume to 
ashes, 
Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 

Enter Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of 
Winchester, attended. 

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
With letters of commission from the king. 
For know, my Lords, the states of Christendom, 
Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils, 
Have earnestly implored a general 
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; 
And here at hand the Dauphin and his train 100 
Approacheth, to confer about some natter. 

York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? 
After the slaughter of SO many peers, 
So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers, 
That in this quarrefhave been overthrown 
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? 
Have we not lost most pan of all the towns, 
By treason, falsehood and by treachery, 
Our great progenitors had conquered? no 

O, Warwick, Warwick ! I foresee with grief 
The utter loss of all the realm of France. 

War. Be patient, York : if we conclude a 
peace, 
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants 
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 

Enter Charles, Alencon, Bastard, Reignikr, 
and others. 

CJiar. Since, lords of England, it is thus 
agreed 
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, 
We come to be informed by yourselves 
What the conditions of that league must be. 

York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler 
chokes 120 

The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, 
By sight of these our baleful enemies. 

Char. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus : 
That, in regard King Henry gives consent, 
Of mere compassion and of lenity. 
To ease your country of distressful war. 
\iul suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, 
You shall become true liegemen to his crown : 
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, 130 

Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, 
And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 

A/eu. Must he be then as shadow of himself' 7 



494 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



Adorn his temples with a coronet, 
And yet, in substance and authority, 
Retain but privilege of a private man ? 
This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 

Char. 'Tis known already that I am possess'd 
With more than half the Gallian territories, 
And therein reverenced for their lawful king : 140 
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 
Detract so much from that prerogative, 
As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole ? 
No, lord ambassador, I '11 rather keep 
That which I have than, coveting for more, 
Be cast from possibility of all. 

York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by secret 
means 
Used intercession to obtain a league, 
And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison ? 150 

Either accept the title thou usurp'st, 
Of benefit proceeding from our king 
And not of any challenge of desert, 
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 

Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
To cavil in the course of this contract : 
If once it be neglected, ten to one 
We shall not find like opportunity. 

Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy 
To save your subjects from such massacre 160 
And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen 
By our proceeding in hostility ; 
And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
Although you break it when your pleasure serves. 

War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our 
condition stand? 

Char. It shall ; 
Only reserved, you claim no interest 
In any of our towns of garrison. 

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty, 
As thou art knight, never to disobey 170 

Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. 
So, now dismiss your army when ye please; 
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, 
For here we entertain a solemn peace, \_Exeunt. 

Scene V. London. The palace. 

Enter Suffolk in conference with the King, 
Gloucester and Exeter. 

King. Your wondrous rare description, noble 
earl, 
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
Her virtues graced with external gifts 
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart : 
And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts 
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, 
So am I driven by breath of her renown 
Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive 
Where I may have fruition of her love. 

Suf. Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale 
Is but a preface of her worthy praise ; 11 

The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
Had I sufficient skill to utter them, 
Would make a volume of enticing lines, 
Able to ravish any dull conceit: 
And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
So full-replete with choice of all delights, 
But with as humble lowliness of mind 



She is content to be at your command ; 
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 20 
To love and honour Henry as her lord. 

King. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre- 
sume. 
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent 
That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 

Glou. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
Unto another lady of esteem : 
How shall we then dispense with that contract, 
And not deface your honour with reproach? 

Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; 30 
Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd 
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
By reason of his adversary's odds : 
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, 
And therefore may be broke without offence. 
Glou. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more 
than that ? 
Her father is no better than an earl, 
Although in glorious titles he excel. 

Suf. Yes, my lord, her father is a king, 
The King of Naples and Jerusalem ; 40 

And of such great authority in France 
As his alliance will confirm our peace 
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 

Glou. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do, 
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 
Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal 
dower, 
Where Reignier sooner will receive than give. 
Suf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your 
king, 
That he should be so abject, base and poor, 
To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. 50 
Henry is able to enrich his queen 
And not to seek a queen to make him rich : 
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
Marriage is a matter of more worth 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
Must be companion of his nuptial bed: 
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
It most of all these reasons bindeth us, 60 

In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
For what is wedlock forced but a hell, 
An age of discord and continual strife? 
Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, 
And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, 
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? 
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, 
Approves her fit for none but for a king : 
Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, 70 

More than in women commonly is seen, 
Will answer our hope in issue of a king; 
For Henry, son unto a conqueror, 
Is likely to beget more conquerors, 
If with a lady of so high resolve 
As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. 
Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with me 
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 
King. Whether it be through force of your 
report, 
My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that So 

My tender youth was never yet attaint 
With any passion of inflaming love, 



Scene v.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



495 



I cannot tell ; but this I am assured, 
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, 
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 
As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, 

France ; 
Agree to any covenants, and procure 
That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
To cross the seas to England and be crown'd 
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen : 
For your expenses and sufficient charge, 
Among the people gather up a tenth. 
Be gone, I say; for, till you do return, 
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. 
And you, good uncle, banish all offence : 



If you do censure me by what you were, 

Not what you are, I know it will excuse' 

This sudden execution of my will. 

And so, conduct me where, from company, ioo 

I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit. 

Glou. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and 
last. [Exeunt Gloucester and Exeter. 

Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd ; and thus 
he goes, 
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, 
With hope to find the like event in love, 
But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the kin"-- 
But I will rule both her, the king and realm 

{Exit. 



THE SECOND PART OF 

KING HENRY VI 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. 

Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winches- 
ter, great-uncle to the King. 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. 

Edward and Richard, his sons. 

Duke of Somerset. 

Duke of Suffolk. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Lord Clifford. 

Young Clifford, his son. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Lord Scales. 

Lord Say. 

Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William 
Stafford, his brother. 

Sir John Stanley. 

Vaux. 

Matthew Goffe. 

A Sea captain, Master, and Masters-Mate, 
and Walter Whitmore. 

Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk. 

John Hume and John Southwell, priests. 



Bolingbroke, a conjurer. 

Thomas Horner, an armourer. Peter, 

his man. 
Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Alban's. 
Simpcox, an impostor. 
Alexander Iden, a Kentish gentleman. 
Jack Cade, a rebel. 
George Bevis, John Holland, Dick the 

butcher, Smith the weaver, Michael, 

&c, followers of Cade. 
Two Murderers. 

Margaret, Queen to King Henry. 
Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester. 
Margaret Jourdain, a witch. 
Wife to Simpcox. 

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants, Petitioners, Al- 
dermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and 
Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers, 
Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. 

A Spirit. 

Scene : England. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Flourish of trumpets: then Jiantboys. Enter 
the King, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, 
Salisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal Beau- 
fort, on the one side: the Queen, Suffolk, 
York, Somerset, and Buckingham, on the 
other. 

Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
I had in charge at my depart for France, 
As procurator to your excellence, 
To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, 
So, in the famous ancient city Tours, 
In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, 
The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and 

Alencon, 
Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend 

bishops, 
I have perform' d my task and was espoused : 
And humbly now upon my bended knee, 10 

In sight of England and her lordly peers, 
Deliver up my title in the queen 
To your most gracious hands, that are the sub- 
stance 
Of that great shadow I did represent ; 
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, 
The fairest queen that ever king received. 

King. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Mar- 
garet : 



I can express no kinder sign of love 

Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, 

Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 20 

For thou hast given me in this beauteous face 

A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 

If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 

Queen. Great King of England and my gra- 
cious lord, 
The mutual conference that my mind hath had, 
By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, 
In courtly company or at my beads, 
With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, 
Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords 30 

And over-joy of heart doth minister. 

King. Her sight did ravish ; but her grace in 
speech, 
Her words 3>--clad with wisdom's majesty, 
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; 
Such is the fulness of my heart's content. 
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 

All [kneeling]. Long live Queen Margaret, 
England's happiness ! 

Queen. We thank you all. [Flourish. 

Stiff- My lord protector, so it please your 
grace, 
Here are the articles of contracted peace 40 

Between our sovereign and the French king 

Charles, 
For eighteen months concluded by consent. 

Glou. [Reads] 'Imprimis, It is agreed between 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



497 



the French king Charles, and William de la Pole, 
Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King 
of England, that the said Henry shall espouse 
the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King 
of Naples, Sicilia and Jerusalem, and crown her 
Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next 
ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the 
county of Maine shall be released and delivered 
to the king her father' — [Lets tJie paper fall. 
King. Uncle, how now ! 

Glou. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 

Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart 
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no 
further. 
King. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. 
Car. [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed be- 
tween them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine 
shall be released and delivered over to the king 
her father, and she sent over of the King of 
England's own proper cost and charges, without 
having any dowry.' 

King. They please us well. Lord marquess, 
kneel down : 
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, 
We here discharge your grace from being regent 
I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months 
Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, 
Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, 
Salisbury, and Warwick; 70 

We thank you all for this great favour done, 
In entertainment to my princely queen. 
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide 
To see her coronation be perform'd. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Suffolk. 
Glou. Brave peers of England, pillars of the 
state, 
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, 
Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
His valour, coin and people, in the wars? 
Did he so often lodge in open field, 80 

In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, 
To conquer France, his true inheritance? 
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
To keep by policy what Henry got? 
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
Received deep scars in France and Normandy ? 
( >r hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, 
With all the learned council of the realm, 
Studied so long, sat in the council-house go 

Early and late, debating to and fro 
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in 

awe, 
And had his highness in his infancy 
Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? 
And shall these labours and these honours die? 
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 
Your deeds of war and all our counsel die? 
O peers of England, shameful is this league ! 
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, 
Blotting your names from books of memory, 100 
Razing the characters of your renown, 
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, 
Undoing all, as all had never been ! 
Car. Nephew, what means this passionate 
discourse, 
This peroration with such circumstance? 



For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. 
Glou. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ; 
But now it is impossible we should : 
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, 
Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine no 
Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style 
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 

Sal. Now, by the death of Him that died for 
all, 
These counties were the keys of Normandy. 
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? 
War. For grief that they are past recovery : 
For, were there hope to conquer them again, 
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no 

tears. 
Anjou and Maine ! myself did win them both ; 
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer : 
And are the cities, that I got with wounds, 121 
1 >eliver'd up again with peaceful words? 
Mort Dieu .' 

I 'ork. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, 
That dims the honour of this warlike isle ! 
France should have torn and rent my very heart, 
Before I would have yielded to this league. 
I never read but England's kings have had 
Large sums of gold and dowries with their 

wives ; 
And our King Henry gives away his own, 130 
To match with her that brings no vantages. 

Glou. A proper jest, and never heard before, 
That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth 
For costs and chafes in transporting her ! 
She should have stayed in France and starved in 

France, 
Before — 

Car. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too 
hot: 
It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 
Glozt. My Lord of Winchester, I know your 
mind ; 
'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, T40 
But 'tis my presence that cloth trouble ye. 
Rancour will out : proud prelate, in thy face 
I see thy fury : if I longer stay, 
We shall begin our ancient bickerings. 
Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, 
I prophesied France will be lost ere long. [Exit. 

Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, 
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all. 
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 150 
Consider, lords, he is the next of b 
And heir apparent to the English crown : 
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, 
And all the wealthy' kingdoms of the west. 
There 's reason he should be displeased at it. 
Look to it, lords ; let not his smoothing v. 
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise and circumspect. 
What though the common people favour him. 
Calling him ' Humphrey, the good Duke of Glou- 
cester,' 159 
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 
'Jesu maintain your royal excellence !' 
With 'God preserve the good Duke Hump"hrey !' 
I fear me, lords, for all this Battering gloss, 
He will be found a dangerous protector. 
Buck. Why should he, then, protect our sove- 
reign, 
He being of age to govern of himself? 



y- 



49S 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act i. 



Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, 
And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, 
We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his 
seat. 
Car. This weighty business will, not brook 
delay; 17° 

I '11 to the Duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. 

Sam. Cousin of Buckingham, though Hum- 
phrey's pride 
And greatness of his place be grief to us, 
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal : 
His insolence is more intolerable 
Than all the princes in the land beside : 
If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. 
Buck. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be pro- 
tector, 
Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. 179 
[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. 
Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
While these do labour for their own preferment, 
Behoves it us to labour for the realm. 
I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester 
Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, 
More like a soldier than a man o' the church, 
As stout and proud as he were lord of all, 
Swear like a ruffian and demean himself 
Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. 
Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, _ 190 
Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, 
Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, 
Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey : 
And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
In bringing them to civil discipline, 
Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, 
When thou wert regent for our sovereign, 
Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people : 
Join we together, for the public good, 
In what we can, to bridle and suppress 200 

The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, 
With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; 
And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, 
While they do tend the profit of the land. 

War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the 
land, 
And common profit of his country! 

York. [Aside] And so says York, for he hath 

greatest cause. 
Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look 

unto the main. 
War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is lost ; 
That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, 
; And would have kept so long as breath did last ! 
Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant 

Maine, 
Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury. 
York. Anjou and Maine are given to the 
French ; 
Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy 
Stands on a tickle x>oint, now they are gone : 
Suffolk concluded on the articles, 
The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased 
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
I cannot blame them all : what is't to them? 220 
'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their 

pillage 
And purchase friends and give to courtezans, 



Still revelling like lords till all be gone ; 
While as the silly owner of the goods 
Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands 
And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, 
While all is shared and all is borne away, 
Ready to starve and dare not touch his own : 
So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, 230 
While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. 
Methinks the realms of England, France and 

Ireland 
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood 
As did the fatal brand Althsea burn'd 
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
Anjou and Maine both given unto the French ! 
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, 
Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
A day will come when York shall claim his own ; 
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts 240 
And make a show of love to proud Duke Hum- 
phrey, 
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, 
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: 
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
Nor hold, the sceptre in his childish fist, 
Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. 
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve : 
Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, 
To pry into the secrets of the state ; 250 

Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, 
With his new bride and England's dear-bought 

queen, 
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars : 
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, 
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed ; 
And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
To grapple with the house of Lancaster; 
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the 

crown, 
Whose bookish rule hath pull'dfair England down. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. The Duke of Gloucester's house. 

Enter Duke Humphrey and his wife Eleanor. 

Duck. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd 

corn, 
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? 
Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his 

brows, 
As frowning at the favours of the' world? 
Why are thine eyes fix'a to the sullen earth, 
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? 
What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem, 
Enchased with all the honours of the world? 
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
Until thy head be circled with the same. 10 

Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. 
What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine; 
And, having both together heaved it up, 
We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, 
And never more abase our sight so low 
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 
Glou. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy 

lord, 
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. 
And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 20 
Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 



Scene ii. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



499 



My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. 
Duck. What dream'd my lord? tell me, and 
I'll requite it 
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
Glou. Methought this staff, mine office-badge 
in court, 
Was broke in twain ; by whom I have forgot, 
But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
And on the pieces of the broken wand 
Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of 

Somerset, 
And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. 30 
This was my dream: what it doth bode, God 
knows. 
Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument 
That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester' - 
Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke : 
Methought I sat in seat of majesty 
In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
And in that chair where kings and queens are 

crown'd ; 
Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me 
And on my head did set the diadem. 40 

Glou. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide out- 
right : 
Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, 
Art thou not second woman in the realm, 
And the protestor's wife, beloved of him? 
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, 
Above the reach or compass of thy thought? 
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, 
To tumble down thy husband and thyself 
From top of honour to disgrace's feet? 
Away from me, and let me hear no more ! 50 

Duch. What, what," my lord ! are you so choleric 
With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? 
Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, 
And not be check'd. 

GI021. Nay, be not angiy ; I am pleased again. 

Enter Messenger. 

Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' 

pleasure 

You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, 

Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. 

Glou. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us r 

Ditch. Yes, my good lord, I '11 follow presently. 

{Exeunt Gloucester and Messcng, r. 

Follow I must ; I cannot go before, 61 

While Gloucester bears this base and humble 

mind. 
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks 
And smooth my way upon their headless necks; 
And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
To play my part in Fortune's pageant. 
Where are you there? Sir John ! nay, fear not, 

man, 
We are alone; here's none but thee and I. 

Enter Hume. 
Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty ! 70 
Duch. What say'st thou? majesty! I am but 

grace. 
Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's 
advice, 
Your grace's title shall be multiplied. 



Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as 
yet conferr'd 
With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, 
With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? 
And will they undertake to do me good? 

Hume. This they have promised, to show your 
highness 
A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, 
That shall make answer to such questions 80 

As by your grace shall be propounded him. 

Duch. It is enough; I'll think upon the ques- 
tions: 
When from Saint Alban's we do make return, 
We'll see these things effected to the full. 
Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry, man, 
With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 

[Exit. 
Hume. Hume must make merry with the 
duch 
Marry, an J shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume! 
Seal up your lips, ami give no words but mum: 
The business asketh silent secrecy. 90 

Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: 
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
Yet have I gold flies from another 1 
1 dare not say, from the rich ca linal 
And From the great and new-made 1 hike of Suffolk, 
Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain, 
They, knowing Dam* iring humour, 

Have hired me to undermine the duchess 
And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker ;' 
Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. 101 
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last 
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, 
And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. 

Scene III. The palace. 

Enter three or/our Petitioners, Peter, the 
Armourer's mo. a, icing one. 

First Petit. My masters, let's stand close : 
my lord protector will come this way by and by, 
and then we may deliver our supplications in the 
quill. 



ry. 
J es 



he's a good man ! Jesu bless him ! 

Enter Suffolk and Queen. 

Peter. Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen 
with him. I '11 be the first, sure. 

Sec. Petit. Come back, fool ; this is the Duke 
of Suffolk, and not my lord protect, >r. 10 

Suf. How now, fellow ! wouMst any thing 
with me ? 

First Petit. I pray, my lord, pardon me ; I 
took ye for my lord protector. 

Queen. [Reading 'To my Lord Protector!' 
Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me 
see them: what i-~ thine? 

First Petit. Mine is, an't please your grace, 

against John Goo Im 10. my lord cardinal's man. 

ing my house, and lands, and wife and 

all. from me. 21 

Suf. Thy wife too! that's some wrong, indeed. 
What's here! [Heads] 'Against 



the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons 
of Melford.' How now, sir knave ! 

Sec. Petit. Alas, sir, I am but a poor peti- 
tioner of our whole township. 

Peter. [Giving his petition] Against my 
master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the 
Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. 30 

Queen. What say'st thou? did the Duke of 
York say he was rightful heir to the crown ? 

Peter. That my master was? no, forsooth: 
my master said that he was, and that the king 
was an usurper. 

Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servant] Take 
this fellow in, and send for his master with a pur- 
suivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter 
before the king. [Exit Servant with Peter. 

Queen. And as for you, that love to be pro- 
tected 4° 
Under the wings of our protector's grace, 
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 

[Tears the supplications. 
Away, base cullions ! Suffolk, let them go. 

All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt. 

Queen. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, 
Is this the fashion in the court of England? 
Is this the government of Britain's isle, 
And this the royalty of Albion's king? 
What, shall King Henry be a pupil still 
Under the surly Gloucester's governance? 50 

Am I a queen in title and in style, 
And must be made a subject to a duke ? 
I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours 
Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love 
And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, 
I thought King Henry had resembled thee 
In courage, courtship and proportion : 
But all his mind is bent to holiness. 
To number Ave-Maries on his beads ; 
His champions are the prophets and apostles, 60 
His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, 
His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
Are brazen images of canonized saints. 
I would the college of the cardinals 
Would choose him pope and carry him to Rome, 
And set the triple crown upon his head : 
That were a state fit for his holiness. 

Suf. Madam, be patient : as I was cause 
Your highness came to England, so will I 
In England work your grace's full content. 70 

Queen. Beside the haughty protector, have we 
Beaufort 
The imperious churchman, Somerset, Bucking- 
ham, 
And grumbling York ; and not the least of these 
But can do more in England than the king. 

Suf. And he of these that can do most of all 
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : 
Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. 

Queen. Not all these lords do vex me half so 
much 
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
She sweeps it through the court with troops of 
ladies, _ 80 

More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: 
Strangers in court do take her for the queen : 
She bears a duke's revenues on her back, 
And in her heart she scorns our poverty : 
Shall I not live to be avenged on her? 
Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, 



She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, 
The very train of her worst wearing gown 
Was better worth than all my father's lands, 89 
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 
Snf. Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, 
And placed a quire of such enticing birds, 
That she will light to listen to the lays, 
And never mount to trouble you again. 
So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; 
For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
Although we fancy not the cardinal, 
Yet must we join with him and with the lords, 
Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
As for the Duke of York, this late complaint 100 
Will make but little for his benefit. 
So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, 
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 

Sound a sennet. Enter the King, Duke Hum- 
phrey of Gloucester, Cardinal Beaufort, 
Buckingham, York, Somerset, Salisbury, 
Warwick, and the Duchess of Gloucester. 

King. For my part, noble lords, I care not 
which ; 
Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. 

York. If York have ill demean'd himself in 
France, 
Then let him be denay'd the regentship. 

Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, 
Let York be regent ; I will yield to him. 109 

War. Whether your grace be worthy, yeaorno, 
Dispute not that : York is the worthier. 

Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 

War. The cardinal's not my better in the field. 

Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, 
Warwick. 

War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 

Sal. Peace, son ! and show some reason, 
Buckingham, 
Why Somerset should be preferred in this. 

Queen. Because the king, forsooth, will have 
it so. 

Glou. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
To give his censure : these are no women's matters. 

Queen. If he be old enough, what needs your 
grace 121 

To be protector of his excellence ? 

Glou. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; 
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 

Suf. Resign it then and leave thine insolence. 
Since thou wert king — as who is king but thou? — 
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck ; 
The Dauphin hath prevail' d beyond the seas ; 
And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 130 

Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; the 
clergy's bags 
Are lank and lean with thy extortions. 

Som. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's 
attire 
Have cost a mass of public treasury. 

Buck. Thy cruelty in execution 
Upon offenders hath exceeded law 
And left thee to the mercy of the law. 

Queen. Thy sale of offices and towns in France, 
If they were known, as the suspect is great, 
Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 
[Exit Gloucester. The Queen drops her fan. 



Scene hi.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



501 



Give me my fan : what, minion ! can ye not? 141 
[S 'he gives the Duchess a box on the ear. 
I cry you mercy, madam; was it you? 
Ditch. Was't I ! yea,. I it was, proud French- 
woman : 
Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
I 'Id set my ten commandments in your face. 
King. Sweet aunt, be quiet ; 'twas against her 

will. 
Duch. Against her will ! good king, look to't 
in time; 
She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: 
Though in this place most master wear no breeches, 
She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreven^ed. 

[Exit. 
Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : 
She's tickled now ; her fume needs no spurs, 
She 'llgallop far enough to her destruction. [Exit. 

Re-enter Gloucester. 

Glou. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown 
With walking once about the quadrangle, 
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
As for your spiteful false objections, 
Prove them, and I lie open to the law : 
But God in mercy so deal with my soul, 160 

As I in duty love my king and country ! 
But, to the matter that we have in hand : 
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
To be your regent in the realm of France. 

Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
To show some reason, of no little force, 
That York is most unmeet of any man. 

York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am 
unmeet : 
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; 
Next, if I be appointed for the place, 170 

My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, 
Without discharge, money, or furniture, 
Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: 
Last time, I danced attendance on his will 
Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. 

War. That can I witness ; and a fouler fact; 
Did never traitor in the land commit. 

Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick ! 

War. Image of pride, why should I hold my 
peace ? 

Enter Horner, the A rmourer, and his 
tnan Peter, guarded. 

Suf. Because here is a man accused of treason : 
Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! 181 

York. Doth any one accuse York for a 
traitor ? 

King. What mean*st thou, Suffolk; tell me, 
what are these ? 

Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
That doth accuse his master of high treason : 
His words were these : that Richard Duke of 

York 
Was rightful heir unto the English crown 
And that your majesty was an usurper. 

King. Say, man, were these thy words? 

Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never 
said nor thought any such matter: God is my 
witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. 

Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, he did 



speak them to me in the garret one night, as 
we were scouring my Lord of York's armour. 

York. Base dunghill villain and mechanical, 
I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. 
I do beseech your royal majesty, 
Let him have all the rigour of the law. iox> 

Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake 
the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and 
when I did correct him for his fault the other 
day, he did vow upon his knees he would be 
even with me: I have good witness of this: 
therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast 
away an honest man for a villain's accusation. 

King. Uncle, what shall we say to this 
in law? 

Glou. This doom, my lord, if I may judge : 
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
Because in York this breeds suspicion : 210 

And let these have a day appointed them 
For single combat in convenient place, 
For he hath witness of his servant's malice : 
This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's 
doom. 

Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 

Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 

Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for God's 
sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth 
against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me ! I 
shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my 
heart! 221 

Glou. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be 
hang'd. 

King. Away with them to prison; and the 
day of combat shall be the last of the next 
month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent 
away. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Gloucester's garden. 

Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, South- 
well, and Bolingbroke, 

Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I 
tell you, expects performance of your promises. 

Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro- 
vided : will her ladyship behold and hear our 
exorcisms? 

Hume. Ay, what else? fear you not her 
courage. 

Boling. I have heard her reported to be a 
woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be 
convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her 
aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray 
you, go, in God's name, and leave us. [Exit 
Hume.'] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and 
grovel on the earth ; John Southwell, read you ; 
and let us to our work. 

Enter Duchess aloft, Hume following. 
Duch. Well said, my masters ; and welcome 
all. To this gear the sooner the better. 

Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know 
their times : 
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, 
The time of night when Troy was set on fire ; 20 
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs 

howl 
And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, 
That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
Madam, sit you and fear not : whom we raise, 



5° 2 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act it 



We will make fast within a hallow' d verge. 

[Here tlicy do the ceremonies belonging; 
and make the circle; Bolingbroke or 
South-well reads, Conjuro te, &c. It 
thunders and lightens terribly ; then 
the Spirit riseth. 
Spir. Ad sum. 
M. Jaurd. Asmath, 
By the eternal God, whose name and power 
Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from 
hence. 30 

Spir. Ask what thou wilt. That I had said 

and done ! 
Boling. ' First of the king: what shall of him 
become?' [Reading out of a paper. 

Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall 
depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death. 

[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell 

writes the answer. 

Boling. ' What fates await the Duke of 

Suffolk?' 
Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. 
Boling. 'What shall befall the Duke of 

Somerset?' 
Spir. Let him shun castles; 
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains 
Than where castles mounted stand. 40 

Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 

Boling. Descend to darkness and the burning 
lake! 
False fiend, avoid ! 

[ Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit. 

Enter the Duke of York and tlie Duke of 
Buckingham with their Guard and break in. 
York. Lay hands upon these traitors and 
their trash. 

Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. 

What, madam, are you there? the king and com- 
monweal 

Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: 

My lord protector will, I doubt it not, 

See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. 
Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's 
king, 50 

Injurious duke, that threatest where 's no cause. 
Buck. True, madam, none at all: what call 
you this? 

Away with them ! let them be clapp'd up close, 

And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. 

Stafford, take her to thee. 

[Exeunt above Duchess and Hume, guarded. 

We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. 

All, away ! 

[Exeunt guard with Jourdain, Southwell, &*c. 
York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you 
watch'd her well : 

A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 

Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 60 

What have we here ? [Reads. 

' The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose ; 

But him outlive, and die a violent death.' 

Why, this is just 

' Aio te, ./Eacida, Romanos vincere posse.' 

Well, to the rest : 

'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? 

By water shall he die, and take his end. 



What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? 

Let him shun castles ; 70 

Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains 

Than where castles mounted stand.' 

Come, come, my lords ; 

These oracles are hardly attain' d, 

And hardly understood. 

The king is now in progress towards Saint 

Alban's, 
With him the husband of this lovely lady : 
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can 

carry them : 
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 

Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my 

Lord of York, 80 

To be the post, in hope of his reward. 

York. At your pleasure, my good lord. Who 's 

within there, ho ! 

Enter a Servingman. 
Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick 
To sup with me to-morrow night. Away ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Saint Alban's. 
Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, Car- 
dinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hal- 
loing. 

Queen. Believe me, lords, for flying at the 
brook, 
I saw not better sport these seven years' day: 
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ; 
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
King. But what a point, my lord, your falcon 
made, 
And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! 
To see how God in all his creatures works ! 
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. 
Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; 10 
They know their master loves to be aloft 
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 
Glou. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 
Car. I thought as much ; he would be above 

the clouds. 
Glou. Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you 
by that? 
Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? 
King. The treasury cf everlasting joy. 
Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and 
thoughts 
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; 20 
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, 
That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal ! 
Glou. What, cardinal, is your priesthood 
grown peremptory? 
Tantsene animis ccelestibus irae? 
Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such ma- 
lice ; 
With such holiness can you do it? 

Suf. No malice, sir ; no more than well be- 
comes 
So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. 
Glou. As who, my lord ? 

Suf. Why, as you, my lord, 

An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 30 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF K/XG HEXRY VI. 



503 



Glou. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine 

insolence. 
Queen. And thy ambition, Gloucester. 
King. I prithee, peace, good queen, 
And whet not on these furious peers ; 
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 

Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, 
Against this proud protector, with my sword ! 
Glou. [Aside to Car.] Faith, holy uncle, would 

'twere come to that ! 
Car. [Aside to Glou.] Marry, when thou 

darest. 
Glou. [Aside to Car.] Make up no factious 
numbers for the matter; 40 

In thine own person answer thy abuse. 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] Ay, where thou darest 
not peep : an if thou darest, 
This evening, on the east side of the grove. 
King. How now, my lords! 
Car. Relieve me, cousin Gloucester, 

Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
We had had more sport. [Aside to Glou.] Come 
with thy two-hand sword. 
Glou. True, uncle. 
Car. [Aside to Glou.] Are ye advised? the 

east side of the grove? 
Glou. [Aside to Car.] Cardinal, I am with 

you. 

King. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! 

Glou. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, my 

lord. 50 

[Aside to Car.] Now, by God's mother, priest, 

I'll shave your crown for this, 
Or all my fence shall fail. 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] Medice, teipsum — ■ 
Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. 
King. The winds grow high; so do your 
stomachs, lords. 
How irksome is this music to my heart ! 
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? 
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 

Enter a Townsman of Saint Aldan's, crying 

' A miracle !' 
Glou. W T hat means this noise? 
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? 60 

Towns. A miracle ! a miracle ! 
Suf. Come to the king and tell him what 

miracle. 
Towns. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Al- 
bans shrine, 
Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; 
A man that ne'er saw in his life before. 
King. Now, God be praised, that to believing 
souls 
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 

Enter the Mayor 0/ Saint Aldan's and his 
brethren, "bearing Simpcox, between two in 
a chair, Simpcox's Wife following. 
Car. Here comes the townsmen on proces- 
sion, 
To present your highness with the man. 
King. Great is his comfort in this earthly 
vale, 70 

Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 

Glou. Stand by, my masters : bring him near 
the king; 
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 



King. Good fellow, tell us here the circum- 
stance, 
That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
What, hast thou been long blind and now re- 
stored? 
Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 
// 'ife. Ay, indeed, was he. 
Suf. What woman is this? 
// 'ife. His wife, an 't like your worship. 80 
Glou. Hadst thou been his mother, thou 

couldst have better told. 
King. Where wert thou born? 
Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like 

your grace. 
King. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been 
great to thee : 
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
But still remember what the Lord hath done. 
Queen. Tell me, good fellow, earnest thou 
here by chance, 
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? 
Simp. God knows, of pure devotion- being 
call'd 
A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, go 

By good Saint Alban ; who said, 'Simpcox, 

come, 
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' 
Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time 
and oft 
Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 
Car. What, art thou lame? 



imp. 
uf 



Ay, God Almighty help 



Suf. How earnest thou so ? 

Simp. A fall off of a tree. 

Wife, A plum-tree, master. 

Glou. How long hast thou been blind? 

Simp. O, born so, master. 

Glou. What, and woiddst climb a tree? 

Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a 

youth. 
Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very- 
dear. 100 
Glou. Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that 

wouldst venture so. 
Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desired 

some damsons, 
And made me climb, with danger of my life. 
Glou. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not 

serve. 
Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open 

them: 
In my opinion yet thou see'st not well. 
Simp. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God 

and Saint Alban. 
Glou. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this 

cloak of? 
Simp. Red, master; red as blood. no 

Glou. Why, that's well said. What colour is 

my gown of? 
Simp. Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet. 
King. Why, then, thou know'st what colour 

jet is of? 
Suf And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 
Glou. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, 

a many. 
Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 
Glou. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? 
Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 
Glou. What's his name? 



Simp. I know not. 120 

Glou. Nor his? 

Simp. No, indeed, master. 

Glou. What's thine own name? 

Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, 
master. 

Glou. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest 
knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born 
blind, thou mightst as well have known all our 
names as thus to name the several colours we do 
wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but sud- 
denly to nominate them all, it is impossible.. My 
lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ; and 
would ye not think his cunning to be great, that 
could restore this cripple- to his legs again? 

Simp. O master, that you could ! 

Glou. My masters of Saint Alban's, have you 
not beadles in your town, and things called 
whips? 

May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 

Glou. Then send for one presently. 

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither 
straight. [Exit an Attendant. 141 

Glou. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. 
Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from 
whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. 

Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand 
alone ; 
You go about to torture me in vain. 

Enter a Beadle with whips. 
Glou. Well, sir, we must have you find your 
legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over 
that same stool. 

Bead. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off 
with your doublet quickly. 151 

Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am 
I not able to stand. 

[After the Beadle hath hit him once, 

he leaps over the stool and runs 

away ; and they follow and cry, 

'A miracle !' 

King. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest 

so long? 
Queen. It made me laugh to see the villain 

run. 
Glou. Follow the knave; and take this drab 

away. 

Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 

Glou. Let them be whipped through every 

market-town, till they come to Berwick, from 

whence they came. 160 

[Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, &>c. 

Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle 

to-day. 
Suf. True; made the lame to leap and fly 

away. 
Glou. But you have done more miracles than I ; 
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 

Enter Buckingham. 
King. What tidings with our cousin Buck- 
ingham ? 
Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to 
unfold. 
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, 
Under the countenance and confederacy 
Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, 
The ringleader and head of all this rout, 170 



Have practised dangerously against your state, 
Dealing with witches and with conjurers: 
Whom we have apprehended in the fact ; 
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, 
Demanding of King Henry's life and death, 
And other of your highness' privy-council ; 
As more at large your grace shall understand. 
Car. [Aside to Glou.\ And so, my lord pro- 
tector, by this means 
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's 

edge; 180 

'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
Glou. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict 

my heart: 
Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers ; 
And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, 
Or to the meanest groom. 

King. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked 

ones, 
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ! 
Queen. Gloucester, see here the tainture of 

thy nest, 
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 
Glou. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do 

appeal, 190 

How I have loved my king and commonweal : 
And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ; 
Sorry I am to hear what I have heard : 
Noble she is, but if she have forgot 
Honour and virtue and conversed with such 
As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
I banish her my bed and company 
And give her as a prey to law and shame, 
That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. 
King. Well, for this night we will repose us 

here : 200 

To-morrow toward London back again, 
To look into this business thoroughly 
And call these foul offenders to their answers 
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause 

prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. The Duke of York's 
garde? 1. 

Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. 
York. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and 
Warwick, 
Our simple supper ended, give me leave 
In this close walk to satisfy myself, 
In craving your opinion of my title, 
Which is infallible, to England's crown. 
Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 
War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim 
be good, 
The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 

York. Then thus : 
Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons : 10 
The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of 

Wales; 
The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, 
Lionel Duke of Clarence ; next to whom 
Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster ; 
The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; 
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of 

Gloucester ; 
William of Windsor was the seventh and last. 



Scene ii.J 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



505 



Edward the Black Prince died before his father 
And left behind him Richard, his only son, 
Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as 
king ; 20 

Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, 
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, 
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she 

came, 
And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, 
Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 

War. Father, the duke hath told the truth ; 
Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 
York. Which now they hold by force and not 
by right ; 30 

For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, 
The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 
Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an 

heir. 
York. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from 
whose line 
I claim the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, 
Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March : 
Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March ; 
Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. 
Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Boling- 
broke, 
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ; 40 
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
But to the rest. 

York. His eldest sister, Anne, 

My mother, being heir unto the crown, 
Married Richard Earl of Cambridge ; who was 

son 
To Edmund Langlcy, Edward the Third's fifth 

son. 
By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir 
To Roger Earl of March, who was the son 
Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, 
Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence : 50 
So, if the issue of the elder son 
Succeed before the younger, I am king. 

War. What plain proceeding is more plain 
than this? 
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
The fourth son; York claims it from the third. 
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee 
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. 
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; 
And in this private plot be we the first 60 

That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
With honour of his birthright to the crown. 
Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, Eng- 
land's king ! 
York. We thank you, lords. But I am not 
your king 
Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd 
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster ; 
And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, 
But with advice and silent secrecy. 
Do you as I do in these dangerous days : 
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, 70 

At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, 
At Buckingham and all the crew of them, 
Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, 
That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 



'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that 
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 
Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your 

mind at full. 
War. My heart assures me that the Earl of 
Warwick 
Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. 

York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: 
Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick 
The greatest man in England but the king. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A hall of justice. 

Sound trumpets. Enter the King, tlie Queen, 
Gloucester, York, Suffolk, and Salis- 
bury; the Duchess of Gloucester, Mar- 
gery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and 
Bolingbroke, under guard. 
King. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, 
Gloucester's wife : 
In sight of God and us, your guilt is great : 
Receive the sentence of the law for sins 
Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. 
You four, from hence to prison back atjain ; 
From thence unto the place of execution : 
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. 
You, madam, for you are more nobly born, 
Despoiled of your honour in your life, 10 

Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
Live in your country here in banishment, 
With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. 

Duck. Welcome is banishment; welcome were 

my death. 
Glou. Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath 
judged thee: 
I cannot justify whom the law condemns. 
[Exeunt Duchess and other prisoners, guarded. 
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! 
I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 20 
Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. 
King. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester : 
ere thou go, 
Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself 
Protector be ; and God shall be my hope, 
My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet: 
And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved 
Than when thou wert protedlor to thy king. 

Queen. I see no reason why a king of years 
Should be to be protected like a child. 
God and King Henry govern England's realm. 30 
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 
Glou. My staff? here, noble Henry, is mv 
staff: 
As willingly do I the same resign 
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine ; 
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it 
As others would ambitiously receive it. 
Farewell, good king : when I am dead and gone, 
May honourable peace attend thy throne ! [Exit. 
Queen. Why, now is Henry king, and Mar- 
garet queen ; 
And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce him- 
self, 40 
That bears so shrewd a maim : two pulls at once ; 
His lady banish'd, and a limb Iopp'd off. 



5°6 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii. 



This staff of honour raught, there let it stand 
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 

Suf Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his 
sprays ; 
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 

York. Lords, lethimgo. Please it your majesty, 
This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, 50 
So please your highness to behold the fight. 

Queen. Ay, good my lord ; for purposely there- 
fore 
Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 

King. O' God's name, see the lists and all 
things fit : 
Here let them end it ; and God defend the right ! 

York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, 
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
The servant of this armourer, my lords. 

Enter at one door, Horner, the Armourer, and 

his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that 

he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before 

him and his staff with a sand- hag fastened to 

it; and at the other door Peter, his man, 

with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices 

drinking to him. 

First Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink 
to you in a cup of sack : and fear not, neighbour, 
you shall do well enough. 61 

Sec. Neigh. 'And here, neighbour, here's a cup 
of charneco. 

Third Neigh. And here 's a pot of good double 
beer, neighbour : drink, and fear not your man. 

Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I '11 pledge you 
all ; and a fig for Peter ! 

First 'Preti. Here, Peter, I drink to thee : 
and be not afraid. 

Sec. 'Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy 
master: fight for credit of the 'prentices. 71 

Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for 
me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last 
draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, 
I give thee my apron : and, Will, thou shalt have 
my hammer : and here, Tom, take all the money 
that I have. O Lord bless me ! I pray God ! for 
I am never able to deal with my master, he hath 
learnt so much fence already. 

Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to 
blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? 81 

Peter. Peter., forsooth. 

Sal. Peter! what more? 

Peter. Thump. 

Sal. Thump ! then see thcu thump thy master 
well. 

Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, 
upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave 
and myself an honest man : and touching the 
Duke of York, I will take my death, I never 
meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen : 
and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a down- 
right blow ! 

York. Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins 
to double. 
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants ! 

[Alar?tm. Tliey fight, and Peter strikes 
him down. 

Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess 
treason. {Dies. 



York. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank 
God, and the good wine in thy master's way. 99 
Peter. O God, have I overcome mine enemy 
in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed 
in right ! 
King. Go, take hence that traitor from our 
sight; 
For by his death we do perceive his guilt: 
And God in justice hath reveal'd to us 
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, 
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong- 
fully. 
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. 

[_Sound a flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A street. 

Enter Gloucester and his Serzntigmen, in 
mourning cloaks. 

Glou. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day 
a cloud ; 
And after summer evermore succeeds 
Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
Sirs, what's o'clock? 

Serv. Ten, my lord. 

Glou. Ten is the hour that was appointed me 
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess : 
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, 
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 10 

The abject people gazing on thy face, 
With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, 
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels 
When thou didst ride in triumph through the 

streets. 
But, soft ! I think she comes ; and I '11 prepare 
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 

Enter the Duchess of Gloucester in a white 

sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with 

Sir John Stanley, the Sheriff, and Officers. 

Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her 
from the sheriff. 

Glou. No, stir not, for your lives; let her 
pass by. 

Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open 
shame? 
Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze ! 
See how the giddy multitude do point, 21 

And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee ! 
Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, 
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, 
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine ! 

Glou. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. 

Duch. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget 
myself! 
For whilst I think I am thy married wife 
And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
Methinks I should not thus be led along, 30 

Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, 
And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice 
To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. 
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, 
And when I start, the envious people laugh 
And bid me be advised how I tread. 
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? 
Trow'st thou that e'er I '11 look upon the world, 
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun ? 



Scene iv ] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



507 



No ; dark shall be my light and night my day; 40 

To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. 

Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, 

And he a prince and ruler of the land : 

Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was 

As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 

Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock 

To every idle rascal follower. 

But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, 

Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death 

Hang, over thee, as, sure, it shortly will ; 50 

For Suffolk, he that can do all in all 

With her that hateth thee and hates us all, 

And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, 

Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, 

And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee : 

But fear not thou, until thy fool be snared, 

Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 

Glou. Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry ; 
I must offend before I be attainted ; 
And had I twenty times so many foes, 60 

And each of them had twenty times their power, 
All these could not procure me any scathe, 
So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. 
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? 
Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away, 
But I in danger for the breach of law. 
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : 
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; 
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 

Enter a Herald. 
Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's 
parliament, 70 

Holden at Bury the first of this next month. 
Glou. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein be- 
fore ! 
This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. 

[Exit Herald. 
My Nell, I take my leave : and, master sheriff, 
Let not her penance exceed the king's comm 
S/wr. An't please your grace, here my com- 
mission stays, 
And Sir John Stanley is appointed now 
To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 

Glou. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady 

here? 
Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please 
your grace. 80 

Glou. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray 
You use her well : the world may laugh again ; 
And I may live to do you kindness if 
You do it her : and so, Sir John, farewell ! 
Duck. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not 

farewell ! 
Glou. "Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 
[Exeunt Gloucester and Servingmen. 
Duck. Art thou gone too? all comfort go with 
thee! 
For none abides with me : my joy is death ; 
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, 
Because I wish'd this world's eternity. 90 

Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; 
I care not whither, for I beg no favour, 
Only convey me where thou art commanded. 

Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; 
There to be used according to your state. 

Duck. That's bad enough, for I am but re- 
proach : 



And shall I then be used reproachfully ? 

Stan. Like to a duchess, and Duke Hum- 
phrey's lady ; 
According to that state you shall be used. 99 

Duck. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, 
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. 
Slier. It is my office ; and, madam, pardon me. 
Duck. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is dis- 
charged. 
Come, Stanley, shall we go ? 

Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off 
this sheet, 
And go we to attire you for our journey. 

Duck. My shame will not be shifted with my 
sheet: 
No, it will hang upon my richest robes 
And show itself, attire me how I can. 
Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. 110 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 
The Abbey at Bury St Edmund's. 



Scene I. 

Sound a sennet. Enter tke King, tke Qiff.v, 
Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, Y>kk, 
Buckingham, Salisbury and Warwick to 
the Parliament, 

King: I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not 
come : 
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, 
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 

Queen. Can you not see? or will ye not ob- 
serve 
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? 
With what a majesty he bears himself, 
How insolent of late he is become, 
How proud, how peremptory, and unlike him- 
self? 
We know the time since he was mild and affable, 
And if we did but glance a far-off look, 10 

Immediately he was upon his knee, 
That all the court admired him for submission: 
Hut meet him now, and, be it in the morn, 
When every one will give the time of day, 
He knits his brow and shows an angry eye 
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
Small curs are not regarded when they grin ; 
But great men tremble when the lion roars ; 
And Humphrey is no little man in England. 20 
First note that he is near you in descent, 
And should you fall, he as the next will mount. 
Me seemeth then it is no policy, 
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears 
And his advantage following your decease, 
That he should come about your royal person 
Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, 
And when he please to make commotion, 
'Tis to be feard they all will follow him. 30 

Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow- 
rooted ; 
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden 
\nd oh.>ke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
The reverent care I bear unto my lord 
Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 
If it be fond, rail it a woman's fear; 
Which fear if better reasons can supplant, 



5o3 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act hi. 



I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke. 
My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, 
Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 40 

Or else conclude my words effectual. 

Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this 
duke ; 
And, had I first been put to speak my mind, 
I think I should have told your grace's tale. 
The duchess by his subornation, 
Upon my life, began her devilish practices : 
Or, if he were not privy to those faults, 
Yet, by reputing of his high descent, 
As next the king he was successive heir, 
And such high vaunts of his nobility, 50 

Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess 
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep ; 
And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. 
No, no, my sovereign ; Gloucester is a man 
Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. 

Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
Devise strange deaths for small offences done? 

York. And did he not, in his protectorship, 60 
Levy great sums of money through the realm 
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? 
By means whereof the towns each day revolted. 

Buck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults 
unknown, 
Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke 
Humphrey. 

King. My lords, at once : the care you have 
of us, 
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, 
Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my con- 
science, 
Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent 
From meaning treason to our royal person 70 
As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove : 
The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given 
To dream on evil or to work my downfall. 

Queen. Ah, what 's more dangerous than this 
fond affiance ! 
Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd, 
For he 's disposed as the hateful raven : 
Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him, 
For he 's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. 
Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? 
Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 80 

Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 



Enter Somerset. 

Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 
King. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news 

from France? 
Sow. That all your interest in those terri- 
tories 
Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
King. Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's 

will be done ! 
York. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had 
hope of France 
As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud 
And caterpillars eat my leaves away ; 90 

But I will remedy this gear ere long, 
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. 



Enter Gloucester. 

Glou. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. 

Sitf. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art 
come too soon, 
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art • 
I do arrest thee of high treason here. 

Glou. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me 
blush 
Nor change my countenance for this arrest : 
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 100 

The purest spring is not so free from mud 
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: 
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? 

York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took 
bribes of France, 
And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay ; 
By means whereof his highness hath lost France. 

Glou. Is it but thought so? what are they 
that think it? 
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, 
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, no 
Ay, night by night, in studying good foi Eng- 
land, 
That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
Be brought against me at my trial-day! 
No ; many a pound of mine own proper store, 
Because I would not tax the needy commons, 
Have I dispursed to the garrisons, 
And never ask'd for restitution. 

Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so 
much. 

Glou. I say no more than truth, so help me 
God ! 120 

York.. In your protectorship you did devise 
Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, 
That England was defamed by tyranny. 

Glou. Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was 
protector, 
Pity was all the fault that was in me ; 
For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 
Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passen- 
gers, 
I never gave them condign punishment : 130 

Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured 
Above the felon or what trespass else. 

Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly 
answered : 
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, 
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
To keep, until your further time of trial. 

King. My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special 
hope 
That you will clear yourself from all suspect : 140 
My conscience tells me you are innocent. 

Glou. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dan- 
gerous : 
Virtue is choked with foul ambition 
And charity chased hence by rancour's hand ; 
Foul subornation is predominant 
And equity exiled your highness' land. 
I know their complot is to have my life, 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



509 



And if my death might make this island happy 
And prove the period of their tyranny, 
I would expend it with all willingness: 150 

But mine is made the prologue to their play ; 
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, 
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's 

malice, 
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; 
Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue 
The envious load that lies upon his heart ; 
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 
By false accuse doth level at my life : 160 

And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head 
And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up 
My liefest liege to be mine enemy : 
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together — 
Myself had notice of your conventicles — 
And all to make away my guiltless life. 
I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; 
The ancient proverb will be we'll effected : 170 
'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' 

Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable: 
If those that care to keep your royal person 
From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage 
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, 
And the offender granted scope of speech, 
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 
Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady 
here 
With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, 
As if she had suborned some to swear 180 

False allegations to o'erthrow his state? 

Queen. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 
Glou. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, 
indeed ; 
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false ! 
And well such losers may have leave to speak. 
Buck. He'll wrest the sense and hold us here 
all day : 
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 

Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard 

him sure. 
Glou. Ah ! thus King Henry throws away 
his crutch 
Before his legs be firm to bear his body. 190 

Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side 
And wolvesare gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. 
Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were! 
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. 

[Exit, guarded. 
King. My lords, what to your wisdoms seem- 
eth best, 
Do or undo, as if ourself were here. 

Queen. What, will your highness leave the 

parliament? 
King. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd 
with grief, 
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes, 
My body round engirt with misery, 200 

For what's more miserable than discontent? 
Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy face I see 
The map of honour, truth and loyalty : 
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come 
That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith. 
What louring star now envies thy estate, 



That these great lords and Margaret our queen 
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? 
Thou never didst them wrong nor no man wrong ; 
And as the butcher takes away the calf 210 

And binds the wretch and beats it when it strays, 
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, 
Even so remorseless have they borne him hence ; 
And as the dam runs lowing up and down, 
Looking the way her harmless young one went, 
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss, 
Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case 
With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes 
Look after him and cannot do him good, 
So mighty are his vowed enemies. 220 

His fortunes I will weep and 'twixt each groan 
Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.' 
[Exeunt all but Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, 
Suffolk, and York; Somerset remains apart. 
Queen. Free lords, cold snow melts with the 
sun's hot beams. 
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, 
Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show 
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile 
With sorrow snares relenting passengers, 
Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank, 
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a 

child 
That for the beauty thinks it excellent. 230 

Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I — 
And yet herein 1 judge mine own wit good — 
This Gloucester should be quickly ridlhe world, 
To rid us from the fear we have of him. 

Car. That he should die is worthy policy ; 
But yet we want a colour for his death : 
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 

Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy : 
The king will labour still to save his life, 
The commons haply rise, to save his life ; 240 
And yet we have but trivial argument, 
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. 
York. So that, by this, you would not have 

him die. 
Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I ! 
York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for 
his death. 
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of 

Suffolk. _ 
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, 
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
As place Duke Humphrey for the king's pro- 
tector ? 250 
Queen. So the poor chicken should be sure of 

death. 
Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not mad- 
ness, then, 
To make the fox surveyor of the fold ? 
Who being accused a crafty murderer, 
His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
Because his purpose is not executed. 
No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
By nature proved an enemy to the flock, 
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood, 
As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege. 
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him : 261 
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, 
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, 
So he be dead ; for that is good deceit 
Which mates him first that first intends deceit. 



5i° 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act hi 



Queen. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely 
spoke. 

Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done ; 
For things are often spoke and seldom meant: 
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue, 
Seeing the deed is meritorious, 270 

And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, 
Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 

Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord 
of Suffolk, 
Ere you can take due orders for a priest : 
Say you consent and censure well the deed, 
And I'll provide his executioner, 
I tender so the safety of my liege. 

Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy 
doing. 

Queen. And so say I. 

York. And I : and now we three have spoke 
it, 280 

It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. 

Enter a Post. 

Post. Great lords, from Ireland am I come 
amain, 
To signify that rebels there are up 
And put the Englishmen unto the sword : 
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
Before the wound do grow uncurable ; 
For, being green, there is great hope of help. 
Car. A breach that craves a quick expedient 
stop! 
What counsel give you in this weighty cause? 
York. That Somerset be sent as regent thi- 
ther : 290 
'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 
Witness the fortune he hath had in France. 
Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy, 
Had been the regent there instead of me, 
He never would have stay'd in France so long. 

York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done : 
I rather would have lost my life betimes 
Than bring a burthen of dishonour home 
By staying there so long till all were lost. 
Show me one scar charadter'd on thy skin : 300 
Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win. 
Queen. Nay, then, this spark will prove a 
raging fire, 
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : 
No more, good York ; sweet Somerset, be still : 
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, 
Might happily have proved far worse than his. 
York. What, worse than nought? nay, then, 

a shame take all ! 
Som. And, in the number, thee that wishest 

shame ! 
Car. My Lord of York, try what your for- 
tune is. 
The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms 310 

And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : 
To Ireland will you lead a band of men, 
Collected choicely, from each county some, 
And try your hap against the Irishmen? 

York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
Suf. Why, our authority is his consent, 
And what we do establish he confirms : 
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 

York. I am content : provide me soldiers, lords, 
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 320 



Suf. A charge, Lord York, that I will see 

performed. 
But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey. 
Car. No more of him , for I will deal with him 
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. 
And so break off; the day is almost spent: 
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 
York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen 

days 
At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; 
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. 
Suf. I '11 see it truly done, my Lord of York. 
[E xeunt all but York. 
York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful 

thoughts, 331 

And change misdoubt to resolution : 
Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art 
Resign to death ; it is not worth the enjoying : 
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man, 
And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought 

on thought, 
And not a thought but thinks on dignity. 
My brain more busy than the labouring spider 
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 340 
Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done, 
To send me packing with an host of men : 
I fear me you but warm the starved snake, 
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your 

hearts. 
'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me ■• 
I take it kindly ; yet be well assured 
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
I will stir up in England some black storm 
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell ; 
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 351 
Until the golden circuit on my head, 
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. 
And, for a minister of my intent, 
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman, 
John Cade of Ashford, 
To make commotion, as full well he can, 
Under the title of John Mortimer. 
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade fo 
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, 
And fought so long, till that his thighs with. darts 
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine ; 
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen 
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, 
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. 
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern, 
Hath he conversed with the enemy, 
And undiscover'd come to me again 
And given me notice of their villanies. 370 

This devil here shall be my substitute ; 
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, 
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 
How they affect: the house and claim of York. 
Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured, 
I know no pain they can inflict upon him 
Will make him say I moved him to those arms. 
Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will, 
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength 
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd ; 381 
For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



5- 



Scene II. Bury St Edmund's. A room 
of state. 

Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 
First Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk ; let 
him know 
We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 
Sec. Mur. O that it were to do ! What have 
we done? 
Didst ever hear a man so penitent? 

Enter Suffolk. 

First Mur. Here comes my lord. 

Suf Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this tiling? 

First Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. 

Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to 
my house ; 
I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
The king and all the peers are here at hand. 10 
Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, 
According as I gave directions? 

First Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. 

Suf. Away ! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. 

Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, 
Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, with At- 
tendants. 

King. Go, call our uncle to our presence 
straight ; 
Say we intend to try his grace to-day, 
If he be guiky, as 'tis published. 

Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. 

[Exit. 
King. Lords, take your places ; and, I pray 
you all, 
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester 
Than from true evidence of good esteem 21 

He be approved in practice culpable. 

Queen. God forbid any malice should prevail, 
That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion ! 

King: I thank thee, Meg ; these words con- 
tent me much. 

Re-enter Suffolk. 

How now ! why look'st thou pale ? why tremblest 

thou? 
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk? 
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is 

dead. 
Queen. Marry, God forfend ! 30 

Car. God's secret judgement: I did dream 

to-night 
The duke was dumb and could not speak a word. 
[ The King swoons. 
Queen. How fares my lord? Help, lords! 

the king is dead. 
So;u. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. 
Queen. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope 

thine eyes ! 
Suf He doth revive again : madam, bepatient. 
King. O heavenly God ! 

Queen. How fares my gracious lord? 

Suf Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry, 

comfort ! 
King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort 



Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 40 

Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; 
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, 
By crying comfort from a hollow breast, 
Can chase away the first-conceived sound? 
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words; 
Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ; 
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting. 
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight ! 
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 50 

Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding : 
Yet do not go away: come, basilisk, 
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight ; 
For in the shad hall find joy ; 

In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead. 
Queen. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk 
thus? 
Although the duke was enemy to him, 
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death: 
And for myself, foe as he was to me, 
Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans 60 
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, 
And all to have the noble duke alive. 
What know I how the world may deem of me? 
For it is known we were but hollow friends: 
It may be judged I made the duke away : 
So shall my name with slander's tongue be 

wounded, 
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 
This get I by his death : ay me, unhappy ! 70 
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 

King. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched 

man ! 
Queen. Be woe for me, more wretched than 
he is. 
What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face? 
I am no loathsome leper; look on me. 
What ! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? 
Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen. 
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb? 
Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. 
Erecl his statua and worship it, 80 

And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea 
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank 
Drove back again unto my native clime? 
What boded this, but well forewarning wind 
Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'? 
What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts 
And he that loosed them forth their 
And bid them blow towards England's blessed 
shore, go 

Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? 
Yet /Eolus would not be a murderer, 
But left that hateful office unto thee : 
The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me, 
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd 0:1 

shore, 
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness : 
The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands 
And would not dash me with their ragged sides, 
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, 
Might in thy palace perish Margaret. ' 100 

As far as I could ken thy chalky din's, 
When from thy shore the tempest beat US back, 



512 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act in. 



I stood upon the hatches in the storm, 

And when the dusky sky began to rob 

My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 

I took a costly jewel from my neck, 

A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, 

And threw it towards thy land : the sea received it, 

And so I wish'd thy body might my heart : 

And even with this I lost fair England's view no 

And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart 

And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, 

For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 

How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue, 

The agent of thy foul inconstancy, 

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did 

When he to madding Dido would unfold 

His father's acts commenced in burning Troy ! 

Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like 

him? 
Ay me, I can no more ! die, Margaret ! 120 

For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. 

Noise xv ithin. Enter Warwick, Salisbury, 
and ma.7iy Commons. 

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, 
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is mur- 

der'd 
By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means. 
The commons, like an angry hive of bees 
That want their leader, scatter up and down 
And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, 
Until they hear the order of his death. 
King. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis 
too true ; 130 

But how he died God knows, not Henry: 
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, 
And comment then upon his sudden death. 

War. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salis- 
bury, 
With the rude multitude till I return. [Exit. 

King. O Thou that judgest all things, stay 
my thoughts, 
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul 
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life ! 
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, 
For judgement only doth belong to thee. 140 

Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
With twenty thousand kisses and to drain 
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears, 
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk 
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling : 
But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; 
And to survey his dead and earthy image, 
What were it but to make my sorrow greater? 

Re-enter Warwick and others, bearing Glou- 
cester's body on a bed. 

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view 

this body. 
King. That is to see how deep my grave is 
made ; 150 

For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, 
For seeing him I see my life in death. 

War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
With that dread King that took our state upon him 
To free us from his father's wrathful curse, 
I do believe that violent hands were laid 
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 



S?tf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn 
tongue ! 
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow ? 
War. See how the blood is settled in his face. 
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 161 

Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless, 
Being all descended to the labouring heart ; 
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; 
Which with the heart there cools and ne'er re- 

turneth 
To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
But see, his face is black and full of blood, 
His eye-balls further out than when he lived, 
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man ; 170 

His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with 

struggling ; 
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd 
And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued : 
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; 
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and 

rugged, 
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. 
It cannot be but he was murder'd here ; 
The least of all these signs were probable. 

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke 
to death? 
Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; 180 
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 

War. But both of you were vow'd Duke 
Humphrey's foes, 
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 
'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend ; 
And 'tis well seen he found an enemy. 

Queen. Then you, belike, suspect these noble- 
men 
As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
War. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding 
fresh 
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, 
But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter? 
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, 191 
But may imagine how the bird was dead, 
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? 
Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 
Queen. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's 
your knife? 
Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons? 
Suf. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men ; 
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, 
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart 199 
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge. 
Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwickshire, 
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. 

[Exeunt Cardinal, Somerset, and others. 
War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suf- 
folk dare him ? 
Queen. He dares not calm his contumelious 
spirit 
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, 
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. 
War. Madam, be still; with reverence may I 
say; 
For every word you speak in his behalf 
Is slander to your royal dignity. 

Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour ! 
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, 211 

Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



5*3 



Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou art 
And never of the Nevils' noble race. 

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers 
thee 
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee. 
Quitting thee thereby often thousand shames. 
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 220 
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech 
And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st, 
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy; 
And after all this fearful homage done, 
Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, 
Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men ! 
Sitf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy 
blood, 
If from this presence thou darest go with me. 
War. Away even now, or I will drag thee 
hence : 
Unworthy though thou art, I '11 cope with thee 230 
And do some service to ] Hike Humphrey's 
ghost. [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. 

King. What stronger breastplate than a heart 
untainted ! 
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, 
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 

[A noise within. 
Queen. What noise is this? 

Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their 
weapons drawn. 

King. Why, how now, lords ! your wrathful 
weapons drawn 
Here in our presence ! dare you be so bold? 
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? 

Suf The traitorous Warwick with the men 
of Bury 240 

Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 

Sal. [To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand 
apart ; the king shall know your mind. 
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, 
Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, 
Or banished fair England's territories, 
They will by violence tear him from your palace 
And torture him with grievous lingering death. 
Thev say, by him the good Duke Humphrey 

' died ; 
They say, in him they fear your highness' death ; 
And mere instinct of love and loyalty, 250 

Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 
As being thought to contradict your liking. 
Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
They say, in care of your most royal person, 
That if your highness should intend to sleep 
And charge that no man should disturb your rest 
In pain of your dislike or pain of death, 
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
That slily glided towards your majesty, 260 

It were but necessary you were waked, 
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber. 
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal ; 
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid. 
That they will guard you, whether you will or no, 
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is, 
With whose envenomed and fatal sting, 
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 



Commons. [Within] An answer from the king', 
my Lord of Salisbury ! 270 

Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd 
hinds, 
Could send such message to their sovereign : 
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ 'd, 
To show how quaint an orator you are : 
But all the honour Salisbury hath won 
Is, that he was the lord ambassador 
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 

Commons. [Within] An answer from the king, 
or we will all break in ! 

King. ( rOj Salisbury, and tell them all from me. 
I thank them for their tender loving care; 280 
And had I not been cited so by them, 
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; 
For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means : 
And therefore, by His majesty I swear, 
Whose far unworthy deputy 1 am, 
He shall not breathe infection in this air 
But three days longer, on the pain of death. 

[Exit Salisbury. 

Queen. O Henry, let me plead for gentle 
Suffolk! 

King. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle 
Suffolk ! 290 

No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him, 
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
Had I but said, I would have kept my word, 
But when I swear, it is irrevocable. 
If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found 
On any ground that I am ruler of, 
The world shall not be ransom for thy life. 
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with 

me ; 
I have great matters to impart to thee. 

[Exeunt all but Queen and Suffolk. 

Queen. Mischance and sorrow go along with 
you ! 300 

Heart's discontent and sour affliction 
Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
There's two of you ; the devil make a third ! 
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps ! 

Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations 
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 

Queen. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted 
wretch ! 
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy? 

Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should 
I curse them? 
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
I would invent as bitter-searching terms, 311 

As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear, 
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
With full as many signs of deadly hate, 
As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave: 
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; 
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; 
Mine hair be fix'd on end, as one distract : 
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: 
And even now my burthen'd heart would break, 
Should I not curse them. Poison be their 
drink! 321 

Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they 

taste ! 
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! 
Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks ! 
Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings ! 



33 



514 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii 



Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss, 
And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! 
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — 

Queen. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou tor- 
ment'st thyself; 
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, 
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, 331 

And turn the force of them upon thyself. 

Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me 
leave ? 
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
Though standing naked on a mountain top, 
Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
And think it but a minute spent in sport. 

Queen. O, let me entreat thee cease. Give 
me thy hand, 
That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; 340 
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
To wash away my woful monuments. 
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand. 
That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, 
Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed 

for thee ! 
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 
'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by, 
As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, 
Adventure to be banished myself: 350 

And banished I am, if but from thee. 
Go ; speak not to me ; even now be gone. 
O, go not yet ! Even thus two friends con- 

demn'd 
Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves, 
Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! 

Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished ; 
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence ; 
A wilderness is populous enough, 360 

So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : 
For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
With every several pleasure in the world, 
And where thou art not, desolation. 
I can no more : live thou to joy thy life ; 
Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest. 

Enter Vaux. 
Queen. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what 

news, I prithee? 
Vaux. To signify unto his majesty 
That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death ; 
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 370 
That makes him gasp and stare and catch 

the air, 
Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth. 
Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost 
Were by his side; sometime he calls the king 
And whispers to his pillow as to him 
The secrets of his overcharged soul : 
And I am sent to tell his majesty 
That even now he cries aloud for him. 

Queen. Go tell this heavy message to the king. 
[Exit Vaux. 
Ay me ! what is this world ! what news are 
these ! 380 

But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? 
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 



And with the southern clouds contend in tears, 
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my 

sorrows? 
Now get thee hence : the king, thou know'st, is 

coming ; 
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 

Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live; 
And in thy sight to die, what were it else 
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? 390 

Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe 
Dying with mother's dug between its lips: 
Where, from thy sight, 1 should be raging mad 
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, 
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; 
So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, 
Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
And then it lived in sweet Elysium. 
To die by thee were but to die in jest; 400 

From thee to die were torture more than death : 
O, let me stay, befall what may befall ! 

Queen. Away! though parting be a fretful 
corrosive, 
It is applied to a deathful wound. 
To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from thee ; 
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, 
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. 

Suf. I go. 

Queen. And take my heart with thee. 

Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask 
That ever did contain a thing of worth. 410 

Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we : 
This way fall I to death. 

Queen. This way for me. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene III. A bedchamber. 

Enter the King, Salisbury, Warwick, to the 
Cardinal in bed. 

King. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, 
to thy sovereign. 

Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee Eng- 
land's treasure, 
Enough to purchase such another island, 
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 

King. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
Where death's approach is seen so terrible ! 

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to 
thee. 

Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
Died he not in his bed? where should he die? 
Can I make men live, whether they will or no? 10 
O, torture me no more ! I will confess. 
Alive again? then show me where he is: 
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. 
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. 
Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands up- 
right, 
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. 
Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 

King. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 20 

O, beat away the busy meddling fiend 
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul 
And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 

War. See, how the pangs of death do make 
him grin ! 



Scene hi.] 



SECOND FART OF KING HENRY VI. 



515 



Sal. Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably. 

King. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea- 
sure be ! 
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 
He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive 
him ! 29 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 

King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. 
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; 
And let us all to meditation. {Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. The coast of Kent. 

Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. 
Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, 
Walter Whit.more, and others; with them 
Suffolk, and others, prisoners. 
Cap. The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day 
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
That drag the tragic melancholy night ; 
Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings, 
Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jav/s 
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize ; 
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, 
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, 10 
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. 
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; 
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; 
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. 
First Gent. What is my ransom, master? let 

me know. 
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down 

your head. 
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off 

goes yours. 
Cap. What, think you much to pay two thou- 
sand crowns, 
And bear the name and port of gentlemen? 
Cut both the villains' throats ; for die you shall : 
The lives of those which we have lost in fight 21 
Be counterpoised with such a petty sum ! 
First Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore 

spare my life. 
Sec. Gent. And so will I and write home for it 

straight. 
Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize 
aboard, 
And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die ; 

[To Suf. 
And so should these, if I might have my will. 
Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him 

live. 
Suf. Look on my George ; I am a gentleman : 
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 30 
Whit. And so am 1 ; my name is Walter 
Whitmore. 
How now! why start' st thou? what, doth death 
affright? 
Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound 
is death. 
A cunning man did calculate my birth 
And told me that by water I should die : 
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded : 
Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. 



Whit. Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care 
not: 
Never yet did base dishonour blur our name, 
But with our sword we wiped away the blot; 40 
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, 
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world ! 
Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a 
prince, 
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. 

Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ! 
Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke : 
Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I? 
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. 
Suf Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's 
blood, 50 

The honourable blood of Lancaster, 
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup? 
Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule 
And thought thee happy when I shook my head? 
How often hast thou waited at my cup, 
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, 
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? 
Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n, 
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride ; 60 

How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood 
And duly waited for my coming forth? 
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf 
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 
Whit Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn 

swain? 
Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath 

me. 
Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt and so 

art thou. 
Cap. Convey him hence and on our long-boat's 
side 
Strike off his head. 
Suf. Thou darest not, for thy own. 

Cap. Yes, Pole. 
Suf. Pole ! 

Cap. Pool ! Sir Pool ! lord ! 70 

A}', kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt 
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth 
For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the 

ground ; 
And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrev's 

death 
Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, 
Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: 
And wedded be thou to the ha.^s of hell, 
For daring to affy a mighty lord 80 

Unto the daughter of a worthless king, 
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
By devilish policy art thou grown great 
And, like ambitious S 

With gobbets of thy m »ther's bleeding heart. 
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, 
The false revolting Normans thorough thee 
Disdain to call us i ird, and Picardy 
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts 
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 90 
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, 
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain. 
As hating thee, arc rising up in arms: 
And now the house of York, thrust from the crown 



33- 



5*6 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



By shameful murder of a guiltless king 
1 And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, 

Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours 
Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, 
Under the which is writ ' Invitis nubibus.' 
The commons here in Kent are up in arms : ioo 
And, to conclude, reproach and beggary 
Is crept into the palace of our king, 
And all by thee. Away ! convey him hence. 
Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth 
thunder 
Upon these paltry, servile, abjecT: drudges ! 
Small things make base men proud: this villain 

here, 
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob bee-hives : 
It is impossible that I should die no 

By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
Thy words move rage and not remorse in me : 
I go of message from the queen to France ; 
I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel. 
Cap. Walter,— 
Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy 

death. 
Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee 

I fear. 
Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before 
I leave thee. 
What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 
First Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, 
speak him fair. 120 

Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and 
rough, 
Used to command, untaught to plead for favour. 
Far be it we should honour such as these 
With humble suit : no, rather let my head 
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any 
Save to the God of heaven and to my king ; 
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole 
Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
True nobility is exempt from fear : 
More can I bear than you dare execute. 130 

Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 
Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye 
can, 
That this my death may never be forgot ! 
Great men oft die by vile bezonians : 
A Roman sworder and banditto slave 
Murder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand 
Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders 
Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. 
[Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk. 
Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have 
set, 
It is our pleasure one of them depart : 140 

Therefore come you with us and let him go. 

[Exeunt all but tJte First Gentleman. 

Re-enter Whitmore with Suffolk's body. 

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body 
lie, 
Until the queen his mistress bury it. {Exit. 

First Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
His body will I bear unto the king: 
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; 
So will the queen, that living held him dear. 

[Exit with the body. 



Scene II. Blackheath. 
Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 

Bevis. Come, and get thee a sword, though 
made of a lath : they have been up these two days. 

Holl. They have the more need to sleep now, 
then. 

Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier 
means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, 
and set a new nap upon it. 

Holl. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. 
Well, I say it was never merry world in England 
since gentlemen came up. 10 

Bevis. O miserable age ! virtue is not regarded 
in handicrafts-men. 

Holl. The nobility think scorn to go in leather 
aprons. 

Bevis. Nay, more, the king's council are no 
good workmen. 

Holl. True ; and yet it is said, labour in thy 
vocation ; which is as much to say as, let the 
magistrates be labouring men; and therefore 
should we be magistrates. 20 

Bevis. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better 
sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. 

Holl. I see them! I see them! There's Best's 
son, the tanner of Wingham, — 

Bevis. He shall have the skin of our enemies, 
to make dog's-leather of. 

Holl. And Dick the Butcher,— 

Bevis. Then is sin struck down like an ox, 
and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 

Holl. And Smith the weaver, — 30 

Bevis. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 

Holl. Come, come, let's fall in with them. 

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick Butcher, Smith the 
Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers. 

Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our sup- 
posed father, — 

Dick. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of 
herrings. 

Cade. For our enemies shall fall before us, 
inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and 
princes, — Command silence. 

Dick. Silence ! 40 

Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — 

Dick. [Aside] He was an honest man, and a 
good bricklayer. 

Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, — 

Dick. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a 
midwife. 

Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, — 

Dick. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedler's 
daughter, and sold many laces. 49 

Smith. [Aside] But now of late, not able to 
travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks 
here at home. 

Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 

Dick. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is 
honourable ; and there was he born, under a hedge, 
for his father had never a house but the cage. 

Cade. Valiant I am. 

Smith. [Aside] A' must needs ; for beggary is 
valiant. 

Cade. I am able to endure much. 60 

Dick. [Aside] No question of that; for I have 
seen him whipped three market-days together. 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



5i7 



Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 

Smith. [Aside] He need not fear the sword ; 
for his coat is of proof. 

Dick. [Aside] But methinks he should stand 
in fear of fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing 
of sheep. 

Cade. Be brave, then; for your captain is 
brave, and vows reformation. There shall be in 
England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny : 
the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and 
I will make it felony to drink small beer: all the 
realm shall be in common ; and in Cheapside 
shall my palfry go to grass : and when I am king, 
as king I will be, — 

All. God save your majesty ! 

Cade. I thank you, good people : there shall 
be no money ; all shall eat and drink on my 
score ; and I will apparel them all in one livery, 
that they may agree like brothers and worship 
me their lord. 

Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the 
lawyers. 

Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a 
lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent 
lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, 
being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some 
say the bee stings : but I say, 'tis the bee's wax ; 
for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never 
mine own man since. How now ! who's there? 91 

Enter some, bring big forward the Clerk of 
Chatham. 

Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write 
and read and cast accompt. 

Cade. O monstrous ! 

Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 

Cade. Here's a villain ! 

Smith. Has a book in his pocket with red 
letters in't. 

Cade. Nay, then, he is a conjurer. 

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
court-hand. 101 

Cade. I am sorry for't : the man is a proper 
man, of mine honour; unless I find him guilty, 
he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must 
examine thee : what is thy name? 

Clerk. Emmanuel. 

Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters : 
'twill go hard with you. 

Cade. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write 
thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an 
honest plain-dealing man? in 

Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well 
brought up that I can write my name. 

A II. He hath confessed : away with him ! he 's 
a villain and a traitor. 

Cade. Away with him, I say ! hang him with 
his pen and ink-horn about his neck. 

[Exit one with the Clerk. 

Enter Michael. 

Mich. Where's our general? 

Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 119 

Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! Sir Humphrey Stafford 
and his brother are hard by, with the king's 
forces. 

Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee 
down. He shall be encountered with a man as 
good as himself: he is but a knight, is a' ? 



No. 



Mich. 

Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a 
knight presently. [Kneels] Rise up Sir John 
Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him ! 

Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford and his Bro- 
ther, with drum and soldiers. 
Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of 



Kent, 



130 



Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down 
Hume to your cottages, forsake this groom: 
The king is merciful, if you revolt. 

Bro. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood, 
If you go forward; therefore yield, or die. 

Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass 
not: 
It is to you, good people, that I speak, 
Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign; 
For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 

Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; 140 
And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? 

Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 

Bro. And what of that? 

Cade. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl 
of March, 
Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he 
not! 

Staf. Ay, sir. 

Cade. By her he had two children at one 
birth. 

Bro. That's false. 

Cade. Ay, there's the question; but I say, 
'tis true : 
The elder of them, being put to nurse, 150 

Was by a beggar-woman stolen away ; 
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
Became a bricklayer when he came to age : 
His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 

Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be 
king. 

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's I 
house, and the bricks are alive at this day to ) 
testify it ; therefore deny it not. 

Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's i 
words, 
That speaks he knows not what? 160 

All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye 
gone. 

Bro. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath 
taught you this. 

Cade. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it my- 
self. 
Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for his 
father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys 
went to span-counter for French crowns, I am 
content he shall reign ; but I '11 be proteclor over 
him. 

Dick. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord ' 
Say's head for selling the dukedom of Maine. 170 

Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is Eng- 
land mained, and fain to go with a staff, but that 
my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell 
you that that Lord Say hath gelded the common- 
wealth, and made it an eunuch : and more than 
that, he can speak French ; and therefore he is 
a traitor. 

Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 

Cade. Nay, answer, if you can: the French- 
men are our enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: I 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



can he that speaks with the tongue of an enemy 
be a good counsellor, or no? 
All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his 

head. 
Bro. Well, seeing gentle words will not pre- 
vail, 
Assail them with the army of the king. 

Staf. Herald, away; and throughout every 
town 
Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade ; 
! That those which fly before the battle ends 

May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
\ Be hang'd up for example at their doors : 190 

1 And you that be the king's friends, follow me. 

[Exeunt the tzvo Staffords, and soldiers. 
Cade. And you that love the commons, follow 
me. 
Now show yourselves men ; 'tis for liberty. 
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon; 
For they are thrifty honest men and such 
As would, but that they dare not, take our parts. 
Dick. They are all in order and march toward 

us. 
Cade. But then are we in order when we are 
most out of order. Come, march forward. 200 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of Blackheath. 

A laru?ns to the fight, wherein both the Staf- 

fords are slain. Enter Cade and the rest. 

Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ash- 
ford? 

Dick. Here, sir. 

Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and 
oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst 
been in thine own slaughter-house : therefore thus 
will I reward thee, the Lent shall be as long again 
as it is ; and thou shalt have a license to kill for 
a hundred lacking one. 

Dick. I desire no more. 10 

Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no 
less. This monument of the victory will I bear 
[p?ttting on Sir Humphrey's brigandine] ; and 
the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till 
I do come to London, where we will have the 
mayor's sword borne before us. 

Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, 
break open the gaols and let out the prisoners. 

Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, 
let's march towards London. {Exeunt. 20 

Scene IV. London. The palace. 

Enter the King with a supplication, and the 

Queen with Suffolk's head, the Duke of 

Buckingham and the Lord Say. 

Queen. Oft have I heard that grief softens the 
mind 
And makes it fearful and degenerate ; 
Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. 
But who can cease to weep and look on this? 
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: 
But where 's the body that I should embrace? 

Buck. What answer makes your grace to the 
rebels' supplication? 

King. 1 '11 send some holy bishop to entreat ; 
For God forbid so many simple souls 10 



Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, 
Will parley with Jack Cade their general: 
But stay, I '11 read it over once again. 
Queen. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely 
face 
Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me, 
And could it not enforce them to relent, 
That were unworthy to behold the same? 

King. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to 

have thy head. 
Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have 
his. 20 

King. How now, madam ! 
Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? 
I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, 
Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. 
Queen. No, my love, I should not mourn, but 
die for thee. 

E?iter a Messenger. 
King. How now ! what news? why comest 

thou in such haste? 
Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; fly, my 
lord! 
Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, 
Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house, 
And calls your grace usurper openly 30 

And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
His army is a ragged multitude 
Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
Hath given them heart and courage to proceed : 
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, 
They call false caterpillars and intend their death. 
King. O graceless men ! they know not what j 

they do. 
Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Killing- 1 
worth, 
Until a power be raised to put them down. 40 j 
Queen. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now j 
alive, 
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased! 

King. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee; 
Therefore away with us to Killingworth. 

Say. So might your grace's person be in 
danger. 
The sight of me is odious in their eyes ; 
And therefore in this city will I stay 
And live alone as secret as I may. 

Enter a?iother Messenger. 
Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge : 
The citizens fly and forsake their houses: 50 

The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear 
To spoil the city and your royal court. 
Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take 

horse. 
King. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will 

succour us. 
Queen. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is de- 
ceased. 
King. Farewell, my lord: trust not the 

Kentish rebels. 
Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. 
Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence. 
And therefore am 1 bold and resolute. 60 

[Exeunt. 



Scene v. J 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



5i9 



Scene V. London. The Tower. 
Enter Lord Scales upon the Tower, walking. 
Then enter two or three Citizens below. 
Scales. How now ! is Jack Cade slain ? 
First Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; 
for they have won the bridge, killing all those 
that withstand them : the lord mayor craves aid 
of your honour from the Tower to defend the 
city from the rebels. 

Scales. Such aid as I can spare you shall 
command ; 
But I am troubled here with them myself; 
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
But get you to Smithfield and gather head, 10 
And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe ; 
Fight for your king, your country and your lives ; 
And so, farewell, for 1 must hence again. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. London. Cannon Street. 

Enter Jack Cade and the rest, and strikes 
his staff on London-stone. 
Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And 
here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and 
command that, of the city's cost, the pissing- 
conduit run nothing but claret wine this first 
year of our reign. And now henceforward it 
shall be treason for any that calls me other than 
Lord Mortimer. 

Enter a Soldier, running. 

Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 

Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill kim. 

Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call 
ye Jack Cade more : I think he hath a very fair 
warning. 

Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered 
together in Smithfield. 

Cade. Come, then, let's go fight with them : 
but first, go and set London bridge on fire ; and, 
if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, 
let's away. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. London. Smithfield. 

Alarums. Matthew Goffe is slain, and all 

the rest. Then enter Jack Cade, with his 

company. 

Cade. So, sirs : now go some and pull down 
the Savoy; others to the inns of court; down 
with them all. 

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for 
that word. 

Dick. Only that the laws of England may 
come out of your mouth. 

Noll. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law, then ; 
for he was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 
'tis not whole yet. 11 

Smith. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking 
law; for his breath stinks with eating toasted 
cheese. 

Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. 
Away, burn all the records of the realm : my 
mouth shall be the parliament of England. 

Noll. [Aside] Then we are like to have 
biting statutes, unless his teeth be pulled out. 



Cade. And henceforward all tilings shall be in 
j common. 21 

Enter a Messenger. 

I Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the 

Lord Say, which sold the towns in France; he 

that made us pay one and twenty fifteens, and 

one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy. 

Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. 

Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten 
times. Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou 
buckram lord ! now art thou within point-blank 
of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou an- 
swer to my majesty for giving up of Normandy 
unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France? 
Be it known unto thee by these presence, even 
the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the 
besom that must sweep the court clean of such 
lilth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously 
corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a 
grammar school : and whereas, before, our fore- 
fathers had no other books but the score and the 
tally, thou hast caused printing to be used, and, 
contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, thou 
hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to 
thy face that thou hast men about thee that 
usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such 
abominable words as no Christian ear can endure 
to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, 
to call poor men before them about matters they 
were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast 
put them in prison ; and because they could not 
read, thou hast hanged them ; when, indeed, 
only for that cause they have been most worthy 
to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost 
thou not? 

Say. What of that? 

Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy 
horse wear a cloak, when honester men than thou 
go in their hose and doublets. 

Dick. And work in their shirt too ; as myself, 
for example, that am a butcher. 

Say. You men of Kent, — 

Dick. What say you of Kent? 60 

Say. Nothing but this; 'tis 'bona terra, mala 
"gens.' 

Cade. Away with him, away with him! he 
speaks Latin. 

Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where 
you will. 
Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, 
Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle: 
Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy; 
Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, 70 

Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. 
Justice with favour have I always done ; 
Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could 

never. 
When have I aught exacted at your hands, 
But to maintain the king, the realm and you? 
Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
Because my book preferr'd me to the king, 
And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, 
Unless you be possess' d with devilish spirits, 80 
You cannot but forbear to murder me : 



5 2 ° 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings 
For your behoof, — 

Cade. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in 
the field? 

Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft 
have I struck 
Those that I never saw and struck them dead. 

Geo. O monstrous coward! what, to come 
behind folks? 

Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for 
your good. 9° 

Cade. Give him a box o' the ear and that will 
make 'em red again. 

Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's 
causes 
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 

Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then 
and the help of hatchet. 

Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man? 

Say. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. 

Cade. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, 
I'll be even with you: I'll see if his head will 
stand steadier on a pole, or no. Take him away, 
and behead him. 

Say. Tell me wherein have I offended most? 
Have I affected wealth or honour? speak. 
Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? 
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? 
Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death? 
These hands are free from guiltless blood- 
shedding, 
This breast from harbouring foul deceitful 

thoughts. 
O, let me live ! no 

Cade. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with 
his words; but I'll bridle it: he shall die, an 
it be but for pleading so well for his life. Away 
with him ! he has a familiar under his tongue ; he 
speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I 
say, and strike off his head presently; and then 
break into his son-in-law's house, Sir James 
Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them 
both upon two poles hither. 

All. It shall be done. 120 

Say. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make 
your prayers, 
God should be so obdurate as yourselves, 
How would it fare with your departed souls? 
And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 

Cade. Away with him ! and do as I command 
ye. [Exeunt some with Lord Say. 

The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a 
head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute ; 
there shall not a maid be married, but she shall 
pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it : 
men shall hold of me in capite ; and we charge 
and command that their wives be as free as 
heart can wish or tongue can tell. 

Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheap- 
side and take up commodities upon our bills? 

Cade. Marry, presently. 
A II. O, brave ! 

Re-enter o?ie with the heads. 
Cade. But is not this braver? Let them kiss 
one another, for they loved well when they were 
alive. Now part them again, lest they consult 
about the giving up of some more towns in 
France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city' 



until night: for with these borne before us, in. 
stead of maces, will we ride through the streets 
and at every corner have them kiss. Away ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. Southwark. 
Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all 

his rabblement. 
Cade. Up Fish Street ! down Saint Magnus' 
Corner ! kill and knock down ! throw them into 
Thames ! [Sound a parley. ,] What noise is this 
I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat 
or parley, when I command them kill? 

EnterBucKiNGHAM and old Clifforv, attended. 

Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will 
disturb thee : 
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the 

king 
Unto the commons whom thou hast misled ; 
And here pronounce free pardon to them all 
That will forsake thee and go home in peace. 10 

Clif. What say ye, countrymen? will ye 
relent, 
And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you ; 
Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths? 
Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon, 
Fling up his cap, and say 'God save his ma- 
jesty!' 
Who hateth him and honours not his father, 
Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, 
Shake he his weapon at us and pass by. 

All. God save the king ! God save the king ! 

Cade. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are 
ye so brave? And you, base peasants, do ye 
believe him ? will you needs be hanged with your 
pardons about your necks ? Hath my sword 
therefore broke through London gates, that you 
should leave me at the White Hart in South- 
wark? I thought ye would never have given out 
these arms till you had recovered your ancient 
freedom : but you are all recreants and dastards, 
and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let 
them break your backs with burthens, take your 
houses over your heads, ravish your wives and 
daughters before your faces : for me, I will make 
shift for one ; and so, God's curse light upon you 
all! 

A II. We'll follow Cade, we '11 follow Cade ! 

Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, 
That thus you doexclaim you'll go with him? 
Will he condu6l you through the heart of France, 
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? 
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 40 
Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, 
Unless by robbing of your friends and us. 
Were't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar, 
The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, 
Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you? 
Methinks already in this civil broil 
I see them lording it in London streets, 
Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet. 
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry 49 
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. 
To France, to France, and get what you have lost ; 
Spare England, for it is your native coast : 
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly : 
God on our side, doubt not of victory. 



Scene viii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



All. A Clifford! a Clifford ! we'll follow the 
king and Clifford. 

Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to 
and fro as this multitude? The name of Henry 
the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs and 
makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay 
their heads together to surprise me. My sword 
make way for me, for here is no staying. In 
despite of the devils and hell, have through the 
very middest of you ! and heavens and honour be 
witness that no want of resolution in me, but only 
my followers' base and ignominious treasons, 
makes me betake me to my heels. [Exit. 

Buck. What, is he fled ? Go some, and fol- 
low him ; 
And he that brings his head unto the king 
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. 70 
[Exeunt some of them. 
Follow me, soldiers : we'll devise a mean 
To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX. Kenihvorth Castle. 

Sound trumpets. Enter King, Queen, and 
Somerset, on the terrace. 

King. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly 
throne, 
And could command no more content than I? 
No sooner was I crept out of my cradle 
But I was made a king, at nine months old. 
Was never subject long'd to be a king 
As I do long and wish to be a subject. 

Enter Buckingham and old Clifford. 
Buck. Health and glad tidings to your ma- 
jesty ! 
King. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade 
surprised ? 
Or is he but retired to make him strong ? 

Enter, below, multitudes, with halters about 
their necks. 
Clif. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers 
do yield ; 10 

And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, 
Expert your highness' doom, of life or death. _ 
King. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting 
gates, 
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! 
Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives 
And show'd how well you love your prince and 
country : 
! Continue still in this so good a mind, 
And Henry, though he be infortunate, 
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind : 
And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, 20 
I I do dismiss you to your several countries. 

A II. God save the king ! God save the king ! 

I Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised 
The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland, 
And with a puissant and a mighty power 
Of gallowglasses and stout kerns 
I Is marching hitherward in proud array, 

And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, 
I His arms are only to remove from thee 
The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 



King. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and 
York distress'd ; 31 

Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest 
Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate : 
But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed ; 
And now is York in arms to second him. 
I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him, 
And ask him what's the reason of these arms. 
Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower ; 
And, Somerset, we will commit thee hither, 
Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 40 

Som. My lord, 
I'll yield myself to prison willingly, 
Or unto death, to do my country good. 

King. In any case, be not too rough in terms ; 
For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language. 

Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to 
deal 
As all things shall redound unto your good. 

King. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to 
govern better ; 
For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 
[Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene X. Kent. Iden's garden. 
Enter Cade. 
Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself, that 
have a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! 
These five days have I hid me in these woods | 
and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid 
for me ; but now am I so hungry that if I might ' 
have a lease of my life for a thousand years I 
could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall 
have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can ' 
eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is i 
not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot wea- 
ther. And I think this word 'sallet' was born to ' 
do me good: for many a time, but for a sallet, [ 
my brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill ; 
and many a time, when I have been dry and 
bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a 
quart pot to drink in ; and now the word 'sallet' 
must .serve me to feed on. 

Enter Iden. 

Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the 
court, 
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? 
This small inheritance my father left me 20 

Contenteth me, and worth a monarch}'. 
I seek not to wax great by others' waning, 
Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy : 
Sufficeth that I have maintains my state 
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 

Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to 
seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple 
without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, 
and get a thousand crowns of the king by carry- 
ing my head to him : but I '11 make thee eat iron 
like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a 
great pin, ere thou and I part. 

Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou 
be, 
I know thee not ; why, then, should I betray thee? 
Is't not enough to break into my garden, 
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, 
Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, 
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms ? 



r 



522 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



Cade. Brave thee ! ay, by the best blood that 
ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on 
me well : I have eat no meat these five days ; 
yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not 
leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God 
I may never eat grass more. 

Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while 
England stands, 
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, 
Took odds to combat a poor farnish'd man. 
Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, 
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks : 
Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ; 50 
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, 
Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon ; 
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast ; 
And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 
As for words, whose greatness answers words, 
Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 

Cade. By my valour, the most complete 
champion that ever I heard ! Steel, _if thou turn 
the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in 
chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I 
beseech God on my knees thou mayst be turned 
to hobnails. [Here theyfght. Cade falls. 

O, I am slain ! famine and no other hath slain 
me : let ten thousand devils come against me, and 
give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I 'Id 
defy them all. Wither, garden ; and be hence- 
forth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this 
house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is 
fled. 70 

Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that mon- 
strous traitor? 
Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, 
And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead : 
Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point ; 
But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, 
To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 

Cade. Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy 
victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her 
best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; 
for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by 
famine, not by valour. [Dies. 81 

Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven 
be my judge. 
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare 

thee; 
And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave, 
And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; 
Which I will bear in triumph to the king, 89 

Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. {Exit. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Fields between Dartford and Black- 
heath. 

Enter York, and his army of Irish, with drum 
and colours. 
York. From Ireland thus comes York to claim 
his right, 
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and 
bright, 



To entertain great England's lawful king. 

Ah ! sancTa majestas, who would not buy thee 

dear? 
Let them obey that know not how to rule ; 
This hand was made to handle nought but gold. 
I cannot give due action to my words, 
Except a sword or sceptre balance it: 
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, 10 

On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. 

Enter Buckingham. 
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb 

me? 
The king hath sent him, sure : I must dissemble. 
Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee 

well. 
York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept 

thy greeting. 
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? 
Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread 

liege, 
To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
Or why thou, being a subject as I am, 
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 20 
Should raise so great a power without his leave, 
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 
York. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler 

is so great : 
O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, 
I am so angry at these abject terms ; 
And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. 
I am far better born than is the king, 
More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts : 
But I must make fair weather yet a while, 30 
Till Henry be more weak and I more strong. — 
Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, 
That I have given no answer all this while ; 
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
The cause why I have brought this army hither 
Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, 
Seditious to his grace and to the state. 
Buck. That is too much presumption on thy 

part: 
But if thy arms be to no other end, 
The king hath yielded unto thy demand : 40 

The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 

York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? 
Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 
York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my 

powers. 
Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourselves ; 
Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
You shall have pay and every thing you wish. 
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, 
As pledges of my fealty and love ; 50 

I'll send them all as willing as I live : 
Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have, 
Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 

Buck. York, I commend this kind submission : 
We twain will go into his highness' tent. 

Enter King and Attendants. 
King. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm 
to us, 
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? 

York. In all submission and humility 
York doth present himself unto your highness. 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



523 



King. Then what intends these forces thou 
dost bring? 60 

York. To heave the traitor Somerset from 
hence, 
And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, 
Who since I heard to be discomfited. 

Enter Iden, with Cade's head. 
Men. If one so rude and of so mean condition 
May pass into the presence of a kin-. 
Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head, 
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 
King. The head of Cade ! Great God, how 
just art Thou ! 
'. O, let me view his visage, being dead, 
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew 
him? 71 

Iden. I was, an't like vour majesty. 
King. How art thou dall'd? and what is thy 

degree? 
Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name; 
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 

Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not 
amiss 
He were created knight for his good service. 
King. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels.] Rise 
up a knight. 
We give thee for reward a thousand marks, 
And will that thou henceforth attend on us. So 

Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
And never live but true unto his liege ! {Rises. 

Enter Queen and Somerset. 

King. See, Buckingham, Somerset comes 
with the queen : 
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 

Queen. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide 
his head, 
But boldly stand and front him to his face. 

York. How now ! is Somerset at liberty? 
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts, 
And let thy tongue be equal witli thy heart. 
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? 90 

False king ! why hast thou broken faith with me, 
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? 
King did I call thee? no, thou art not king, 
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
That head of thine doth not become a crown; 
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, 
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 100 
Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up 
And with the same to act controlling laws. 
Give place : by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. 

So)n. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, 
York, 
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown : 
Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace. 

York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me 
ask of these, 
If they can brook I bow a knee to man. no 

Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail : 

[Exit Attendant. 
I know, ere they will have me go to ward, 



They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchise- 
ment. 
Queen. Call hither Clifford; bid him come 
amain, 
To say if that the bastard boys of York 
Shail be the surety for their traitor father. 

[Exit Buckingham. 
York. O blood-besotted Neapolitan, 
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge ! 
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, 
Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 120 
That for my surety will refuse the boys ! 

Enter Edward and Richard. 
See where they come: I'll warrant they'll make 
it good. 

Enter old Clifford and his Son. 
Qijeeu. And here comes Clifford to deny their 

bail. 
Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the 
king ! [Kneels. 

York. I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news 
with thee? 
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : 
We arc thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; 
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 

Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mis- 
take ; 
But thou mistakest me much to think I do : 130 
To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad? 
King. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambitious 
humour 
Makes him oppose himself against his king. 

Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
And chop away that factious pate of his. 

Queen. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. 
York. Will you not, sons? 
Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will 

serve. 
Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons 
shall. 140 

Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we 

here ! 
York. Look in a glass, and call thyimage so: 
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. 
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 
That with the very shaking of their chains 
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs : 
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. 

Enter the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury. 

Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears 
to death, 
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, 
If thou darest bring them to the baiting place. 150 

Rich. Oft have 1 seen a hot o'erweening cur 
Run back and bite, because he was withheld; 
Who, being suffered with the bear's fell paw, 
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried : 
And such a piece of service will you do, 
If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick. 

Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested 
lump, 
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 

York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly 



524 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



the 



[70 



Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn 
yourselves. 160 

King. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot 
to bow? 
Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, 
Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son ! 
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play 

ruffian, 
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ? 
O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? 
If it be banish'd from the frosty head, 
Where shall it find a harboui in the earth? 
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, 
And shame thine honourable age with blood? 
Why art thou old, and want'st experience? 
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? 
For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me 
That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 

Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
The title of this most renowned duke ; 
And in my conscience do repute his grace 
The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 

King. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto 
me? 

Sal. I have. 180 

King. Canst thou dispense with heaven for 
such an oath ? 

Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a sin, 
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. 
Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
To force a spotless virgin's chastity, 
To reave the orphan of his patrimony, 
To wring the widow from her custom'd right, 
And have no other reason for this wrong 
But that he was bound by a solemn oath? 190 

Queen. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 

King. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm 
himself. 

York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends 
thou hast, 
I am resolved for death or dignity. 

Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove 
true. 

War. You were best to go to bed and dream 
again, 
To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 

Clif. I am resolved to bear a greater storm 
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; 
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, 200 

Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 

War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's 
crest, 
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, 
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
As on a mountain top the cedar shows 
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm. 
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 

Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy 
bear 
And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 210 

Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, 
To quell the rebels and their complices. 

Rich. Fie ! charity, for shame ! speak not in 
spite, 
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. 

Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou 
canst tell. 



Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in 
hell. [Exeunt severally. 

Scene II. Saint Aldan's. 

Alarums to the battle. Enter Warwick. 

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick | 
calls: 
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 
Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum 
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, 
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me : 
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 

Enter York. 
How now, my noble lord! what, all afoot? 

York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my 
steed, 
But match to match I have encounter'd him 10 
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
Even of the bonny beast he loved so well. 

Enter old Clifford. 
War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some 
other chase, 
For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 

War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown 
thou fight'st. 
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, 
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 

[Exit. 
Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost 

thou pause ? 
York. With thy brave bearing should I be in 
love, 20 

But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and 
esteem, 
But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason. 

York. So let it help me now against thy 
sword 
As I in justice and true right express it. 

Clif. My soul and body on the action both ! 

York. A dreadful lay ! Address thee instantly. 

[ They fight, and Clifford falls. 

Clif. Lafin couronne les ceuvres. [Dies. 

York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for 

thou art still. 

Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! 30 

[Exit. 

Enter yotmg Clifford. 
Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the 

rout; 
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, 
Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
Hot coals of vengeance ! Let no soldier fly. 
He that is truly dedicate to war 
Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself 
Hath not essentially but by circumstance 
The name of valour. [Seeing /us dead father] 

O, let the vile world end, 40 

And the premised flames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven together ! 
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



525 



Particularities and petty sounds 

To cease ! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, 

To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 

The silver livery of advised age, 

And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus 

To die in ruffian battle ? Even at this sight 49 

My heart is turn'd to stone : and while 'tis mine, 

It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; 

No more will I their babes: tears virginal 

Shall be to me even as the dew to fire, 

And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims 

Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 

Henceforth I will not have to do with pity : 

Meet I an infant of the house of York, 

Into as many gobbets will I cut it 

As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: 

In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 60 

Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house: 

As did .(Eneas old Anchises bear, 

So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 

But then .#meas bare a living load. 

Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. 

[Exit, bearing off his father. 

Enter Richard and Somfrset to fight. 
Somerset is killed. 

Rich. So, lie thou there ; 
For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
Hath made the wizard famous in his death. 69 
Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still : 
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. {Exit. 

Fight: excursions. Enter King, Queen, and 
others. 

Queen. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for 

shame, away! 
King. Can we outrun the heavens ? good Mar- 
garet, stay. 
Queen. What are you made of? you'll nor 
fight nor fly : 
Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence, 
To give the enemy way, and to secure us 
By what we can, which can no more but fly. 

[Alamtn afar off. 
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape, 
As well we may, if not through your neglect, 80 
We shall to London get, where you are loved 
And where this breach now in our fortunes made 
May readily be stopp'd. 



Re-enter young Clifford. 

J". Clif But that my heart's on future mischief ' 
set, 
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly : 
But fly you must; uncurable discomfit 
Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
Away, for your relief ! and we will live 
To see their day and them our fortune give : 
Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Fields near St Alban's. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard, 
Warwick, ««</ Soldiers, with dritm and colours. 

York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, 
That winter lion, who in rage forgets 
Aged contusions and all brush of time, 
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, 
Repairs him with occasion? This happy day 
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, 
If Salisbury be lost. 

Rich. My noble father, 

Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, 
Three times bestrid him ; thrice 1 led him off. 
Persuaded him from any further act : 10 

But still, where danger was, still there I met him ; 
And like rich hangings in a homely house, 
So was his will in his old feeble body. 
But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought 
to-day ; 
By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard : 
God knows how long it is I have to live; 
And it hath pleased him that three times to-day 
You have defended me from imminent death. 
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have : 
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 21 
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 

York. I know our safety is to follow them ; 
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
To call a present court of parliament. 
Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. 
What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them? 

War. After them! nay, before them, if we can. 
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
Saint Alban's battle won by famous York 30 

Shall be eternized in all age to come. 
Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all : 
And more such days as these to us befall ! 

[Exeunt. 



THE THIRD PART OF 

KING HENRY VI. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, his son. 

Lewis XI. King of France. 

Duke of Somerset. 

Duke of Exeter. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Earl of Northumberland. 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Lord Clifford. 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. 

Edward, Earl of March, afterwards 
King Edward IV., 

Edmund, Earl of Rutland, I his 

George, afterwards Duke of Clarence, \ sons. 

Richard, afterwards Duke of Glou- 
cester, / 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Marquess of Montague. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Pembroke. 

Lord Hastings. 



Lord Stafford. 

Sir John Mortimer, ] uncles to the Duke of 

Sir Hugh Mortimer, i York. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, a youth. 

Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey. 

Sir William Stanley. 

Sir John Montgomery. 

Sir John Somerville. 

Tutor to Rutland. Mayor of York. 

Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman. 

Two Keepers. A Huntsman. 

A Son that has killed his father. 

A Father that has killed his son. 

Queen Margaret. 

Lady Gkf.y, afterwards Queen to Edward IV. 

Bona, sister to the French Queen. 

Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c 

Scene : England and France. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. The Parliament-house. 

Alarum. Enter the Duke of York, Edward, 
Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, 
a?id Soldiers. 
War. I wonder how the king escaped our 

hands. 
York. While we pursued the horsemen of the 
north, 
He slily stole away and left his men : 
Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, 
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself, 
Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, 
Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in 
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 
Edw. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buck- 
ingham, 10 
Is either slain or wounded dangerously; 
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow : 
That this is true, father, behold his blood. 

Mont. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wilt- 
shire's blood, 
Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 

Rich. Speak thou for me and tell them what 

I did. 
[Throwing down the Duke of Somerset 's head. 
York. Richard hath best deserved of all my 
sons. 
But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset ? 
Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of 
Gaunt ! 



Rich. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's 
head. 20 

War. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, 
Before I see thee seated in that throne 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. 
This is the palace of the fearful king, 
And this the regal seat : possess it, York ; 
For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'. 
York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and 
I will ; 
For hither we have broken in by force. 
Norf. We '11 all assist you ; he that flies shall 
die. 30 

York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk : stay by me, 
my lords ; 
And, soldiers, stay ana lodge by me this night. 

[ They go tip. 
War. And when the king comes, offer him 
no violence, 
Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. 

York. The queen this day here holds her 
parliament, 
But little thinks we shall be of her council : 
By words or blows here let us win our right. 
Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this 

house. 
War. The bloody parliament shall this be 
call'd, 
Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, 40 
And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice 
Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 

York. Then leave me not, my lords; be 
resolute ; 



Scene i.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



527 



I mean to take possession of my right. 

War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him 
best, 
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. 
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: 
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, 
Northumberland, Westmoreland, Exe- 
ter, and the rest. 

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy 
rebel sits, 50 

Even in the chair of state : belike he means, 
Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, 
To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. 
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father, 
And thine, Lord Clifford ; and you both have 

vow'd revenge 
On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. 
North. If I be not. heavens be revenged on me ! 
Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn 

in steel. 
West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck 
him down : 
Mv heart for anger burns ; I cannot brook it. 60 
A". Hen. Be patient, gentle Earl of West- 
moreland. 
Clif. Patience is for poltroons, such as he : 
He durst not sit there, had your father lived. 
My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
Let us assail the family of York. 
North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be 

it so. 
K. Heji. Ah, know you not the city favours 
them. 
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? 
Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll 

quickly fly. 
K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from 
Henry's heart, 70 

To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! 
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats 
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. 
Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, 
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ; 
I am thy sovereign. 

York. I am thine. 

Exe. For shame, come down : he made thee 

Duke of York. 
York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom 

was. 
Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown 
In following this usurping Henry. 81 

Clif. Whom should he follow but his natural 

king? 
War. True, Clifford; and that's Richard 

Duke of York. 
K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in 

my throne? 
York. It must and shall be so : content thyself. 
War. Be Duke of Lancaster ; let him be king. 
West. He is both king and Duke of Lancaster ; 
And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall main- 
tain. 
War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You 
forget 89 

That we are those which chased you from the field 



And slew your fathers, and with colours spread 
March'd through the city to the palace gates. 
North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my 
grief; 
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 
West. Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, 
Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives 
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 
Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of 
words, 
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger 
As shall revenge his death before I stir. 100 

War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worth- 
less threats ! 
York. Will you we show our title to the 
crown? 
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the 
crown? 
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York ; 
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: 
I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop 
And seized upon th provinces. 

War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost 
it all. no 

K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I : 
When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. 
Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, me- 
thinks, you lose. 
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
F.div. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head. 
Mo?it. Good brother, as thou lovest and hon- 
ourest arms, 
Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. 
Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the 

king will fly. 
York. Sons, peace ! 

K. Hen. Peace, thou ! and give King Henry 
leave to speak. 120 

War. Plantagenet shall speak first : hear him, 
lords ; 
And be you silent and attentive too, 
For he that interrupts him shall not live. 
K. Hen. Think'st thou that I will leave my 
kingly throne, 
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? 
No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, 
And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, 
Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? 
My title's good, and better far than his. 130 

War. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. 
K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got 

the crown. 
York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. 
K. Hen. [Aside] I know not what to say; my 
title's weak. — 
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? 
York. What then? 

K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king ; 
For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, 
Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 140 

York. He rose against him, being his sove- 
reign, 
And made him to resign his crown perforce. 
War. Suppose, my lords, he did it uncon- 
strain'd, 



528 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act i. 



Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? 

Exe. No ; for he could not so resign his crown 
But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 
K. Hen. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? 
Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 
York. Why whisper you, my lords, and an- 
swer not? 
Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. 
A". Hen. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and 
turn to him. 151 

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou 
lay'st, 
Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. 
War. Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. 
North. Thou art deceived : 'tis not thy south- 
ern power, 
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, 
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, 
Can set the duke up in despite of me. 

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, 

Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 160 

May that ground gape and swallow me alive, 

Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father ! 

K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive 

my heart ! 
York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. 
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 
War. Do right unto this princely Duke of 
York, 
Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
And over the chair of state, where now he sits, 
Write up his title with usurping blood. 

{He stam/>s with his foot, and the Soldiers 

show themselves. 

K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, hear me but 

one word: 170 

Let me for this my life-time reign as king. 

York. Confirm the crown to me and to mine 
heirs, 
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. 
King. I am content : Richard Plantagenet, 
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your 

son! 
War. What good is this to England and him- 
self! 
West. Base, fearful and despairing Henry ! 
Clif. How hast thou injured both thyself and 

us! 
West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 
North. Nor I. 1S1 

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these 

news. 
West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate 
king, 
In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. 

North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 

Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, 
Or live in peace abandon'd and despised ! 

[Exeunt North., Cliff., and West. 
War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard 

them not. 
Exe. They seek revenge and therefore will 
not yield. 19° 

K. Hen. Ah, Exeter ! 

War. Why should you sigh, my lord? 

K. Hen. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but 
my son, 



Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
But be it as it may: I here entail 
The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever ; 
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
To honour me as thy king and sovereign, 
And neither by treason nor hostility 
To seek to put me down and reign thyself. 200 
York. This oath I willingly take and will 

perform. 
War. Long live King Henry ! Plantagenet, 

embrace him. 
K. Hen. And long live thou and these thy 

forward sons ! 
York. Now York and Lancaster are recon- 
ciled. 
Exe. Accursed be he that seeks to make them 
foes ! [Sennet. Here they come down. 

York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my 

castle. 
War. And I '11 keep London with my soldiers. 
Norf. And I to Norfolk with my followers. 
Mont. And I unto the sea from whence I came. 
[Exeunt York and his Sons, Warwick, Nor- 
folk, Montagjie, their Soldiers, and At- 
tendants. 
K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the 
court. 210 

Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of 

Wales. 
Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks 
bewray her anger : 
I '11 steal away. 
K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. 
Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me; I will follow 

thee. 
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will 

stay. 
Q.Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes? 
Ah, wretched man ! would I had died a maid, 
And never seen thee, never borne thee son, 
Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father ! 
Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? 
Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, 220 
Or felt that pain which I did for him once, 
Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, 
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood 

there, 
Rather than have made that savage duke thine 

heir 
And disinherited thine only son. 

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
If you be king, why should not I succeed? 
K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; pardon me, 
sweet son : 
The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. 
Q. Mar. Enforced thee ! art thou king, and 
wilt be forced ? 230 

I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch ! 
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me ; 
And given unto the house of York such head 
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, 
What is it, but to make thy sepulchre 
And creep into it far before thy time? 
Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais ; 
Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; 
The duke is made protector of the realm ; 240 



Scene i.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HEXRY VI. 



52g 



; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds 
I The trembling Iamb environed with wolves. 
, Had I been there, which am a silly woman, 
j The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes 
! Before I would have granted to that aft. 
1 But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour : 
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself 
Both from thy table, Henry, ami thy lied, 
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd 
Whereby my son is disinherited. 250 

The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours 
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; 
And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace 
And utter ruin of the house of York. 
Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; 
Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. 
A'. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 

speak. 
Q. J far. Thou hast spoke too much already : 

get thee gone. 
A". Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay 

with me? 
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. 
Prince. When I return with victory from the 
field 261 

I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. 
Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger 
thus. 

[Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince. 
K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me and to 
her son 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, 
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, 
Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle 
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son ! 
The loss of those three lords torments my heart : 
! I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. 271 
1 1 Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 

Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Sandal Castle. 
Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague. 
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give 

me leave. 
Edw. No, I can better play the orator. 
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 

Enter the Duke of York. 
York. Why, how now, sons and brother! at 
a strife? 
What is your quarrel? how becran it fiust? 
Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 
York. About what? 

Rich. About that which concerns your grace 

and us ; 

The crown of England, father, which is yours. 9 

J 'orlc. M ine, boy? not till King Henry be dead. 

Rich. Your right depends not on his life or 

death. 
Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now : 
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, 
It will outrun you, father, in the end. 

York. I took an oath that he should quietly 

reign. 
Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be 
broken : 



I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. 

Rich. No; God forbid your grace should be 
forsworn. 

York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. 

Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear 
me speak. 20 

York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. 

Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
Before a true and lawful magistrate, 
That hath authority over him that swears: 
Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; 
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
Therefore, to arms ! And, father, do but think- 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; 
Within whose circuit is Elysium 30 

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
Why do we linger thus? 1 cannot rest 
Until the white rose that I wear be dyed 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 

York. Richard, enough; i will he- king, or die. 
Brother, thou shalt to London presently, 
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. 
Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, 
And tell him privily of our intent. 
You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, 40 
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise : 
In them I trust ; for they are soldiers, 
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. 
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, 
But that I seek occasion how to rise. 
And yet the king not privy to my drift, 
Nor any of the house of Lancaster? 

Enter a Messenger. 
But, stay : what news? Why comest thou in such 
post? 
Gabr. The queen with all the northern earls 
and lords 
Intend here to besiege you in your castle: 50 

She is hard by with twenty thousand men; 
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 

York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st 
thou that we fear them ? 
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; 
My brother Montague shall post to London: 
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, 
Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
And trust not simple Henry nor his 
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it 
not: 
And thus most humbly I do take my leave. | 

Enter Sir John Mortimer and Sir 1 ! 

Mortimer. 
York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, 
mine uncles, 
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour : 
The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 

Sir John. She shall not need ; we'll meet her 

in the field. 
York. What, with five thousand men? 
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need : 
.: m's general ; what should we fear? 

[A march afar off. 
Edw. I hear their drums: let's .^et our men 
in order, 
And issue forth and bid them battle straight. 



34 



530 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act i. 



York. Five men to twenty ! though the odds 
be great, 
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
Many a battle have I won in France, 
When as the enemy hath been ten to one : 
Why should I not now have the like success ? 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

Scene III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal 
Castle and Wakefield. 

Alarums. Enter Rutland and his Tutor. 
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their 
hands? 
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes ! 

Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 

Clif Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves 
thy life. 
As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 

Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 

Clif. Soldiers, away with him ! 

Tut. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent 
child, 
Lest thou be hated both of God and man ! 

[Exit, dragged off by Soldiers. 

Clif. How now! is he dead already? or is it 

fear 10 

That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. 

Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws ; 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, 
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. 
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, 
And not with such a cruel threatening look. 
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. 
I am too mean a subjecl: for thy wrath : 
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. 20 

Clif. In vain thou speak' st, poor boy; my 
father's blood 
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
enter. 

Rut. Then let. my father's blood open it again : 
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and 
thine 
Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 30 

Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
And till I root out their accursed line 
And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
Therefore — [Lifting his hand. 

Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death ! 
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me ! 

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 

Rut. I never did thee harm : why wilt thou 
slay me? 

Clif Thy father hath. 

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. 

Thou hast one son ; for his sake pity me, 40 

Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
He be as miserably slain as I. 
Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
And when I give occasion of offence, 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 



Clif. No cause ! 
Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die. 

[Stabs him. 
Rut. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae ! 

[Dies. 
Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet ! 
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade 50 
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 

[Exit 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York. 
York. The army of the queen hath got the 

field: 
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind 
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. 
My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them : 
But this I know, they have demean'd themselves 
Like men born to renown by life or death. 
Three times did Richard make a lane to me, 
And thrice cried 'Courage, father ! fight it out !' 
And full as oft came Edward to my side, n 

With purple falchion, painted to the hilt 
In blood of those that had encounter'd him : 
And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of 

ground !' 
And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! 
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !' 
With this, we charged again : but, out, alas ! 
We bodged again ; as I have seen a swan 
With bootless labour swim against the tide 20 
And spend her strength with over-matching 

waves. [A short alarum within. 

Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; 
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury : 
And were I strong, I would not shun their fury : 
The sands are number'd that make up my life ; 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 

Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, North- 
umberland, the young Prince, and Soldiers. 

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, 

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage : 

I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 29 

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 

Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, 
With downright payment, show'd unto my father. 
Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, 
And made an evening at the noontide prick. 

York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring 
forth 
A bird that will revenge upon you all : 
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, 
Scorning whate'er you can afflidt me with. 
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? 

Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no 
further ; 40 

So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; 
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 

York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, 
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time ; 
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, 



Scene iv.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



531 



And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with 

cowardice 
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere 
this! 
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word, 
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 50 
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford I for a thous- 
and causes 
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. 
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northum- 
berland. 
North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honour him so 
much 
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : 
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, 
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, 
When he might spurn him with his foot away? 
It is war's prize to take all vantages; 
And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 60 

f They lay hands on York, who struggles. 
Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with 

the gin. 
North. So doth the cony struggle in the net. 
York. So triumph thieves upon their con- 
quer'd booty ; 
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. 
North. What would your grace have done 

unto him now? 
Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and North- 
umberland, 
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, 
That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, 
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. 
What ! was it you that would be England's king? 
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, 71 

And made a preachment of your high descent? 
Where are your mess of sons to back you now? 
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? 
And where 's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice 
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? 
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? 
Look, York : I stain'd this napkin with the blood 
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 80 
Made issue from the bosom of the boy ; 
And if thine eyes can water for his death, 
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly, 
I should lament thy miserable state. 
I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. 
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine 

entrails 
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? 
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be 

mad; 
And T, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 90 
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: 
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. 
A crown for York ! and, lords, bow low to him : 
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. 

[Putting- a paper crown on his head. 
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king ! 
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair. 
And this is he was his adopted heir. 
But how is it that great Plantagenet 
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? 
As I bethink me, you should not be king 101 

Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. 



And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, 

And rob his temples of the diadem, 

Now in his life, against your holy oath ? 

O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable ! 

Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his 

head ; 
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. 
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
Q, Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he 

makes. no 

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than 

wolves of France, 
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's 

tooth ! 
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex 
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, 
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates ! 
Hut that thy face is. visard-like, unchanging, 
Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. 
To tell thee whence thou earnest, of whom derived, 
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 

shameless. 120 

Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, 
Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, 
Unless the adage must be verified, 
That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ; 
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired ; 
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 131 
'Tis government that makes them seem divine ; 
The want thereof makes thee abominable : 
Thou art as opposite to every good 
As the Antipodes are unto us. 
Or as the south to the septentrion. 
O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide ! 
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, 
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, 
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 140 

Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible : 
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy 

wish : 
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy 

will : 
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
And when the rage allays, the rain K 
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: 
And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French- 
woman. 
North. Beshrew me, but his passion moves 

me so 150 

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd 

with blood : 
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, 
( ). ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. 
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: 
1'his cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 
And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this : 
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, 160 • 

Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears : 



34—2 



532 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii. 



' Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, 
: And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed !' 
\ There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my 
curse ; 
And in thy need such comfort come to thee 
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! 
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world : 
' My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my 
kin, 
I I should not for my life but weep with him, 170 
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 

Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord North- 
umberland ? 
Think but upon the wrong he did us all, 
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 
Clif. Here 's for my oath, here 's for my father's 
death. [Stabbing- him. 

Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted 
king. [Stabbing him. 

York. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! 
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out 
Thee. [Dies. 

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York 
gates ; 
So York may overlook the town of York. 180 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

: Scene I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in 
Herefordshii-e. 

1 A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and their 

power. 

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, 

Or whether he be 'scaped away or no 

From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit : 

Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news ; 

, Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ; 

i Or had he'scaped, methinks we should have heard 

The happy tidings of his good escape. 
j How fares my brother? why is he so sad? 
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved 
Where our right valiant father is become. 10 

1 I saw him in the battle range about : 
! And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. 
, Methought he bore him in the thickest troop 
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ; 
Or as a bear, encompass' d round with dogs, 
Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, 
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
I So fared our father with his enemies ; 

So fled his enemies my warlike father : 
1 Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 20 

i See how the morning opes her golden gates, 
I And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 
How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
| Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love ! 

Ediv. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three 

suns? 
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect 
sun; 
Not separated with the racking clouds, 
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
; See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to-kiss, 
As if they vow'd some league inviolable: 30 

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
! In this the heaven figures some event. 



Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet 
never heard of. 
I think it cites us, brother, to the field, 
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
Each one already blazing by our meeds, 
Should notwithstanding join our lights together 
And over-shine the earth as this the world. 
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
Upon my target three fair-shining suns. 40 

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters: by your 
leave I speak it, 
You love the breeder better than the male. 

Enter a Messenger. 
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? 
Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-on 
When as the noble Duke of York was slain, 
Your princely father and my loving lord ! 
Edw. O, speak no more, for I have heard too 

much. 
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 
Mess. Environed he was with many foes, 50 
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy 
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. 
But Hercules himself must yield to odds; 
And many strokes, though with a little axe. 
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
By many hands your father was subdued ; 
But only slaughter' d by the ireful arm 
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, 
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, 
Laugh'd in his face ; and when with grief he wept, 
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks 61 
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : 
And after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
They took his head, and on the gates of York 
They set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
The saddest speclacle that e'er I view'd. 

Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean 
upon, 
I Now thou art gene, we have no staff, no stay. 
O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain 70 
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 
' And treacherously hast thou vanquish' d him, 
I For hand to hand he would have vanquish' d thee. 
I Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
, Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body 

Might in the ground be closed up in rest ! 
j For never henceforth shall I joy again, 
Never, O never, shall I see more joy! 
Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's mois- 
ture 
Scarce serves toquench my furnace-burning heart : 
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great 
burthen; 81 

For selfsame wind that I should speak withal 
Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, 
And burns me up with flames that tears would 

quench. 
To weep is to make less the depth of grief : 
Tears then for babes ; blows and revenge for me 
Richard, I bear thy name ; I '11 venge thy death, 
Or die renowned by attempting it. 
Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left 
with thee; 
His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 90 
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, 



Scene i.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



533 



Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ; 
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 

March. Enter Warwick, Marquess of 

Montague, and their army. 
War. How now, fair lords! What fare? what 

news abroad? 
Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should 
recount 
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance 
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, 
The words would add more anguish than the 
wounds. 

valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain ! ioo 
Ed:o. O Warwick, Warwick ! that Plantagenet, 

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption, 
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. 
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in 
tears ; 
And now, to add more measure to your woes, 

1 come to tell you things sith then befall'n. 
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, 
Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, 
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, 
Were brought me of your loss and his depart, no 
I, then in London, keeper of the king, 
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 
And very well appointed, as I thought, 
March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the 

queen, 
Rearing the king in my behalf along ; 
For by my scouts I was advertised 
That she was coming with a full intent 
To dash our late decree in parliament 
Touching King Henry'soath and your succession. 
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met, 120 
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : 
But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen ; 
Or whether 'twas report of her success ; 
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, 
Who thunders to his captives blood and death, 
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, 
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ; 
Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, 130 
Or like an idle thresher with a flail, 
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 
With promise of high pay and great rewards : 
But all in vain : they had no heart to fight, 
And we in them no hope to win the day; 
So that we fled ; the king unto the queen ; 
Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, 
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you : 
For in the marches here we heard you were, 140 
Making another head to fight again. 
Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle 
Warwick ? 
And when came George from Burgundy to Eng- 
land? 
War. Some six miles off the duke is with the 
soldiers : 
And for your brother, he was lately sent 
From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, 
With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant War- 
wick fled : 



Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, 
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. 150 

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost 

thou hear ; 
For thou shalt know this strong right hand of 

mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, 
Were he as famous and as bold in war 
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick ; blame 

me not: 
'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. 
But in this troublous time what's to he done? 
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 160 
And wrap our b idies in black mourning gowns, 
Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? 
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ? 
If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. 

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek 

you out; 
And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen. 
With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, 
And of their feather many moe proud birds. 170 
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. 
He swore consent to your succession. 
His oath enrolled in the parliament; 
And now to London all the crew are gone, 
To frustrate both his oath and what beside 
May make against the house of Lancaster. 
Their power. I think, is thirty thousand strong: 
Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, 
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of 

March, 
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure. 1S0 
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, 
Why, Via ! to London will we march amain, 
And once again bestride our foaming steeds. 
And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes !' 
But never once again turn back and fly. 
Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great War- 
wick speak : 
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day. 
That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. 
Ld-n. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will T 

lean ; 189 

And when thou fail'st — as God forbid the hour ! — 
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend ! 
War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of 

York: 
The next degree is England's royal throne; 
For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd 
In every borough as we pass along; 
And he that throws not up his cap for joy 
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
King Edward, valiant Richard. Montague, 
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, 
But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 200 
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard 

as steel, 
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, 
I come to pierce it. or to give thee mine. 
Edw. Then strike up drums: God and Saint 

George for us ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
War. How now! what news? 



534 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act 



Mess. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word 
by me, 
; The queen is coming with a puissant host ; 
And craves your company for speedy counsel. 
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's 
away. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Before York. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Mar- 
garet, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, 
and Northumberland, -with drum and 
trumpets. 

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave 
town of York. 
Yonder 's the head of that arch-enemy 
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? 
K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear 
their wreck : 
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. 
Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault, 
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. 

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
And harmful pity must be laid aside. 10 

To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? 
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? 
Not his that spoils her young before her face. 
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? 
I Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 

The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, 
! And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. 
i Ambitious York did level at thy crown, 
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: 20 
He, but a duke, would have his son a king, 
And raise his issue, like a loving sire ; 
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, 
Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ; 
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 
Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings 
Which sometime they have used with fearful 
flight, 30 

Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest. 
Offering their own lives in their young's defence? 
For shame, my liege, make them your prece- 
dent! 
Were it not pity that this goodly boy 
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, 
And long hereafter say unto his child, 
'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got 
My careless father fondly gave away' ? 
Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on the boy ; 
And let his manly face, which promiseth 40 

Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart 
To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. 
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the 
orator, 
Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear 
That things ill-got had ever bad success? 
And happy always was it for that son 
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? 
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
And would my father had left me no more ! 50 
( For all the rest is held at such a rate 



As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep 

Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 

Ah, cousin York ! would thy best friends did 

know 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! 
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits: our j 
foes are nigh, 
And this soft courage makes your followers faint. ! 
You promised knighthood to our forward son : 
Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. 
Edward, kneel down. 60 j 

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; i 
And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. 
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly 
leave, 
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, 
And in that quarrel use it to the death. 

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward 
prince. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : 
For with a band of thirty thousand men 
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York ; 
And in the towns, as they do march along, 70 
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: 
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 
Clif. I would your highness would depart the 
field: 
The queen hath best success when you are 
absent. 
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to 

our fortune. 
K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too ; there- 
fore I'll stay. 
North. Be it with resolution then to fight. 
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble 
lords 
And hearten those that fight in your defence: 
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint 
George ! ' 80 

March. Etiter Edward, George, Richard, 
Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, and 
Soldiers. 

Edw. Now, perjured Henry ! wilt thou kneel 
for grace, 
And set thy diadem upon my head ; 
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? 

Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insult- 
ing boy ! 
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms 
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? 
Ediv. I am his king, and he should bow his 
knee ; 
I was adopted heir by his consent: 
Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear, 
You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, 
Have caused him, by new act of parliament, 91 
To blot out me, and put his own son in. 

Clif. And reason too : 
Who should succeed the father but the son? 
Rich. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot 

speak ! 
Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer 
thee, 
Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 

Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, j 
was it not? 



Scene ii.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



535 



Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 

Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to 

the fight. ioo 

War. What say^t thou, Henry, wilt thou 

yield the crown? 
Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued War- 
wick ! dare you speak? 
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, 
Your legs did better service than your hands. 
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis 

thine. 
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you 

fled. 
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove 

me thence. 
North. No, nor your manhood that durst 

make you stay. 
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. 
Break off the parley ; for scarce I can refrain 1 10 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 

Clif. I slew thy father, call'st thou him a 

child ? 
Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous 
coward, 
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; 
But ere sunset I '11 make thee curse the deed. 
K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, 

and hear me speak. 
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close 

thy lips. 
K. Hen. I prithee, give no limits to my 
tongue : 
I am a king, and privileged to speak. 120 

Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this 
meeting here 
Cannot be cured by words ; therefore be still. 

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: 
By him that made us all, I am resolved 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
Ediv. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, 
or no? 
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, 
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. 
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head ; 
For York in justice puts his armour on. 130 

Prince. If that be right which Warwick says 
is right, 
There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother 
stands ; 
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire 
nor dam; 
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, 
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, 
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 

Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, 
Whose father bears the title of a king, — 140 

As if a channel should be call'd the sea, — 
Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art 

extraught, 
To let thy tongue detedt thy base-born heart? 
Ediv. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
crowns, 
To make this shameless callet know herself. 
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 
Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; 
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 



By that false woman, as this king by thee. 

His father revell'd in the heart of France, 150 

And tamed the king, and made the dauphin 

stoop ; 
And had he match'd according to his state, 
He might have kept that glory to this day ; 
But when he took a beggar to his bed, 
And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, 
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for 

him, 
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
For what hath broach'dthis tumult but thy pride? 
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept ; 
And we, in pity of the gentle king, i6r 

Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 

Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made 
thy spring, 
And that thy summer bred us no increase, ' 
We set the axe to thy usurping root; 
And though the edge hath something hit our- 
selves, 
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, 
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. 

Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; 170 
Not willing any longer conference, 
Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. 
Sound trumpets ! let our bloody colours wave ! 
And either victory, or else a grave. 
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 

Ediv. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer 
stay: 
These words will cost ten thousand lives this 
day. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A field of battle between Toivton 
and Saxton, in Yorkshire. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Forspent with toil, as runners with 

a. race, 
I lay me down a little while to breathe ; 
For strokes received, and many blows repaid. 
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their 

strength, 
And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. 

Enter Edward, running. 
Ediv. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, un- 
gentle death ! 
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is 
clouded. 
War. How now, my lord! what hap? what 
hope of good? 

Enter George. 
Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ; 
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: 10 

What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? 
Ediv. Bootless is flight, they follow us with 
wings ; 
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. 

Enter Richard. 
Rich. Ah. Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn 

!V I If? 

Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk. 
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance 



536 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii. 



And in the very pangs of death he cried, 

Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, 

' Warwick, revenge ! brother, revenge my death !' 

So, underneath the belly of their steeds, 20 

That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 

The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 

War. Then let the earth be drunken with 

our blood: 
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; 
And look upon, as if the tragedy 
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? 
Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
I '11 never pause again, never stand still, 30 

Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine 
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 
Ediv. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with 

thine ; 
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine ! 
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, 
Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands 
That to my foes this body must be prey, 
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 40 
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! 
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. 

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle 

Warwick, 
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : 
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 
War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, 

farewell. 
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 
And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; 50 
And call them pillars that will stand to us ; 
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
As viclors wear at the Olympian games : 
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 
For yet is hope of life and victory. 
Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 

Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee 
alone : 
Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, 
And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here 
alone : 
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; 
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland ; 
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death 
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and 

brother 
To execute the like upon thyself; 10 

And so, have at thee ! 
{They fight. Warwick comes; Clifford flies. 
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other 
chase ; 
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. 

{Exeunt. 



Scene V. Another part of the field. 
Alarum. Enter King Henry «&«?. 
King. This battle fares like to the morning's 
war, 
When dying clouds contend with growing light, 
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 
Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind ; 
Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea 
Forced to retire by fury of the wind : 
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind ; 
Now one the better, then another best ; 10 

Both tugging to be viclors, breast to breast, 
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: 
So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 
Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both 
They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so ; 
For what is in this world but grief and woe? 20 
O God ! methinks it were a happy life, 
To be no better than a homely swain ; 
To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
Thereby to see the minutes how they run, 
How many make the hour full complete; 
How many hours bring about the day; 
How many days will finish up the year ; 
How many years a mortal man may live. ' 
When this is known, then to divide the times : 30 
So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
So many hours must I take my rest ; 
So many hours must I contemplate ; 
So many hours must I sport myself; 
So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean ; 
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : 
.So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 
Pass'd over to the end they were created, 
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 40 
Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! 
Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade 
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? 
O, yes, it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. 
And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, 
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 50 

Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
His body couched in a curious bed, 
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. 

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, 
dragging in the dead body. 
Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, 
May be possessed with some store of crowns; 
And I, that haply take them from him now, 
May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 60 
Who's this? O God ! it is my father's face, 
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 



Scene v.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HEXRY VI. 



537 



O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
From. London by the king was I press'd forth ; 
My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man. 
Came on the part of York, press'd by bis master ; 
And I, who at his hands received my life, 
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. 
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! 
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! 70 

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ; 
And no more words till they have flowd their till. 
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! bloody times ! 
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, 
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. 
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; 
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, 
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with 
grief. 

Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing 
in the body. 

Path. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me. 
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 80 

For I have bought it with an hundred blows. 
But let me see : is this our foeman's face ? 
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! 
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
Throw up thine eye ! see, see what showers arise, 
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, 
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ! 
O, pity, God, this miserable age ! 
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, 90 

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! 
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, 
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! 

K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than 
common grief! 

that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! 
(). pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! 

The red rose and the white are on his face, 
The fatal colours of our striving houses : 
The one his purple blood right well resembles; 
The other his pale cheeks, mcthinks, presenteth: 
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ; 101 
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 

Son. How will my mother for a father's death 
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied ! 

Path. How will my wife for slaughter of my 
son 
Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied ! 

K. Hen. How will the country for these woful 
chances 
Misthink the king and not be satisfied ! 

Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death ? 

Path. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? 

A'. Hen. Was ever king so grieved for sub- 
jects' woe? in 
Much is your sorrow ; mine ten times so much. 

Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep 
my fill. [Exit with the body. 

Path. These arms of mine shall be thy winding- 
sheet ; 
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, 
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go ; 
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; 
And so obsequious will thy father be, 
tEven for the loss of thee, having no more, 
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 120 

1 '11 bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will, 



For I have murdered where I should not kill. 

[Exit with tlie body. 
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone 
with care, 
Here sits a king more woful than you are. 

Alarums: excursions. P titer QuEEN Marga- 
ret, the Prince, and Exeter. 
Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends 
are fled, 
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Ber- 
wick post amain; 
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 130 

With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath. 
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, 
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 
Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with 
them : 
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
Or else come after : I '11 away before. 
A". Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet 
Exeter : 
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Another part of the f eld. 
A loud alarum. E titer Clifford, wounded. 
Clif. Here burns my candle out ; ay, here it 
dies, 
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. 
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow 
More than my body's parting with my soul ! 
My love and fear glued many friends to thee ; 
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. 
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, 
The common people swarm like summer flies; 
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? 
And who shines now but Henry's enemies? 10 

Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent 
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds, 
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth ! 
And, Henry, hadst thou sway 'das kings should do, 
Or as thy father and his father did, 

Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
They never then had sprung like summer flies; 

1 and ten thousand in this luckless realm 
Had left no mourning widows for our death : 

And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace, j 
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air'.' 21 
And what makes robbers bold but too much 1 

lenity? 
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds ; 
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: 
The foe is merciless, and will not pity : 
For at their hands I have deserved no pity. 
The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint 
Come, York and Richard. Warwick and the rest; 
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 

[He faints. 
Alarum and retreat. P. titer Edward. George, 
Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. 

Edit). Now breathe we, lords: good fortune 
bids us pause, 31 



538 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act ii. 



And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. 
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, 
That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 
Command an argosy to stem the waves. 
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? 

War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape ; 

For, though before his face I speak the words, 

Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : 

And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 41 

[Clifford groans, and dies. 

Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her 

heavy leave? 
Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's 

departing. 
Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's 
ended, 
If friend or foe, let him be gently used. 
Rick. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis 
Clifford ; 
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 
But set his murdering knife unto the root 
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 
I mean our princely father, Duke of York. 51 
War. From off the gates of York fetch down 
the head, 
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there ; 
Instead whereof let this supply the room : 
Measure for measure must be answered. 
Edw . Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our 
house, 
That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening 

sound, 
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 

War. I think his understanding is bereft. 60 
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to 

thee? 
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. 

Rich. O, would he did! and so perhaps he 
doth: 
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
Which in the time of death he gave our father. 
Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager 

words. 
Rich. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. 
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy 

faults. 
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son 

to York. 
Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland ; I will pity thee. 
Geo. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you 

now? 
War. They mock thee, Clifford: swear as 

thou wast wont. 
Rich. What, not an oath? nay, then the world 
goes hard 
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. 
I know by that he's dead ; and, by my soul, 
If this right hand would buy two hours' life, 80 
That I in all despite might rail at him, 
This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing 

blood 
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst 



York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 

War. Ay, but he 's dead : off with the traitor's 

head, 
And rear it in the place your father's stands. 
And now to London with triumphant march, 
There to be crowned England's royal king: 
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, 
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen : go 

So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; 
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not 

dread 
The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again ; 
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. 
First will I see the coronation ; 
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, 
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let 

it be; 
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, 100 

And never will I undertake the thing 
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. 
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, 
And George, of Clarence : Warwick, as ourself, 
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. 
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George 

of Gloucester ; 
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. 

War. Tut, that 's a foolish observation : 
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, 
To see these honours in possession. 110 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. A forest in the north of England. 

Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows ifi their 
hands. 
First Keep. Under this thick-grown brake 
we'll shroud ourselves; 
For through this laund anon the deer will come ; 
And in this covert will we make our stand, 
Culling the principal of all the deer. 
Sec. Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both 

may shoot. 
First Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy 
cross-bow 
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: 
And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
I '11 tell thee what befel me on a day 10 

In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 
Sec. Keep, tlere comes a man ; let's stay till 
he be past. 

Enter King Henry, disgiused, with a prayer- 
book. 
K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of 
pure love, 
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ; 
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast an- 
ointed : 
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, 
No humble suitors press to speak for right, 
No, not a man comes for redress of thee ; 20 



Scene i.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



539 



For how can I help them, and not myself? 
First Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a 
keeper's fee : 
This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. 
K. Hen. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, 
For wise men say it is the wisest course. 
Sec. Keep. Why linger we ? let us lay hands 

upon him. 
First Keep. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a 

little more. 
K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to France 
for aid ; 
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
To wife for Edward : if this news be true, 31 

Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost ; 
For Warwick is a subtle orator. 
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving w 1 irds. 
. By this account then Margaret may win him ; 
For she's a woman to be pitied much: 
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast ; 
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; 
And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 40 

To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. 
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick, to give; 
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, 
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed ; 
He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd ; 
That she, poor w'retch, for grief can speak no 

more; 
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, 
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, 
And in conclusion wins the king from her, 50 

With promise of his sister, and what else. 
To strengthen and support King Edward's place. 
O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul, 
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn ! 

Sec. Keep. Say, what art thou that talk'st of 

kings and queens? 
K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I 
was born to : 
A man at least, for less I should not be ; 
And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 
Sec. Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert 

a king. 
K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's 
enough. 60 

Sec. Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is 

thy crown? 
K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my 
head ; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen : my crown is called content : 
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 

Sec. Keep. Well, if you be a king crown' d 
with content, 
Your crown content and you must be contented 
To go along with us ; for, as we think. 
You are the king King Edward hath deposed ; 
And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance 70 
Will apprehend you as his enemy. 

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break 

an oath? 
Sec. Keep. No, never such an oath; nor will 

not now. 
K. Hen. Where did you dwell when I was 
King of England? 



Sec. Keep. Here in this country, where we 

now remain. 
A'. Hen. 1 was anointed king at nine months 
old; 
My father and my grandfather were kings, 
And you were sworn true subjects unto me : 
And toll me, then, have you not broke your 
oaths? 
First Keep. No ; 9o 

For we were subjects but while you were king. 
A". Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe 
a man? 
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear ! 
Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
And as the air blows it to me again, 
Obeying with my wind when I do blow, 
And yielding to another when it blows, 
Commanded always by the greater gust; 
Such is the Lightness of you common men. 
But do not break your oaths; for of that sin 90 
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
Go where you will, the king shall he commanded ; 
And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. 
First Keep. We are true subjects to the king, 

King Edward. 
K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
If he were seated as King Edward is. 
First Keep. We charge you, in God's name, 
and the king's, 
To go with us unto the officers. 

K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's 
name be obey'd : 
And what God will, that let your king perform ; 
And what he will, I humbly yield unto. 101 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. The palace. 

Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, 
and Lady Grey. 
K. Edzu. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint 
Alban's field 
This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, 
His lands then seized on by the conqueror: 
Her suit is now to repossess those lands; 
Which we in justice cannot well deny. 
Because in quarrel of the house of York 
The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 

Glou. Your highness shall do well to grant 
her suit; 
It were dishonour to deny it her. 
K. Edtu. It were no less; but yet I '11 make 
a pause. 10 

Glou. [Aside to Clar.) Yea, is it so? 
I see the lady hath a thing to grant, 
Before the king will grant her humble suit. 

Clar. [Aside to Glou.] lie knows the game: 

how true he keeps the wind ! 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Silence ! 
K. Edw. Widow, w e will consider of your suit ; 
And come some other lime to know our mind. 
L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook 
delay: 
May it please your highness to resolve me now ; 
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 20 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Ay. widow? then I'll 
warrant you all your lands, 
An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. 
Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. 



54Q 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act hi. 



Clar. [Aside to G!ou.~\ I fear her not, unless 

she chance to fall. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.~\ God forbid that! for 

he'll take vantages. 
K. Ediv. How many children hast thou, 

widow? tell me. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] I think he means to 

beg a child of her. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Nay, whip me then : 

he'll rather give her two. 
L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] You shall have four, if 

you'll be ruled by him. 30 

K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose then- 
father's lands. 
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it 

then. 
K. Edw. Lords, give us leave : I '11 try this 

widow's wit. 
Glou. [Aside io Clar.] Ay, good leave have 

you ; for you will have leave, 
Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. 
[Glou. and Clar. retire. 
K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love 

your children ? 
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
K. Edw. And would you not do much to do 

them good ? 
L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain 

some harm. 
A'. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to 

do them good. 40 

L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to 

be got. 
L. Grey. So shall j r ou bind me to your high- 
ness' service. 
K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I 

give them? 
L. Grey. What you command, that rests in 

me to do. 
K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my 

boon. 
L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot 

do it. 
K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean 

to ask. 
L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your 

grace commands. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] He plies her hard; 

and much rain wears the marble. 50 

Clar. [Aside to Glou.] As red as fire ! nay, 

then her wax must melt. 
L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear 

my task? 
K. Edw. An easy task ; 'tis but to love 

a king. 
L. Grey. That's soon perform' d, because I 

am a subjecl:. 
K. Edw. Why, then, thy husband's lands I 

freely give thee. 
L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand 

thanks. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The match is made; 

she seals it with a curtsy. 
K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love 

I mean. 
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving 

liege. 



A'. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another 
sense. 60 

What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? 
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble 
thanks, my prayers; 
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. 
A". Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean 

such love. 
L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I 

thought you did. 
K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive 

my mind. 
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I 
perceive 
Your highness aims at, if T aim aright. 

A*. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie 

with thee. 
L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie 
in prison. 70 

K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy 

husband's lands. 
L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be 
my dower; 
For by that loss I will not purchase them. 
K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children 

mightily. 
L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both 
them and me. 
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
Accords not with the sadness of my suit : 
Please you dismiss me, either with 'ay' or 'no.' 
K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my 
request ; 
No, if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. 80 

L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at 

an end. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The widow likes him 

not, she knits her brows. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] He is the bluntest 

wooer in Christendom. 
K. Edw. [Aside] Her looks do argue her 
replete with modesty; 
Her words do show her wit incomparable ; 
All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
One way or other, she is for a king ; 
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. — 
Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? 
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my 
gracious lord : 90 

I am a subject fit to jest withal, 
But far unfit to be a sovereign. 
K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear 
to thee 
I speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. 
L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield 
unto : 
I know I am too mean to be your queen, 
And yet too good to be your concubine. 

K. Edw. You cavil, widow: I did mean, 

my queen. 
L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace my sons 
should call you father. 100 

K. Edw. No more than when my daughters 
call thee mother. 
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; 
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, 
Have other some : why, 'tis a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons. 



Scene ii.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



54i 



Answer no more, for thou slialt fee my queen. 
Clou. [Aside to Clar.] The ghostly father 

now hath done his shrift. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.\ When he was made a 

shriver, 'twas for shift. 
K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we 

two have had. 
Glou. The widow likes it not, for she looks 

very sad. no 

A". Edw. You 'Id think it strange if I should 

many her. 
Clar. To whom, my lord? 
K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 

Glou. That would be ten days' wonder at the 

least. 
Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder 

lasts. 
Glou. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
A". Ediu. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell 

you both 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 

Enter a Nobleman. 
Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is 
taken. 
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 
A*. Edw. See that he be convey' d unto the 
Tower: 120 

And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, 
To question of his apprehension. 
Widuw, go you along. Lords, use her honour- 
ably. [Exeunt all but Gloucester. 
Glou. Ay, Edward will use women honour- 
ably. 
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, 
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
And yet. between my soul's desire and me — 
The lustful Edward's title buried — 129 
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
And all the unlouk'd for issue of their bodies, 
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself : 
A cold premeditation for my purpose ! 
Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; 
Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
And spies a far-offshore where he would tread, 
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, 
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, 
Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: 
So do I wish the crown, being so far off; 140 
And so I chide the means that keeps me from it ; 
And so I say, I '11 cut the causes off, 
Flattering me with impossibilities. 
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too 

much, 
Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
Well, .say there is no kingdom then for Richard ; 
What other pleasure can the world afford? 
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
And deck my body in gay ornaments, 
And witch sweet ladies with my words and 
looks. 150 

! O miserable thought ! and more unlikely 
\ Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns ! 

!Why, love forswore me in m womb: 

And, for I should not deal in her soft laws. 
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, 
To shrink mine arm up like a wither* d shrub; 
To make an envious mountain on my back, 



Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 

To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 

To disproportion me in every part, 160 

Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp 

That carries no impression like the dam. 

And am I then a man to be beloved ? 

monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought ! 
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
As are of better person than myself, 

I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, 
And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, 
Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head 
Be round impaled with a glorious crown. 171 

And yet I know not how to get the crown, 
For many lives stand between me and home : 
And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood, 
That rends the thorns and is rent with the 

thorns, 
Seeking a way and straying from the way ; 
Not knowing how to find the open air, 
But toiling desperately to find it out, — 
Torment myself to catch the English crown: 
And from that torment I will free myself, 180 

Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, 
And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my 

heart, 
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, 
And frame my face to all occasions. 

1 '11 drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ; 
I '11 slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 

I '11 play the orator as well as Nestor, 
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, 
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. 190 

I can add colours to the chameleon, 
Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, 
And set the murderous Machiavel to school. 
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? 
Tut, were it farther off, I '11 pluck it down. 

[Exit. 

Scene III. France. The KiKc/s/alace. 

Flourish. Enter Lewis the French Kins;, his 
sister Bona, his Admiral, called BoURBON: 
Prixce Edward, Queen Margaret, and 

the Earl of Oxford. Lewis sits, and risetk 
iij> again. 

K. Lew. Fair Queen of England, worthy Mar- 
garet. 
Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state 
And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis 
doth sit. 
Q. Mar. No, mighty King of France : now 
Margaret 
Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve 
Where kings command. I was, I must confess, 
Great Albion's queen in former golden days : 
Hut now mischance hath trod my title down. 
And with dishonour laid me on the ground; 
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 10 
And to my humble seat conform myself. 

A'. Lew. Why. say. fair queen, whence 

ings this deep despair? 
O. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes 
with tears 
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd 
in cares. 



542 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act hi. 



K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like 
thyself, 
And sit thee by our side : {Seats her by him] 

yield not thy neck 
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
It shall be eased, if France can yield relief. 20 

Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my 
drooping thoughts 
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, 
That Henry, sole possessor of my love, 
Is of a king become a banish'd man, 
And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn ; 
While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York 
Usurps the regal title and the seat 
Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, 30 

With this my son. Prince Edward, Henry's heir, 
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; 
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done : 
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
Our people and our peers are both misled, 
Our treasure seized, our soldiers put to flight, 
And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. 

K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience 
calm the storm, 
While we bethink a means to break it off. 

Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger 
grows our foe. 40 

K. Lezv. The more I stay, the more I '11 suc- 
cour thee. 

Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true 
sorrow. 
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow ! 

Enter Warwick. 
K. Lew. What's he approacheth boldly to 

our presence ? 
Q. Mar. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's 

greatest friend. 
A'. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What 
brings thee to France? 

\_He descends. She a?-iseth. 
Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to 
rise ; 
For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 

War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, 
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 50 
I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, 
First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
And then to crave a league of amity ; 
And lastly, to confirm that amity 
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
To England's king in lawful marriage. 

Q. Mar. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's 

hope is done. 
War. [To Bona] And, gracious madam, in 
our king's behalf, 
I am commanded, with your leave and favour, 60 
Humbly to kiss your hand and with my tongue 
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; 
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue. 
Q. Mar. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear 
me speak, 
Before you answer Warwick. His demand 



Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest 

love, 
But from deceit bred by necessity ; 
For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? 70 
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, 
That Henry liveth still ; but were he dead, 
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's 

son. 
Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and 

marriage 
Xhou draw not on thy danger and dishonour; 
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, 
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth 
wrongs. 
War. Injurious Margaret ! 
Prince. And why not queen? 

War. Because thy father Henry did usurp; 
And thou no more art prince than she is queen. 80 
Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of 
Gaunt, 
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
Who by his prowess conquered all France : 
From these our Henry lineally descends. 

War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth 
discourse, 
You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? 90 
Methinks these peers of France should smile at 

that. 
But for the rest, you tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two years ; a silly time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 
Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against 
thy liege, 
Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, 
And not bewray thy treason with a blush? 

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the 
right, 
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? 99 

For shame ! leave Henry, and call Edward king. 
Oxf. Call him my king by whose injurious 
doom 
My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, 
Was done to death? and more than so, my father, 
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, 
When nature brought him to the door of death? 
No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, 
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
War. And I the house of York. 
K. Lew. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, 
and Oxford, 
Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, no 
While I use further conference with Warwick. 

[ They stand aloof. 
Q. Mar. Heavens grant that Warwick's words 

bewitch him not ! 
K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon 
thy conscience, 
Is Edward your true king? for I were loath 
To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine 

honour. 
K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's 

eye? 
War. The more that Henry was unfortunate. 



Scene hi.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



543 



K. Lew. Then further, all dissembling set 
aside, • 
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 120 

Unto our sister Bona. 

War. Such it seems 

As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
Myself have often heard him say and swear 
That this his love was an eternal plant, 
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, 
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's 

sun, 
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, 
Unless the Lady Bona quit hk pain. 

A'. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm 

resolve. 

Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be 

mine : 130 

[To War.~\ Yet I confess that often ere this day. 

When I have heard your king's desert recounted, 

Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 

A'. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus : our sister 
shall be Edward's; 
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised. 
Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness 
That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 
Prince. To Edward, but not to the English 
king. 140 

Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy de- 
vice 
By this alliance to make void my suit : 
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend. 
K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Mar- 
garet : 
But if your title to the crown be weak, 
As may appear by Edward's good success, 
Then 'tis but reason that I be released 
From giving aid which late I promised. 
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand 
That your estate requires and mine can yield. 150 
War. Henry now lives in Scotland at his 
ease, 
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. 
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, 
You have a father able to maintain you; 
And better 'twere you troubled him than France. 
Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless War- 
wick, peace, 
Proud setter up and puller down of kings ! 
I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears, 
Both full of truth, 1 make King Lewis behold 
Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love ; 160 
For both of you are birds of selfsame feather. 

[Post blows a horn within. 
K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us or 
thee. 

Enter a Post. 
Post. [To War.] My lord ambassador, thcbC 
letters are for you, 
Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague : 
[To Lewis] These from our king unto your 

majesty: 
[To Margaret] And, madam, these for you; 
from whom I know not. 

f They all read their letters. 
Oxf. I like it well that our fair queen and 
mistress 



Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 

Prince. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he 

were nettled : 

I hope all's for the best. 170 

K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news? and 

yours, fair queen ? 
Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with 

unhoped joys. 
War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discon- 
tent. 
K. Lew. What ! has your king married the 
Lady Grey ? 
And now, to soothe your forgery and his, 
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? 
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? 
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 

Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before : 
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's 
honesty. 180 

War. King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of 
heaven, 
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, 
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's, 
No more my king, for lie dishonours me. 
But most himself, if he could see his shame. 
Did I forget that by the house of York 
My father came untimely to his death? 
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? 
Did I impale him with the regal crown'.' 
Did I put Henry from his native right? 190 

And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame ? 
Shame on himself! for my desert is honour : 
And to repair my honour lost for him, 
I here renounce him and return to Henry. 
My noble queen, let former grudges pass, 
And henceforth I am thy true servitor: 
I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona 
And replant Henry in his former state. 

Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd 
my hate to love ; 
And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 200 

And joy that thou becomest King Henry'- friend. 
War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned 
friend, 
That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
I '11 undertake to land them on our coast 
And force the tyrant from his scat by war. 
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him : 
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, 
He's very likely now to fall from him, 209 

For matching more for wanton lust than honour, 
Or than for strength and safety of our country. 
Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re- 
venged 
But by thy help to this distressed queen? 
Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor 
Henry live, 
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? 
Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's 

are one. 
War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with 

yours. 
K. Lew. And mine with hers, and thine, and 
Margaret's. 
Therefore at last I firmly am resolved 
You shall have aid. 220 

Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all 
at once. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



K. Lew. Then, England's messenger, return 
in post, 
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king. 
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers 
To revel it with him and his new bride : 
Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal. 
Bona. Tell him, in hope he '11 prove a widower 
shortly, 
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. 

Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are 
laid aside, 
And I am ready to put armour on. 230 

War. Tell him from me that he hath done 
me wrong, 
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere t be long. 
There 's thy reward : be gone. [Exit Post. 

K. Lew. But, "Warwick, 

Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, 
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle ; 
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt, 
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? 239 

War. This shall assure my constant loyalty, 
That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy 
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 

Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your 
motion. 
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, 
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick ; 
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 
Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well de- 
serves it ; 
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 250 
[He gives his hand to Warwick, 
K.Lew. Why stay we now? These soldiers 
shall be levied, 
And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet. 
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 

[Exeunt ail but Warwick. 
War. I came from Edward as ambassador, 
But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
Had he none else to make a stale but me ? 260 
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
I was the chief that raised him to the crown, 
And I '11 be chief to bring him down again : 
Not that I pity Henry's misery, 
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Enter Gloucester, Clarence, Somerset, 
and Montacue. 
Glou. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what 
think you 
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? 
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? 
Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to 
France ; 
How could he stay till Warwick made return? 



Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes 

the king. 
Glou. And his well-chosen bride. 
Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; 
Lady Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Staf- 
ford, Hastings, and others. 

K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like 
you our choice, 
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 10 
Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl 
of Warwick, 
Which are so weak of courage and in judgement 
That they'll take no offence at our abuse. 

K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without 
a cause, 
They are but Lewis and Warwick : I am Edward, 
Your king and Warwick's, and must have my 
will. 
Glou. And shall have your will, because our 
king : 
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 

K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you of- 
fended too? 
Glou. Not 1 : 20 

No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd 
Whom God hath joined together; ay, and 'twere 

pity 
To sunder them that yoke so well together. _ 
K. Edw. Setting your scorns and your mislike 
aside, 
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey 
Should not become my wife and England's queen. 
And you too, Somerset and Montague, 
Speak freely what you think. 

Clar. Then this is mine opinion: that King 
Lewis 
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 30 

About the marriage of the Lady Bona. 

Glou. And Warwick, doing what you gave in 
charge, 
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 
K. Edw. What if both Lewis and Warwick 
be appeased 
By such invention as I can devise? 
Mont. Yet, to have join'd with France in such 
alliance 
Would more have strengthen'd this our common- 
wealth 
'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred mar- 
riage. 
Hast. Why, knows not Montague that of itself 
England is safe, rf true within itself? 40 

Mont. But the safer when 'tis back'd with 

France. 
Hast. 'Tis better using France than trusting 
France : 
Let us be back'd with God and with the seas 
Which He hath given for fence impregnable, 
And with their helps only defend ourselves ; 
In them and in ourselves our safety lies. 
Clar. For this one speech Lord Hastings well 
deserves 
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. 
K. Edw. Ay, what of that? it was my will 
and grant ; 
And for this once my will shall stand for law. 50 



Scene i.] 



THIRD PART OF A'/A'G HENRY VI. 



545 



Glou. And 3'et methinks your grace hath not 
done well, 
Td give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales 
Unto the brother of your loving bride ; 
She better would have fitted me or Clarence: 
But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 

Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd 
the heir 
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, 
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 

A". Ediv. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife 
That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. 60 

Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd 
your judgement, 
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
To play the broker in mine own behalf: 
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. 

A'. Ed:v. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will 
be king, 
And not be tied unto his brother's will. 

Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleased his majesty 
To raise my state to title of a queen, 
Do me but right, and you must all confess 
That I was not ignoble of descent ; 70 

And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
But as this title honours me and mine, 
So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasmo:, 
Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. 

A". Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon their 
frowns : 
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, 
So long as Edward is thy constant friend, 
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? 
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands ; 80 

Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, 
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 

Glou. I hear, yet say not much, but think the 
more. [Aside. 



Enter a Post. 

A". Edw. Now, messenger, what letters or 
what news 
From France? 
Post. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few 
words, 
But such a.^ I, without your special pardon, 
Dare not relate. 

A". Ediv. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, 
in brief, 
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess 
them. 90 

What answer makes King.Lewis unto our letters? 
Past. At my depart, these were his very words : 
'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, 
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers 
To revel it with him and his new bride.' 

A". Ed7v. Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks 
me Henry. 
But what said Lady Bona to my marriage ? 
Post. These were her words, utter d with mild 
disdain : 
'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly. 
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.' 100 
A". Edw. I blame not her, she could say little 
less; 
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen ? 
For I have heard that she was there in place. 



Post. ' Tell him,' quotli she, ' my mourning 
weeds are done, 
And I am ready to put armour on.' 

A". Edw. Belike she minds to play the Amazon. 
But what said Warwick to these injuries? 

Post. He, more incensed against your majesty 
Than all the rest, discharged me with these 
' Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, 
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.' 
A". Edw, Hal durst the traitor breathe out 
so proud words? 
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : 
They shall have wars and pay for their pre- 
sumption. 
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? 
Post. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so 
link'd in friendship, 
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's 
daughter. 
Clar. Belike the elder ; Clarence will have the 
younger. 
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, 119 
Km- I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; 
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
I may not prove inferior to yourself. 
You that love me and Warwick, follow me. 

[Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows. 
Glou. [Aside] Not I: 
My thoughts aim at a further matter: I 
Stay not i'or the love of Edward, but the crown. 
A'. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone 
to Warwick ! 
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; 
And haste is needful in this desperate case. 
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 130 
Go levy men, and make prepare for war ; 
They are already, or quickly will be landed: 
Myself in person will straight follow you. 

[Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford. 
But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, 
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance : 
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me 1 
If it be so, then both depart to him; 
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends : 
But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 140 
( iive me assurance with some friendly vow, 
That I may never have you in suspect. 
Mont. So God help Montague as he proves 

true ! 
Hast. And Hastings as he favours Edward's 

cause ! 
A'. Edzu. Now, brother Richard, will you stand 

by us? 
Glou. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand 

you. 
K. Edw. Why, so ! then am I sure of victory. 
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, 
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A j>lain in Warwickshire. 

Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French 
soldiers. 

War, Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes 
well ; 
The common people by numbers swarm to us. 



35 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



E?iter Clarence and Somerset. 

But see where Somerset and Clarence comes ! 
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? 
Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 
War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto 

Warwick ; 
And welcome, Somerset : I hold it cowardice 
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's bro- 
ther, 10 
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
But welcome, sweet Clarence ; my daughter shall 

be thine. 
And now what rests but, in night's coverture, 
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
And but attended by a simple guard, 
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? 
| Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : 
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede 19 

With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, 
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, 
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard 
And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him, 
For I intend but only to surprise him. 
You that will follow me to this attempt, 
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. 

[They all cry, ' Henry !' 
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort : 
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint 

George 1 [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Edzvard's camp, ?iear IFarwick. 

■Enter three Watchmen, to guard the King's 

tent. 
First Watch. Come on, my masters, each man 
take his stand : 
The king by this is set him down to sleep. 
Second Watch. What, will he not to bed? 
First Watch. Why, no ; for he hath made a 
solemn vow 
Never to lie and take his natural rest 
Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. 
Second Watch. To-morrow then belike shall 
be the day, 
If Warwick be so near as men report. 
« Third Watch. But say, I pray, what noble- 
man is that 
That with the king here resteth in his tent? to 
First Watch. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the 

king's chiefest friend. 
Third Watch. O, is it so? But why commands 
the king 
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, 
While he himself keeps in the cold field? 

Second Watch. 'Tis the more honour, because 

more dangerous. 
Third Watch. Ay, but give me worship and 
quietness ; 
I like it better than a dangerous honour. 
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. 

First Watch. Unless our halberds did shut 
up his passage. 20 



Second Watch. Ay, wherefore else guard we 
his royal tent, 
But to defend his person from night- foes? 

Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somer- 
set, and French soldiers, silent all. 

War. This is his tent ; and see where stand 
his guard. 
Courage, my masters ! honour now or never ! 
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 
First Watch. Who goes there? 
Second Watch. Stay, or thou diest ! 

[ Warwick and the rest c?y all, ' War- 
wick ! Warwick !' and set upon the 
G7iard, who ft y, crying, 'Arm! arm!' 
Warwick and the 7'est following them. 
The drum playing and trumpet sozcnding, re- 
enter Warwick, Somerset, and the rest, 
bringing the King out in his gown, sitting hi 
a chair. Richard and Hastings./^ over the 
stage. 

Som. What are they that fly there? 
War. Richard and Hastings : let them go ; 
here is 
The duke. 

K. Edw. The duke ! Why, Warwick, when 
we parted, 30 

Thou call'dst me king. 

War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 

When you disgraced me in my embassade, 
Then I degraded you from being king, 
And come now to create you Duke of York. 
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom, 
That know not how to use ambassadors, 
Nor how to be contented with one wife, 
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, 
Nor how to study for the people's welfare, 
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? 40 

K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou 
here too? 
Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. 
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, 
Of thee thyself and all thy complices, 
Edward will always bear himself as king : 
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 
War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's 
king : [ Takes off his crown. 

But Flenry now shall wear the English crown, 
And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow. 50 
My Lord of Somerset, at my request, 
See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd 
Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. 
When I have fought with Pembroke and his 

fellows, 
I '11 follow you, and tell what answer 
Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. 
Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York. 

[They lead him out forcibly. 
K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must 
needs abide ; 
It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 

[Exit, guarded. 
Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us 
to do 60 

But march to London with our soldiers? 

War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have 
to do : 



SCENE III.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



547 



To free king Henry from imprisonment 

And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Loudon. The palace. 
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 
Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden 

change ? 
Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to 
learn 
What late misfortune is befall' n King Edward? 
Riv. What ! loss of some pitch*d battle against 

VVarwick ? 
Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal 

person. 
Riv. Then is my sovereign slain ? 
Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken 
prisoner, 
Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard 
Or by his foe surprised at unawares: 
And, as I further have to understand, 10 

Is new committed to the Bishop of York, 
Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe. 
Riv. These news I must confess are full of 
grief; 
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may : 
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 
Q. Eliz. Till then fair hope must hinder life's 
decay. 
And I the rather wean me from despair 
For love of Edward's offspring in my womb: 
This is it that makes me bridle passion 
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross ; 20 
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear 
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, 
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English 
crown. 
Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then 

become ? 
Q. Eliz. I am inform'd that he comes towards 
London, 
To set the crown once more on Henry's head : 
Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends 

must down, 
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, — 
For trust not him that hath once broken faith, — 30 
I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, 
To save at least the heir of Edward's right : 
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. 
Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: 
If Warwick take us we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. A J>ark near Middleham Castle in 
Yorkshire. 

Enter Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and Sir 
William Stanley. 
Clou. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir Wil- 
liam Stanley, 
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, 
Into this chiefest thicket of the park. 
Thus stands the case : you know our king, my 

brother, 
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
He hath good usage and great liberty, 
And, often but attended with weak guard, 
Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
I have advertised him by secret means 



That if about this hour he make this way 10 

Under the colour of his usual game, 
He shall here find his friends with horse and men 
To set him free from his captivity. 

E nterKiNGEDW ard and a Huntsman with him. 

Hunt. This way, my lord; for this way lies 

the game. 
A". Edw. Nay, this way, man: see where the 
huntsmen stand. 
Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and 

the rest, 
Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer? 
Clou. Brother, the time and case requireth 
haste : 
Your horse stands ready at the park-corner. 
K. Edw. But whither shall we then ? 
Hast. To Lynn, my lord, 20 

And ship from thence to Flanders. 

Glou. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was 

my meaning. 
K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forward- 
ness. 
Glou. But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to 

talk. 
A". luhu. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt 

thou go along? 
Hunt. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. 
Glou. Come then, away : let's ha' no more ado. 
A". Edw. Bishop, farewell : shield thee from 
Warwick's frown ; 
And pray that I may repossess the crown. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. London. The To-zuer. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clarence, 
Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond, 
Oxford, Montague, and Lieutenant of the 
Tower. 

K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God 
and friends 
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, 
And turn'd my captive state to liberty, 
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, 
At our enlargement what are thy due fees? 

Lieu. Subjects- may challenge nothiug of 
their sovereigns ; 
But if an humble prayer may prevail, 
I then crave pardon of your majesty. 

K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well using 
me ? g 

Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness, 
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure ; 
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
Conceive when after many moody thoughts 
At last by notes of household harmony 
They quite forget their loss of liberty. 
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, 
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; 
He was the author, thou the instrument 
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite 
By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me, 20 
And that the people of this blessed land 
May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, 
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
1 here resign my government to thee. 
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 



35—* 



543 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act iv. 



War. Your grace hath still been famed for 
virtuous; 
And now may seem as wise as yirtuous, 
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, 
| For few men rightly temper with the stars : 
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 30 
For choosing me when Clarence is in place. 
Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the 
sway, 
To whom the heavens in thy nativity 
Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown, 
As likely to be blest in peace and war ; 
And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 

War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. 
K. Hen. Warwick and Clarence, give me 
both your hands : 
Now join your hands, and with your hands your 

hearts, 
That no dissension hinder government : 40 

1 make you both protectors of this land. 
While I myself will lead a private life 
And in devotion spend my latter days, 
To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. 

War. What answers Clarence to his sove- 
reign's will? 
Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield 
consent ; 
For on thy fortune I repose myself. 

War. Why, then, though' loath, yet must I 
be content : 
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow 
To Henry's body, and supply his place ; 50 

I mean, in bearing weight of government, 
While he enjoys the honour and his ease. 
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful 
Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor, 
And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 

Clar. What else ? and that succession be de- 
termined. 
War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want 

his part. 
K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief 
affairs, 
Let me entreat, for T command no more, 59 

That Margaret your queen and my son Edward 
Be sent for, to return from France with speed ; 
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
My joy of liberty is half eclipsed. 

Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all 

speed. 
K. He?i. My Lord of Somerset, what youth 
is that, 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 
Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of 

Richmond. 
K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope. {Lays 
his hand on his head] If secret powers 
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bltss. 70 
His looks are full of peaceful majesty, 
His head by nature framed to wear a crown, 
His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself 
Likely in time to bless a regal throne. 
Make much of him, my lords, for this is he 
Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 

Enter a Post. 
War. What news, my friend? 



Post. That Edward is escaped from your 
brother, 
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 

War. Unsavoury news ! but how made he 
escape ? 80 

Post. He was convey 'd by Richard Duke of 
Gloucester 
And the Lord Hastings, who attended him 
In secret ambush on the forest side 
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him ; 
For hunting was his daily exercise. 

War. My brother was too careless of his 
charge. 
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide. 

[Exeunt all but Somerset, Richmond, 
and Oxford. 
Sojh. My lord, I like not of this flight of 
Edward's ; 
For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, gfo 
And we shall have more wars before 't be long. 
As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
Did glad my heart with hope of this young Rich- 
mond, 
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
What may befall him, to his harm and ours: 
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, 
Forthwith we '11 send him hence to Brittany, 
Till storms be past of civil enmity. 

Oxf. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 
'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. 
Som. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. 101 
Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. {Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Before York. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, 
Hastings, and Soldiers. 

K. Ediv. Now, brother Richard, Lord 
Hastings, and the rest, 
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, 
And says that once more I shall interchange 
My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
Well have we pass'd and now repass' d the seas 
And brought desired help from Burgundy : 
What then remains, we being thus arrived 
From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, 
But that we enter, as into our dukedom? 

Glou. The gates made fast! Brother, I like 
not this ; 10 

For many men that stumble at the threshold 
Are well foretold that danger lurks within. 

K. Ediv. Tush, man, abodements must not 
now affright us : 
By fair or foul means we must enter in, 
For hither will our friends repair to us. 

Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more to 
summon them. 

Enter, on the walls, the Mayor of York, and' 
his Brethren. 

May. My lords, we were forewarned of your 
coming, 
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; 
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 
K. Ediv. 1 But, master mayor, if Henry be 
your king, 20 

Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. 



Scene vii.] 



THIRD PART OF 

_# 



KING HENRY VI. 



549 



May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no 

less. 
A". Edzv. Why, and I challenge nothing but 
my dukedom, 
As being well content with that alone. 

Clou. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got 
in his nose, 
He'll soon find means to make the body follow. 
Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in 
a doubt? 
Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends. 
May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be 
open'd. [ Tlicy descend. 

Glou. A wise stout captain, and soon per- 
suaded ! 30 
Hast. The good old man would fain that all 
were well, 
So 'twere not 'long of him ; but being enter'd, 
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
Both him and all his brodiers unto reason. 

Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below. 

K. Ediv. So, master mayor : these gates must 
not be shut 
But in the night or in the time of war. 
What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys ; 
[ Takes his keys. 
For Edward will defend the town and thee, 
And all those friends that deign to follow me. 

March. Enter Montgomery, with drum and 

soldiers. 

Glon. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, 

Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived. 41 

K. Edw. Welcome, Sir John ! But why come 

you in arms? 
Mont. To help King Edward in his time of 
storm, 
As every loyal subject ought to do. 

K. Edzv. Thanks, good Montgomery ; but we 
now forget 
Our title to the crown and only claim 
Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. 
Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence 
again : 
I came to serve a king and not a duke. 
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 50 
[ The drum begins to march. 
K. Edw. Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and 
we '11 debate 
By what safe means the crown may be recoverd. 
Mont. What talk you of debating? in few 
words, 
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 
I 'll leave you to your fortune and be gone 
To keep them back that come to succour you : 
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title? 
Glou. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on 

nice points? 
A". Edw. When we grow stronger, then we '11 
make our claim: 
Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 60 
Hast. Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms 

must rule. 
Glou. And fearless minds climb soonest unto 
crowns. 
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; 
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. 



A". Ediv. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my 
right, 
And Henry but usurps the diadem. 

Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like 
himself; 
And now will I be Edward's champion. 

Hast. Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here 
proclaim'd : 
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 70 
[Flourish. 
Sold. Edward the Fourth, by the grace of 
God, king of England and France, and lord of 
Ireland, ike. 
Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's 
right, 
By this I challenge him to single fight. 

[ Throws down his gauntlet. 
All. Long live Edward the Fourth! 
K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ; and 
thanks unto you all : 
If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. 
Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York ; 
And when the morning sun shall raise his car 80 
Above the border of this horizon, 
We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates; 
For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. 
Ah, froward Clarence ! how evil it beseems thee, 
To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother ! 
Yet, as we may, we'll meet both, thee and War- 
wick. 
Come on, brave soldiers : doubt not of the day, 
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 

[E.xcunt. 

Scene VIII. London. The palace. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Warwick, 
Montague, Clarence, Exeter, and Qxio.iu. 

Jl'ar. What counsel, lords? Edward from 

Belgia, 
With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, 
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, 
And with his troops doth march amain to London ; 
And many giddy people flock to him. 

K. Hen. Let's levy men, and beat him back 

again. 
Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; 
Which, being suffer" d, rivers cannot quench. 
War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted 

friends, 
Not mutinous in peace, yet b">ld in war ; 10 

Those will I muster up : and thou, son Clarence, 
Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk and in Kent, 
The knights am! gentlemen to come with thee: 
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
Men well inclined to hear what thou command' st : 
And thou, brave Oxford, won Irous well beloved, 
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. 
My sovereign, with the loving citizens, 
Like to his island girt in with the ocean, 20 

Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, 
Shall rest in London till we come to him. 
Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. 
Farewell, my sovereign, 
A". Hem Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's 

true hope. 
Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' 

hand. 



553 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou for- 
tunate ! 
Mont. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my 

leave. 
Oxf. And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu. 
A'. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving 
Montague, 3° 

And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 
War. Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at 
Coventry. 
\_Exeuut all hit King Henry and Exeter. 
K Hen. Here at the palace will I rest awhile. 
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? 
Methinks the power that Edward hath in field 
Should not be able to encounter mine. 
Exe. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest. 
K. Hen. That's not my fear ; my meed hath 
got me fame : 
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 40 
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, 
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears ; 
I have not been desirous of their wealth, 
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, 
Nor forward of revenge, though the} r much err'd : 
Then why should they love Edward more than me ? 
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace : 
And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, 
The lamb will never cease to follow him. 50 

[Shout within, 'A Lancaster ! A Lancaster!' 
Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are 
these ? 

Enter King Edward, Gloucester, and 

soldiers. 
K. Edw. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, 
bear him hence ; 
And once again proclaim us king of England. 
You are the fount that makes small brooks to 

flow : 
Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck 

them dry, 
And swell so much the higher by their ebb. 
Hence with him to the Tower ; let him not speak. 
[Exeunt some with King Henry. 
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, 
Where peremptory Warwick now remains: 
The sun shines hot ; and, if we use delay, 60 

Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay. 

Glou. Away betimes, before his forces join, 
And take the great-grown traitor unawares : 
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Coventry. 
Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two 
Messengers, and others upon the walls. 
War. Where is the post that came from 
valiant Oxford? 
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? 
First Mess. By this at Dun6more, marching 

hitherward. 
War. How far off is our brother Montague? 
Where is the post that came from Montague? 
Second Mess. By this at Daintry, with a 
puissant troop. 



Enter Sir John Somerville. 

War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving 
son? 
And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? 
Som. At Southam I did leave him with his 
forces, 
And do expect him here some two hours hence. 
[Drum heard. 
War. Then Clarence is at hand ; I hear his 
drum. 1 1 

Som. It is not his, my lord; here Southam 
lies : 
The drum your honour hears marcheth from 
Warwick. 
War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd- 

for, friends. 
Som. They are at hand, and you shall 
quickly know. 

March: Jl our ish. Enter King Edward, 

Gloucester, and soldiers. 
K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and 

sound a parle. 
Glou. See how the surly Warwick mans the 

wall! 
War. O unbid spite ! is sportful Edward 
come? 
Where slept our scouts, or how are they 

seduced, 
That we could hear no news of his repair? 20 
K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the 
city gates, 
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee, 
Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy? 
And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces 
hence, 
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down, 
Call Warwick patron and be penitent? 
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. 
Glou. I thought, at least, he would have said 
the king ; 
Or did he make the jest against his will? 30 

War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? 
Glou. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give : 
I '11 do thee service for so good a gift. 

War. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy 

brother. 
K. Edzv. Why then 'tis mine, if but by 

Warwick's gift. 
War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a 
weight : 
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 
K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's 
prisoner : 
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: 40 
What is the body when the head is off? 

Glou. Alas, that Warwick had no more fore- 
cast, 
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! 
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, 
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. 
K. Edw. 'Tis even so ; yet you are Warwick 

still. 
Glou. Come, Warwick, take the time ; kneel 
down, kneel down : 



Scene i.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



55i 



; Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. 
j War. I had rather chop this hand off at a 
blow, So 

! And with the other fling it at thy face, 
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 

A'. Echo. Sail how thou canst, have wind and 
tide thy friend, 
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, 
Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, 
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, 
'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no 
more. ' 

Enter Oxford, with drum and colours. 
War. O cheerful colours ! see where Oxford 

comes ! 
Oxf, Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his forces enter the city. 
Clou. The gates are open, let us enter too. 60 
A*. Edw. So other foes may set upon our 
backs. 
Stand we in good array ; for they no doubt 
Will issue out again and bid us battle : 
If not, the city being but of small defence, 
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 
War. O, welcome, Oxford ! for we want 
thy help. 

Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours. 
Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 
[He and his forces enter the city. 
Glou. Thou and thy brother both shall buy 
this treason 
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 
A". Edw. The harder match'd, the greater 
victory : 70 

My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. 

Enter Somerset, with drum and colours. 
Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! 

[He .and his forces enter the city. 
Glou. Two of thy name, both Dukes of 
Somerset, 
Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 

Enter Clarence, with dnim and colours. 
War. And lo, where George of Clarence 
sweeps along, 
Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; 
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails 
More than the nature of a brother's love ! 
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick 
call. 80 

Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what 
this means? 

[Taking his red rose out of his hat. 
Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : 
I will not ruinate my father's house, 
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou. War- 
wick, 
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, 
To bend the fatal instruments of war 
Against his brother and his lawful king? 
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath : 
To keep that oath were more impiety go 

Than Jephthah's, when he sacrificed his daughter. 
I am so sorry for my trespass made 



That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, 
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee — 
As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad — 
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. 
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. 
Pardon me, Edward, 1 will make amends : 100 
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 
F< ir 1 will henceforth be no more unconstant. 
A". Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times 
more beloved, 
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. 
Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother- 
like. 
War. O passing traitor, perjured and unjust ! 
A". Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the 
town and fight? 
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? 
War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for de- 
fence ! 
I will away towards Barnet presently, no 

And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest. 
A". Ed-w. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and 
leads the way. 
Lords, to the field ; Saint George and victory ! 

[Exeunt Ring Edward and his company. 
March. Warivick and his company 
follow. 

Scene II. A field of battle near Bamct. 

A larum and excursions. EnicrKixG Edward, 
bringing forth Warwick wounded. 
K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and 

die our fear ; 
For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. 
Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee, 
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 

[Exit. 
War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend 

or foe, 
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ? 
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, 
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart 

shows, 
That I must yield my body to the earth 
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 10 

Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, 
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree 
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. 
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's 

black veil, 
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, 
To search the secret treasons of the world : 
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, 
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 20 

For who lived king, but I cauld dig his grave? 
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his 

brow? 
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood ! 
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, 
Even now forsake me, and of all my lands 
Is nothing left me but my body's length. 
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and 

dust? 
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 



Enter Oxford and Somerset. 

Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as 

we are, 
We might recover all our loss again : 30 

The queen from France hath brought a puissant 

power : 
Even now we heard the news : ah, couldst thou 

fly! 
War. Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Mon- 
tague, 
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile ! 
Thou lovest me not ; for, brother, if thou didst, 
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood 
That glues my lips and will not let me speak. 
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 
Som. Ah, Warwick ! Montague hath breathed 

his last ; 40 

And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick 
And said ' Commend me to my valiant brother.' 
And more he would have said, and more he spoke, 
Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, 
That mought not be distinguish'd ; but at last 
I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan, 
' O, farewell, Warwick V 

War. Sweet rest his soul! Fty, lords, and 

save yourselves ; 
For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in 

heaven. {Dies. 

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great 

power! [Here they bear away his body. 
Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of tlie field. 

\ Flow-ish. Enter King Edward in triumph; 
■with Gloucester, Clarence, and the rest. 
K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an up- 
ward course, 
And we' are graced with wreaths of victory. 
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, 
I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud, 
That will encounter with our glorious sun, 
Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen 
Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast 
And, as -we hear, march on to fight with Us. 
Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that 
cloud 10 

And blow it to the source from whence it came : 
] The very beams will dry those vapours up, 
i For every cloud engenders not a storm. 

Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand 
strong, 
! And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her : 
! If she have time to breathe, be well assured 
J Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 

K. Edw. We are advertised by our loving 
friends 
That they do hold their course toward Tewks- 

bury : 
We, having now the best at Barnet field, 20 

Will thither straight, for willingness rids way ; 
And, as we march, our strength will be aug- 
mented 
In every county as we go along. 
Strike up the drum ; cry ' Courage ! ' and away. 

[Exenni. 



Scene IV. Plains near Tewksbury. 
March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince 
Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and soldiers. 
Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and 
wail their loss, 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What though the mast be now blown overboard, 
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,. 
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 
Yet lives our pilot still. 1st meet that he 
Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea 
And give more strength to that which hath too 
much, 9 

Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, 
Which Industry and courage might have saved ? 
Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this ! 
Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? 
And Montague our topmast ; what of him ? 
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of 

these ? 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? 
And Somerset another goodly mast? 
The friends of France our shrouds and tack- 
lings? 
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 20 
We will not from the helm to sit and weep, 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say 

no, 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with 

wreck. 
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? 
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? 
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while ! 
Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly sink : 
Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off, 31 
Or else you' famish; that's a threefold death. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
If case some one of you would fly from us, 
That there 's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers 
More than with ruthless waves, with sands and 

rocks. 
Why, courage then ! what cannot be avoided 
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. 
Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant 
spirit 
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
Infuse his breast with magnanimity 41 

And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
I speak not this as doubting any here ; 
For did I but suspedl a fearful man, 
He should have leave to go away betimes, 
Lest in our need he might infect another 
And make him of like spirit to himself. 
If any such be here — as God forbid ! — 
Let him depart before we need his help. 
Oxf. Women and children of so high a cou- 
rage, • So 
And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual shame. 
O brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather 
Doth live again in thee : long mayst thou live 
To bear his image and renew his glories ! 

Som. And he that will not fight for such a 
hope, 



Scene iv\] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



Go home to bed, and like the owl by day, 
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet 

Oxford, thanks. 
Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath 
nothing else. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at 
hand, 60 

Ready to fight ; therefore be resolute. 

Oxf. I thought no less : it is his policy 
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 

Som. But he's deceived ; we are in readiness. 
Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your 

forwardness. 
Oxf. Here pitch our battle ; hence we will 
not budge. 

Flourish and march- Enter King Edward, 
Gloucester, Clarence, and soldiers. 

K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the 
thorny wood, 
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your 

strength, 
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
I need not add more fuel to your fire, 70 

For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out : 
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords ! 
Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what 
I should say 
My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, 
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
Therefore, no more but this : Henry, your sove- 
reign, 
Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd, 
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, 
His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent ; 
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 80 
You fight injustice: then, in God's name, lords. 
Be valiant and give signal to the fight. 

[Alarum: Retreat: Excursions. Exeunt. 



Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, 
Clarence, and soldiers; -with Queen Mar- 
garet, Oxford, and Somerset, prisoners. 

K. Edw. Now here a period of tumultuous 
broils. 
Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight: 
For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. 
Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with 

words. 
Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my 
fortune. 
[ Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 
Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous 
world, 
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 

K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who finds 
Edward 
Shall have a high reward, and he his life? 10 

Glou. It is: and lo, where youthful Edward 



Enter soldiers, with Prince Edward. 

A'. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear 
him speak. 
What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick? 

■1, what satisfaction canst thou make 
For bearing arms, lor stirring up my subjects, 
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? 
Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious 
York ! 
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ; 
Resign thy chair, and where 1 stand kneel thou, 
Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee, 20 
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 
Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so re- 
solved ! 
Clou. That you might still have worn the 
petticoat, 
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 

Prince. Let /Esop fable in a winter's night ; 
His currish riddles sort not with this place. 

Glou. By heaven, brat, I '11 plague ye for that 

word. 
Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague 

to men. 
Glou. For God's sake, take away this captive 

scold. 
Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook- 
back rather. 30 
A'. Edzv. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm 

your tongue. 
Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 
Prince. I know my duty; you are all un- 
dutiful : 
Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, 
And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all 
I am your better, traitors as ye are : 
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 
A". Edw. Take that, thou likeness of this 
railer here. [Stabs him. 

Glou. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy 
agony. [Stabs him. 

Cla. And there's for twitting me with per- 
jury. [Stabs him. 40 
Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! 

Glou. Marry, and shalL [Offers to kill her. 
K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold ; for wc have 

done too much. 
Glou. Why should she live, to fill the world 

with words? 
K. Edw. What, doth she swoon? use means 

for her recovery, 
Glou. Clarence, excuse me to the king' my 
brother ; 
I '11 hence to London on a serious matter : 
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. 
Clar. What? what? 

Glou. The Tower, the Tower. [Exit. 50 

Q. Mar. O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy 
mother, boy! 
Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers ! 
They that stabb'd Ca;>ar shed no blood at all, 
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, 
If this foul deed were by to equal it : 
He was a man ; this, in respect, a child: 
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? 
No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak : 
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. 60 



554 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act v. 



Butchers and villains ! bloody cannibals ! 
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
You have no children, butchers ! if you had, 
The thought of them would have stirr'd up re- 
morse : 
But if you ever chance to have a child, 
Look in his youth to have him so cut off 
As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young 
prince ! 
A'. Edw. Away with her ; go, bear her hence 

perforce. 

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch 

me here ; 

Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my 

death : 70 

What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou. 

Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much 

ease. 
Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, 

do thou do it. 
Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would 

not do it? 
Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thy- 
self: 
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's but- 
cher, 
Hard-favour'd Richard ? Richard, where art thou ? 
Thou art not here : murder is thy alms-deed; 
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st hack. 80 
K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her 

hence. 
Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to this 
prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly. 

K.Edw. Where's Richard gone? 
Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess, 
To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 

K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his 
head. 
Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
With pay andithanks, and let's away to London 
And see our gentle queen how well she fares : 
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. 90 

{Exeunt. 

Scene VI. London. The Tozver. 

Enter King Henry and Gloucester, with the 
Lieutenant, on the walls. 
Glou. Good day, my lord. What, at your 

book so hard ? 
K. Hen. Ay, my good lord :— my lord, I 
should say rather ; 
'Tis sin to flatter ; 'good' was little better : 
'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike, 
And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good 
lord.' 
Glou. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we must 
confer. [Exit Lieutenant. 

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from 
the wolf; 
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece 
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. 
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? 10 
Glou. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; 
The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a 
bush, 
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush ; 



And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
Have now the fatal object in my eye 
Where my poor young was limed, was caught 
and kill'd. 

Glou. Why, what a peevish fool was that of 
Crete, 
That taught his son the office of a fowl ! 19 

And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 

K.Hen. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; 
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; 
The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy 
Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea 
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! 
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point 
Than can jny ears that tragic history. 
But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? 

Glou. Think'st thou I am an executioner? 30 

A'. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art : 
If murdering innocents be executing, 
Why, then thou art an executioner. 

Glou. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 

K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first 
thou didst presume, 
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. 
And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, 
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, 
And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's, 
And many an orphan's water-standing eye — 40 
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, 
And orphans for their parents' timeless death — 
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
The owl shriek' d at thy birth, — an evil sign ; 
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down 

trees ; 
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, 
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, 
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, 51 
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast 

born, 
To signify thou earnest to bite the world : 
And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
Thou earnest — 

Glou. I '11 hear no more : die, prophet, in thy 
speech : [Stabs him. 

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 

K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter 
after this. 
O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [Dies. 

Glou. What, will the aspiring blood of Lan- 
caster 61 
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have 

mounted. 
See how my sword weeps for the poor king's 
death ! 

0, may such purple tears be alway shed 
From those that wish the downfall of our house ! 
If any spark of life be yet remaining, 

Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither: 
[Stabs him again. 

1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. 
Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of ; 

For I have often heard my mother say 70 

I came into the world with my legs forward : 
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 



Scene vi.] 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



555 



And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? 

The midwife wonder'd and the women cried 

'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth !' 

And so I was ; which plainly signified 

That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. 

Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so, 

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 

I have no brother, I am like no brother; 80 

And this word ' love,' which greybeards call divine, 

Be resident in men like one another 

And not in me : I am myself alone. 

Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light : 

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ; 

For I will buz abroad such prophecies 

That Edward shall be fearful of his life, 

And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 

King Henry and the prince his son are gone : 

Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, 90 

Counting myself but bad till I be best 

I'll throw thy body in another room 

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. 

[Exit, with tlie body. 

Scene VII. London. The palace. 

Flourish. E?iter King Edward, Queen Eliza- 
beth, Clarence, Gloucester, Hastings, 
a Nurse with the young Prince, and At- 
tendants. 

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal 
throne, 
Re-purchased with the blood of enemies. 
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, 
Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride ! 
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown' d 
For hardy and undoubted champions ; 
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, 
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men 
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's 

sound ; 
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and 
Montague, 10 

That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion 
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 



Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat 
And made our footstool of security. 
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. 
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself 
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night, 
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, 
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace ; 
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 20 
Glou. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest, if your 
head were laid ; 
For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave ; 
And heave it shall some weight, or break my 

back : 
Work thou the way, — and thou shalt execute. 
K. Edw. Clarence and Gloucester, love my 
lovely queen ; 
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 

Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty 
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 
Q. Eliz. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy 
brother, thanks. 30 

Glou. And, that I love the tree from whence 
thou sprang'st, 
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. 
[Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his 

master, 
And cried 'all hail !' when as he meant all harm. 
A*. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul de- 
lights, 
Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. 
Clar. What will your grace have done with 
Margaret? 
Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence 
to France. 
And now what rests but that we spend the time 
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, 
Such as befits the pleasure of the court? 
Sound drums and trumpets ! farewell sour annoy ! 
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. 

[Exeunt. 



L 



THE TRAGEDY OF 

KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



'sons to the 
King. 



King Edward the Fourth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, after- 
wards King Edward V., 

Richard, Duke of York, ) 

George, Duke of Clarence, j brothers 

Richard, Duke of Gloucester, < , Tr - 
afterwards King. Richard HI., ) ttie ^ ing ' 

A young son of Clarence. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King 
Henry VII. 

Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canter- 
bury. 

Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York. 

John Morton, Bishop of Ely. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Earl of Surrey, his son. 

Earl Rivers, brother to Elizabeth. 

Marquis of Dorset and Lord Grey, sons 
to Elizabeth. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Lord Hastings. 

Lord Stanley, called also Earl of Derby. 

Lord Lovel. 

Sir Thomas Vaughan. 

Sir Richard Ratcliff. 

Sir William Catesby. 



Sir James Tyrrel. 

Sir James Blount. 

Sir Walter Herbert. 

Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the 

Tower. 
Christopher Urswick, a priest. Another 

Priest. 
Tressel and Berkeley, gentlemen attending 

on the Lady Anne. 
Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire. 

Elizabeth, queen to King Edward IV. 
Margaret, widow of King Henry VI. 
Duchess of York, mother to King Edward IV. 
Lady Anne, widow of Edward Prince of 

Wales, son to King Henry VI. ; afterwards 

married to Richard. 
A young Daughter of Clarence (Margaret 

Plantagenet). 

Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III., 
Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant, 
Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, 
Soldiers, &c. 



Scene: England. 



ACT L 

Scene I. London. A street. 

Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, solus. 

Glou. Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house 
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, 
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled 

front ; 
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds 10 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, 
lie capers nimbly in a lady's chamber 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; 
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty 
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 20 

Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
And that so lamely and unfashionable 



That dogs bark at me as I halt by them ; 
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
Have no delight to pass away the time, 
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun 
And descant on mine own deformity : 
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
I am determined to prove a villain 30 

And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, 
To set my brother Clarence and the king 
In deadly hate the one against the other : 
And if King Edward be as true and just 
As I am subtle, false and treacherous, 
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, 
About a prophecy, which says that G 
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 40 

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul : here Clarence 
comes. 

Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury. 

Brother, good day : what means this armed guard 
That waits upon your grace ? 

Clar. His majesty, 

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



557 



Glou. Upon what cause ? 
Clar. Because my name is George. 

Glou. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of 
yours ; 
He should, for that, commit your godfathers : 
O, belike his majesty hath some intent 
That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. 50 
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I 

Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I 
protest 
As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, 
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams : 
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
And says a wizard told him that by G 
His issue disinherited should be ; 
And, for my name of George begins with G, 
It follows in his thought that I am he. 
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Co 
Have moved his highness to commit mc □ 

Glou. Why, this it is, when men are ruled by 
women : 
'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower ; 
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she 
That tempers him to this extremity. 
Was it not she and that good man of worship, 
] Anthony Woodville, her brother there, 
. That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower. 
From whence this present day he is deliver'd? 
We are not safe, Clarence ; we are not safe. 70 

Clar. By heaven, I think there's no man is 
secure 
But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds 
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. 
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant 
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery? 
Glou. Humbly complaining to her deity 
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
I '11 tell you what ; I think it is our way, 
If we will keep in favour with the king, 
To be her men and wear her livery : 80 

The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, 
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, 
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon 
me; 
His majesty hath straitly given in charge 
That no man shall have private conference, 
Gf what degree soever, with his brother. 

Glou. Even so; an't please your worship, 
Erakenbury, 
You may partake of any thing we say : 
We speak no treason, man : we say the king 90 
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen 
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; 
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing 

tongue ; 
And that the queen's kindred are made gentle- 
folks : 
How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? 
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought 

to do. 
Glou. Naught to do with Mistress Shore ! I 
tell thee, fellow, 
He that doth naught with her, excepting one, 
Were best he do it secretly, alone. 100 

Brak. What one, my lord? 
Glou. Her husband, knave: wouldst thou 
betray me ? 



Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me, 
and withal 
Forbear your conference with the noble duke. 
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and 

will obey. 
Glou. We are the queen's abjects, and must 
obey. 
Brother, farewell : I will unto the king ; 
And whatsoever you will employ me in, 
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, 
I will perform it to enfranchise you. no 

Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood 
Touches mc deeper than you can imagine. 
Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. 
Glou. Well, your imprisonment shall not be 
long : 
I will deliver you, or else lie for you : 
Meantime, have patience. 
Clar. I must perforce. Farewell. 

[Exeunt Clarencd, Brakenbury, and Guard. 
Glou. Go, tread the path thatthou shalt ne'er 
return, 
Simple, plain Clarence ! I do love thee so, 
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, 
If heaven will take the present at our hands. 120 
But who comes here? thenew-deliver'd Hastings? 

Enter Lord Hastings. 

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord ! 

Glou. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! 
Well are you welcome to the open air. 
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? 

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners 
must : 
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks 
That were the cause of my imprisonment. 

Glou. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall 
Clarence too ; 
For they that were your enemies are his, 130 

And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 

Hast. More pity that the eagle should be 
mew'd, 
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 

Glou. What news abroad ? 

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home ; 
The king is sickly, weak and melancholy, 
And his physicians fear him mightily. 

Glou. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad 
indeed. 
O, he hath kept an evil diet long, 
And overmuch consumed his royal person : 140 
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. 
What, is he in his bed? 

Hast. He is. 

Glou. Go you before, and I will follow you. 

[Exit Hastings. 
He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die 
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to 

heaven. 
I Ml in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments ; 
And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
Clarence hath not another day to live ! 150 

Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, 
And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
For then I '11 marry Warwick's youngest daughter. 
What though I kill'd her husband and her father? 
The readiest way to make the wench amends 
Is to become her husband and her father: 



553 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act i. 



The which will I ; not all so much for love 

As for another secret close intent, 

By marrying her which I must reach unto. 

But yet I run before my horse to market : 160 

Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives and 

reigns : 
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. 

{Exit. 

Scene II. The same. Another street. 

Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, 
Gentlemen with 'halberds to guard it; Lady 
Anne being tJie motimer. 

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable 
load, 
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, 
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament 
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! 
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, 
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 10 
Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these 

wounds ! 
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, 
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. 
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes ! 
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it ! 
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence ! 
More direful hap betide that hated wretch, 
That makes us wretched by the death of thee, 
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, 
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives ! 20 
If ever he have child, abortive be it, 
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
May fright the hopeful mother at the view ; 
And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
If ever he have wife, let her be made 
As miserable by the death of him 
As I am made by my poor lord and thee ! 
Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, 
Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 30 

And still, as you are weary of the weight, 
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glou. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set 

it down. 
Anne. What black magician conjures up this 
fiend, 
To stop devoted charitable deeds 

Glou. Villains, set down the corse; or, by 
Saint Paul, 
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 

Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin 

pass. 
Glou. - Unmanner'd dog ! stand thou, when I 
command : 
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, 40 
Or, by Saint Paul, I '11 strike thee to my foot, 



And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness 
ine. W" 
afraid? 



A nne. 



1 upon t 
What, 



do you tremble? are you all 



Alas, I blame you not ; for you are mortal, 
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. 



Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! 
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, be gone. 
GI021. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 
Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and 
trouble us not ; 50 

For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. 
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds 
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh ! 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ; 
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood j 

dwells ; 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 60 

Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 
O God, which this blood madest, revenge his 

death ! 
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his 

death 1 
Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer 

dead, 
Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, 
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, 
Which his hell-govern' d arm hath butchered ! 
Glou. Lady, you know no rules of charity, 
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God 
nor man : 70 

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. 
Glou. But I know none, and therefore am no 

beast. 
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth ! 
Glou. More wonderful, when angels are so 
angry. 
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, 
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, 
By circumstance, but to acquit myself. 

Anne. Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, 
For these known evils, but to give me leave, 
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 80 

Glou. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let 
me have 
Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 
A nne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou 
canst make 
No excuse current, but to hang thyself. 

GI&u. By such despair, I should accuse myself. 
Anne. And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand 
excused ; 
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, 
Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 
Glou. Say that I slew them not? 
Anne. Why, then they are not dead : 

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 
Gloti. I did not kill your husband. 91 

Anne. Why, then he is alive. 

Glou. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's 

hand. 
Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen 
Margaret saw 
Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood ; 
The which thou once didst bend against her breast, 
But that thy brothers beat aside the point. 

Glou. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, 

Which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. 



Scene ii.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



559 



Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries : ioo 
Didst thou not kill this king? 

Glou. I grant ye. 

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God 
grant me too 
Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed ! 
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous ! 

Glou. The litter for the King of heaven, that 

hath him. 
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt 

never come. 
Glou. Let him thank me, that holp. to send 
him thither; 
For he was fitter for that place than earth. 
Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. 
Glou. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me 
name it. no 

Anne. Some dungeon. 
Glou. Your bed-chamber. 

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou 

liest ! 
Glou. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 
Anne. I hope so. 

Glou. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, 

To leave this keen encounter of our wits, 
And fall somewhat into a slower method, 
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, 
As blameful as the executioner? 

A nne. Thou art the cause, and most accursed 
effect. 120 

Glou. Your beauty was the cause of that effect ; 
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep 
To undertake the death of all the world, 
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. 

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
These nails should rend that beauty from my 
cheeks. 
Glou. These eyes could never endure sweet 
beauty's wreck ; 
You should not blemish it, if I stood by : 
As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
So I by that ; it is my day, my life. 130 

A Pine. Black night o'ershade thy day, and 

death thy life ! 
Glou. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou 

art both. 
Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee. 
Glou. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
To be revenged on him that loveth you. 

A fine. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
To be revenged on him that slew my husband. 

Glou. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, 

Did it to help thee to a better husband. 

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the 

earth. 140 

Glou. He lives that loves thee better than he 

could. 
Anne. Name him. 
Glou. Plantagenet. 

A nne. Why, that was he. 

Glou. The selfsame name, but one of better 

nature. 
A nne. Where is he ? 
Glou. Here. [She s/itteth at him. ] 

Why dost thou spit at me? 
Anne. Would it were mortal poison, for thy 

sake ! 
Glou. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 



Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
Out of my sight ! thou dost infect my eyes. 

Glou. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected 
mine. 150 

Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike 
thee dead ! 

Glou. I would they were, that I might die at 
once; 
For now they kill me with a living death. 
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt 

tears, 
Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: 
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, 
No, when my father York and Edward wept, 
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made 
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him ; 
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, 160 
Told the sad story of my father's death, 
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, 
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time 
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; 
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, 
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weep- 
ing. 
I never sued to friend nor enemy; 
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing 

words ; 
But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee, 170 

My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to 
speak. [She looks scornfully at him. 

Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made 
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; 
Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom, 
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, 
And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 

[He lays his breast open: s/ie offers at it 

with his sword. 

Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill King Henry, 

But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. 181 

Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young 

Edward, 
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. 

[Here s/ie lets fall the stvord. 
Take up the sword again, or take up me. 

Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy 
death, 
I will not be the executioner. 

Glou. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 

Anne. I have already. 

Glou. Tush, that was in thy rage : 

Speak it again, and, even with the word, 
That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, 
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 191 

To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. 

Anne. I would I knew thy heart. 

Glou. 'Tis figured in my tongue. 

Anne. I fear me both are false. 

Glou. Then never man was true. 

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 

Glou. Say, then, my peace is made. 

A nne. That shall you know hereafter. 

Glou. But shall I live in hope? 200 

Anne. All men. I hope, live so. 

Glou. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 

A nne. To take is not to give 



560 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act: 



Glou. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy 
finger, 
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; 
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
And if thy poor devoted suppliant may 
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 

Anne. What is it? 2I ° 

Glou. That it would please thee leave these 
sad designs 
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, 
And presently repair to Crosby Place; 
Where, after I have solemnly interred 
At Chertsey monastery this noble king, 
And wet his grave with my repentant tears, 
I will with all expedient duty see you : 
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, 
Grant me this boon. 

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys 
me too, , 22 ° 

To see you are become so penitent. 
Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. 

Glou. Bid me farewell. 

Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve ; 

But since you teach me how to flatter you, 
Imagine I have said farewell already. 

[Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkeley. 

Glou. Sirs, take up the corse. 

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? 

Glou. No, <to White-Friars ; there attend my 
coming. [Exeunt all but Gloucester. 

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? 
Was ever woman in this humour won ? 
I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. 230 
What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his .father, 
To take her in her heart's extremest hate, 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
Having God, her conscience, and these bars 

against me, 
And I nothing to back my suit at all, 
But the plain devil and dissembling looks, 
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing ! 
Ha! 

Hath she forgot already that brave prince, _ 240 
Edward, herlord,whom I, some threemonths since, 
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? 
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, 
Framed in the prodigality of nature, 
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, 
The spacious world cannot again afford : 
And will she yet debase her eyes on me, 
Thatcropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, 
And made her widow to a woful bed ? 
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? 
On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? 251 

My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
I do mistake my person all this while : 
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, 
Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 
I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass, 
And entertain some score or two of tailors, 
To study fashions to adorn my .body : 
Since I am crept in favour with myself, 
I will maintain it with some little cost. 260 

But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; 
And then return lamenting to my love. 
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 
That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. 



Scene III. The palace. 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and 
Lord Grey. 

Riv. Have patience, madam: there's no 
doubt his majesty 
Will soon recover his accustom' d health. 

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him 

worse : 

Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, 

And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. 

Q. Ells.' If he were dead, what would betide 

of me? 
Riv. No other harm but loss of such a lord. 
Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all 

harm. 
Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a 
goodly son, 
To be your comforter when he is gone. 10 

Q. Eliz. Oh, he is young, and his minority 
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, 
A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 
Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protedlor? 
Q. Eliz. It is determined, not concluded yet: 
But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 

Enter Buckingham and Derby. 
Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham 

and Derby. 
Buck. Good time of day unto your^royal grace ! 
Der. God make your majesty Joyful as you 

have been ! 
Q. Eliz. The Countess Richmond, good my 
Lord of Derby, 20 

To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. 
Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, 
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured 
1 hate not you for her proud arrogance. 

Der. I do beseech you, either not believe 
The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
Or, if she be accused in true report, 
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. 
Riv. Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of 
Derby? 30 

Der. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I 
Are come from visiting his majesty. 

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, 

lords? 
Buck. Madam, good hope ; his grace speaks 

cheerfully. 
Q. Eliz. God grant him health'! Did you 

confer with him ? 
Buck. Madam, we did: he desires to make 
atonement 
Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, 
And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain ; 
And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 
Q. Eliz. Would all were well ! but that will 
never be: 40 

I fear our happiness is at the highest. 

Enter Gloucester, Hastings, and Dorset. 
Glou. They do me wrong, and I will Jiot en- 
dure it: 
Who are they that complain unto 'the king, 
That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not? 
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



561 



That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. 
Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, 
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, 
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
I must be held a rancorous enemy. 50 

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, 
But thus his simple truth must he abused 
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ? 
Riv. To whom in all this presertce speaks 

your grace ? 
Glou. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. 
When have I injured thee? when done thee 

wrong '? 
Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? 
A plague upon vou all ! His royal person, — 
Whom God preserve better than you would 

wish ! — 
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, _ 60 
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. 
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake 
the matter. 
The king, of his own royal disposition, 
And not provoked by any.suitor else ; 
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, 
Which in your outward actions shows itself 
A gainst my kindred, brothers, and myself, 
Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 
Glou. I cannot tell: the world is grown so 
bad, 7° 

That wrens make prey where eagles dare not 

perch : 
Since every Jack became a gentleman, 
There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
brother Gloucester ; 
You envy my advancement and my friends' : 
God grant we never may have need of you ! 
Glou. Meantime, God grants that we have 
need of you: 
Our brother is imprison'd by your means, 
Myself disgraced, and the nobility_ 
Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions 
Are daily given to ennoble those 81 

That scarce, some two days since, were worth a 
noble. 
Q. Eliz. By Him that raised me to this care- 
ful height 
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, 
I never did incense his majesty 
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been 
An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
My lord, you do me shameful injury, 
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 

Glou. You may deny that you were not the 
cause 9° 

Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 
Riv. She may, my lord, for — 
Glou. She may, Lord Rivers! why, who 
knows not so ? 
She may do more, sir, than denying that : 
She may help you to many fair preferments , 
And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
And lay those honours on your high deserts. 
What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may 
she, — 
Riv. What, marry, may she? 
Glou. What, marry, may she ! marry with a 
king, 100 



A bachelor, a handsome stripling too : 
I wis your grandam had a worser match. 
Q. Eliz. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too 
long borne 
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: 
By heaven, 1 will acquaint his majesty 
With those gross taunts I often have endured. 
1 had rather be a country servant-maid 
Than a great queen, with this condition, 
To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at : 

Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 

Small joy have I in being England's queen, no 
Q. Mar. And lessen' d be that small, God, I 
beseech thee ! 
Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. 

Glou. What! threat you me with telling of 
the king? 
Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said 
I will avouch in presence of the king: 
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. 
Q. Mar. Out, devil ! I remember them too 
well : 
Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, 
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. 120 
Glou. Ere you were queen, yea, or your hus- 
band king, 
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
A liberal rewarder of his friends : 
To rovalise his blood I spilt mine own. 

Q. Mar. Yea, and much better blood than his 

or thine. 
Glou. In all which time you and your husband 
Grey 
Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; 
And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband 
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? 130 
Let me put in your minds, if you forget, 
What you have been ere now, and what you are ; 
Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 

Q. Mar. A murderous villain, and so still 

thou art. 
Glou. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, 
Warwick ; 
Yea, and forswore himself,— which Jesu par- 
don! — 
Q. Mar. Which God revenge ! 
Glou. To fight on Edward's party for the 
crown ; 
And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. 
I would to God my heart were Hint, like Ed- 
ward's ; 14° 
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine : 
I am too childish-foolish for this world. 

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave 
the world, 
Thou cacodemon ! there thy kingdom is. 

Riv. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy 
days 
Which here you urge to prove us enemies, 
We followed then our lord, our lawful king: 
So should we you, if you should be our king. 

Glou. If I should be ! I had rather be a pedlar: 
Far be it from my heart, the thought of it ! 150 

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you s 
Vou should enjoy, were you this country's king 
As little joy may you suppose in me, 



That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; 
For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
I can no longer hold rne patient. [Advanci?ig. 
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
In sharing that which you have pill'd from me ! 
Which of you trembles not that looks on me? 160 
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, 
Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? 
O gentle villain, do not turn away ! 

Glou. Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou 

in my sight? 
Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast 
marr'd ; 
That will I make before I let thee go. 

Glou. Wert thou not banished on pain of 

death? 
Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in 
banishment 
Than death can yield me here by my abode. 
A husband and a son thou owest to me ; 170 

And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance : 
The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, 
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. 

Glou. The curse my noble father laid on 
thee, 
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with 

paper 
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, 
And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout 
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rut- 
land, — 
His curses, then from bitterness of soul 179 

Denounced against thee, are all falin upon thee ; 
And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. 
Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the inno- 
cent. 
Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that 
babe, 
And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! 
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was 

reported. 
Dor. No man but prophesied revenge for it. 
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept 

to see it. 
Q. Mar. What were you snarling all before I 
came, 
Ready to catch each other by the throat, 
And turn you all your hatred now on me? 190 
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with 

heaven 
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, 
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, 
Could all but answer for that peevish brat? 
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven ? 
Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick 

curses 1 
If not by war, by surfeit die your king, 
As ours by murder,, to make him a king ! 
Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, 
For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, 
Die in his youth by like untimely violence ! 201 
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, 
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! 
Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss ; 
And see another, as I see thee now, 
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! 
Long die thy happy days before thy death ; 
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, 



Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! 
Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, 210 
And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son 
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray 

him, 
That none of you may live your natural age, 
But by some unlook'd accident cut off! 

Glou. Have done thy charm, thou hateful 

wither'd hag ! 
Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for 
thou shalt hear me. 
If heaven have any grievous plague in store 
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, 
And then hurl down their indignation 220 

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! 
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul ! 
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, 
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ! 
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream 
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! 
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
The slave of nature and the son of hell ! 230 

Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb ! 
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
Thou rag of honour ! thou detested — 
Glou. Margaret. 
Q. Mar. Richard ! 

Glou. Ha ! 

Q. Ma)'. ■» I call thee not. 

Glou. I cry thee mercy then, for I had 
thought 
That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. 
Q. Mar. Why, so I did ; but look'd for no 
reply. 
O, let me make the period to my curse ! 

Glou. 'Tis done by me, and ends in ' Mar- 
garet.' 
Q. Eliz. Thus have you breathed your curse 
against yourself. 240 

Q % Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of 
my fortune ! 
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? 
Fool, fool ! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
The time will come when thou shalt wish for me 
To help thee curse that poisonous bunch-back' d 
toad. 
Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic 
curse, 
Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. 
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have 

all moved mine. 
Riv. Were you well served, you would be 
taught your duty. 250 

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do 
me duty, 
Teach me to be your queen, and you my sub- 
jects : 
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that 
duty! 
Dor. Dispute not with her ; she is lunatic. 
Q. Mar. Peace, master marquess, you are 
malapert : 
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. 
O, that your young nobility could judge 
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable ! 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



563 



They that stand high have many blasts to shake 

them ; 259 

And if they fail, they dash themselves to pieces. 

Glou. Good counsel, marry : learn it, learn it, 

marquess. 
Dor. It toucheth you, my lord, as much as 

me. 
Gl&u. Yea, and much more : but I was born 
so high, 
Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, 
And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. 
Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; alas! 
alas! 
Witness my son, now in the shade of death ; 
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. 270 

God, that seest it, do not suffer it ; 
As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 
Buck. Have done ! for shame, if not for 

charity. 
Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to 
me : 
Uncharitably with me have you dealt, 
And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. 
My charity is outrage, life my shame; 
And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage ! 
Buck. Have done, have done. 
Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss 
thy hand, 280 

In sign of league and amity with thee : 
Now fair befal thee and thy noble house ! 
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 
Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 

Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass 
The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 
Q. Mar. I '11 not believe but they ascend the 
sky, 
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 
O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog ! 
Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he 
bites, 290 

His venom tooth will rankle to the death : 
Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
Sin. death, and hell have set their marks on him, 
And all their ministers attend on him. 

Glou. What doth she say, my Lord of Buck- 
ingham? 
Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious 

lord. 
Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my 
gentle counsel ''. 
And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? 
O, but remember this another day, 
When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, 
And say poor Margaret was a prophetess ! 301 
Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 
And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! [Exit. 
Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her 

curses. 
Riv. And so doth mine : I muse why she's at 

liberty. 
Glou. I cannot blame her: by God's holy 
mother, 
She hath had too much wrong ; and I repent 
My part thereof that I have done to her. 
Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 
Glou. But you have all the vantage of her 
wrong. 310 



I was too hot to do somebody good, 
That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
He is frank' d up to fatting for his pains : 
God pardon them that are the cause of it ! 

Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion. 
To pray for them that have done scathe to us. 

Glou. So do I ever : [Aside] being well advised. 
For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. 

Enter Catesby. 

Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you : 
And for your grace ; and you, my noble lords. 321 

Q. Eliz. Catesby, we come. Lords, will you 
go with us? 

Riv. Madam, we will attend your grace. 

[Exeunt all but Gloucester. 

Glou. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach 
I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, 
I do beweep to many simple gulls ; 
Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham ; 
And say it is the queen and her allies 330 

That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
Now, they believe it ; and withal whet me 
To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : 
But then I sigh ; and, with a piece of scripture, 
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil : 
And thus I clothe my naked villany 
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ ; 
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 

Enter two Murderers. 
But, soft ! here come my executioners. 
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates ! 340 
Are you now going to dispatch this deed ? 

First Mural. We are, my lord ; and come to 
have the warrant, 
That we may be admitted where he is. 

Glou. Well thought upon ; I have it here about 
me. [Gives the warrant. 

When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. 
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, 
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; 
For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps 
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 

First Murd. Tush ! 350 

Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate ; 
Talkers are no good doers : be assured 
We come to use our hands and not our tongues. 

Glou. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' 
eyes drop tears : 
I like you, lads; about your business straight; 
Go, go, dispatch. 

First Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeioit. 



Scene IV. London. The Torver. 
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. 

Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day 
Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams. 
That,. as I am a Christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, 
So full of dismal terror was the time ! 



, 



3<5- 



Brak. What was your dream? I long to hear 
you tell it. 

Clar. Methoughts that I had broken from the 
Tower, 
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 10 

And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; 
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward 

England, 
And cited up a thousand fearful times, 
During the wars of York and Lancaster 
That had befall'n us. As we paced along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in 

falling, 
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, 
Into the tumbling billows of the main. 20 

Lord, Lord ! methought, what pain it was to 

drown ! 
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears ! 
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes ! 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea : 
Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, 30 
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, 
Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of 
death 
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? 

Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; 
But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 40 

I Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony?' 

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after 
life ; 
O, then began the tempest to my soul, 
Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury 50 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' 
And so he vanish'd : then came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood ; and he squeak'd out aloud, 
'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Cla- 
rence, 
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ; 
Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments !' 
With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends 
Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise 60 
I trembling waked, and for a season after 
Could not believe but that I was in hell, 
Such terrible impression made the dream. 

Brak. No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted 
you; 
I promise you, I am afraid to hear you tell it. 

Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things, 
Which now bear evidence against my soul, 



For Edward's sake ; and see how he requites me ! 

God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, 70 
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, 

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children ! 

1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 

Brak. I will, my lord : God give your grace j 
good rest! [Clarence sleeps. \ 

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, 
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide 

night. 
Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
An outward honour for an inward toil ; 
And, for unfelt imagination, 80 

They often feel a world of restless cares r 
So that, betwixt their titles and low names, 
There 's nothing differs but the outward fame. 

Enter the two Murderers. 

First Murd. Ho ! who 's here ? 

Brak. In God's name what are you, and how 
came you hither? 

First Murd. I would speak with Clarence, 
and I came hither on my legs. 

Brak. Yea, are you so brief? 

Sec. Murd. O sir, it is better to be brief than 
tedious. Shew him our commission; talk no 
more. [Brakenbury reads it. 

Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands 1 
I will not reason what is meant hereby, 
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep : 
I'll to the king; and signify to him 
That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. 

First Murd. Do so, it is a point of wisdom : 
fare you well. [Exit Brakenhiry. 100 

Sec. Miird. What, shall we stab him as he 
sleeps ? 

First Murd. No ; then he will say 'twas done 
cowardly, when he wakes. 

Sec. Murd. When he wakes! whjr, fool, he 
shall never wake till the judgement-day. 

First Murd. Why, then he will say we 
stabbed him sleeping. 

Sec. Murd. The urging of that word 'judge- 
ment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. no 

First Murd. What, art thou afraid? 

Sec. Murd. Not to kill him, having a war- 
rant for it; but to be damned for killing him, 
from which no warrant can defend us. 

First Mzird. I thought thou hadst been re- 
solute. 

Sec. Murd. So I am, to let him live. 

First Murd. Back to the Duke of Gloucester, 
tell him so. 

Sec. Murd. I pray thee, stay a while : I hope 
my holy humour will change ; 'twas wont to hold 
me but while one would tell twenty. 

First Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now? 

Sec. Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of con- 
science are yet within me. 

First Murd. Remember our reward, when 
the deed is done. 

Sec. Murd. 'Zounds, he dies : I had forgot the 
reward. 129 

First Murd. Where is thy conscience now ? 



Scene iv.] 



KING RICHARD III. 






Sec. Murd. In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. 

First Murd. So when he opens his purse 
to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. 

Sec. Murd. Let it go; there's few or none 
will entertain it. 

First Mind. How if it come to thee again? 

Sec. Murd. I'll not meddle with it: it is a 
dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a 
man cannot steal, but it accuseth him ; he cannot 
swear, but it checks him; he cannot lie wiih his 
neighbour's wife, but it detecls him: 'tis a blush- 
ing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's 
bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me 
once restore a purse of gold that I found ; it 
beggars any man that keeps it : it is turned out 
of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; 
and every man that means to live well endea- 
vours to trust to himself and to live without it. 

First Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my 
elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. 150 

Sec. Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and 
believe him not : he would insinuate with thee 
but to make thee sigh. 

First Murd. Tut, I am strong-framed, he 
cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. 

Sec. Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow that 
respe<5ts his reputation. Come, shall we to this 
gear? 

First Murd. Take him over the costard with 
the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop 
him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. 161 

Sec. Murd. O excellent device ! make a sop 
of him. 

First Murd. Hark ! he stirs: shall I strike? 

Sec. Murd. No, first let's reason with him. 

Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup 
of wine. 

Sec. Murd. You shall have wine enough, my 
lord, anon. 

Clar. In God's name, what art thou? 

Sec. Murd. A man, as you are. 170 

Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 

Sec. Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are 
humble. 

Sec. Murd. My voice is now the king's, my 
looks mine own. 

Clar. How darkly and how deadly dost thou 
speak ! 
Your eyes do menace me : why look you pale ? 
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? 

Both. To, to, to — 

Clar. To murder me? 

Both. Ay, ay. 

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell 
me so, 1S0 

And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? 

First Murd. Offended us you have not, but 
the king. 

Clar. I shall be reconciled to him again. 

Sec. Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore pre- 
pare to die. 

Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world 
of men 
To slay the innocent? What is my offence? 
Where are the evidence that do accuse me ? 
What lawful quest have given their verdict up 
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced 190 



The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? 
Before I be convict by course of law, 
To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption 
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, 
That you depart and lay no hands on me: 
The deed you undertake is damnable. 

First Murd. What we will do, we do upon 

command. 
Sec. Murd. And he that hath commanded is 

the king. 
Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of 
kings 200 

Hath in the tables of his law commanded 
That thou shalt do no murder : and wilt thou, then, 
Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's'.' 
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, 
To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
Sec. Murd. And that same vengeance doth 
he hurl on thee, 
For false forswearing and for murder too : 
Thou didst receive the holy sacranvjiu. 
To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 
First Murd. And, like a traitor to the name 
of God, 210 

Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous 

_ blade 
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
Sec. Murd. Whom thou wert sworn to cherish 

and defend. 
First Murd. How canst thou urge God's 
dreadful law to us, 
When thou hast broke it in so dear degree ? 

Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed? 
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
Why, sirs, 

He sends ye not to murder me for this ; 
For in this sin he is as deep as I. 220 

If God will be revenged for this deed, 
O, know you yet, he doth it publicly : 
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; 
He needs no indirect nor lawless course 
To cut off those that have offended him. 
First Murd. Who made thee, then, a bloody 
minister, 
When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, 
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? 
Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 
First Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, 
and thy fault, 230 

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. 

Clar. Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me ; 
I am his brother, and I love him well. 
If you be hired for meed, go back again, 
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, 
Who shall reward you better for my life 
Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 

Sec. Murd. You are deceived, your brother 

Gloucester hates you. 
Glou. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me 
dear: 
Go you to him from me. 
Both. Ay, so we will. 240 

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father 
York 
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm. 
And charged us from his soul to love each other. 
He little thought of this divided friendship : 
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. 



566 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act ii. 



First Murd. Ay, millstones ; as he lesson'd us 

to weep. 
Clar. 0, do not slander him, for he is kind. 
First Murd. Right, 
As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself : 
Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. 
Clar. It cannot be ; for when I parted with him, 
He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
That he would labour my delivery. 

Sec. Murd. Why, so he doth, now he delivers 
thee 
From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
First Murd. Make peace with God, for you 

must die, my lord. 
Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, 
To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, 
That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? 
Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on * 261 

To do this deed will hate you for the deed. 
Sec. Murd. What shall we do? 
Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 

First Murd. Relent ! 'tis cowardly and wo- 
manish. 
Clar. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. 
Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
Being pent from liberty, as I am now, 
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, 
Would not entreat for life ? 

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; 270 

O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, 
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, 
As you would beg, were you in my distress : 
A begging prince what beggar pities not? 
Sec. Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
First Murd. Take that, and that : if all this 
will not do, [Stabs him. 

I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 

[Exit, zvitk the body. 
Sec. Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately 
dispatch'd ! 
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 280 

Re-enter First Murderer. 
First Murd. How now ! what mean'st thou, 
that thou help'st me not? 
By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou 
art! 
Sec. Murd. I would he knew that I had saved 
his brother ! 
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; 
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 
First Murd. So do not I : go, coward as thou 
art. 
Now must I hide his body in some hole, 
Until the duke take order for his burial : 
And when I have my meed, I must away ; 
For this will out, and here I must not stay. 290 

ACT II. 

Scene I. London. The fialace. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward sick, Queen 
Elizabeth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, 
Buckingham, Grey, and others. 
K. Edw. Why, so : now have I done a good 
day's work : 



You peers, continue this united league : 
I every day expect an embassage 
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ; 
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, 
Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. 
Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand ; 
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 
Riv. By heaven, my heart is purged from 
grudging hate; 
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 10 
Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like ! 
K. Edw. Take heed you dally not before 
your king; 
Lest he that is the supreme King of kings 
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
Either of you to be the other's end. 

Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! 
Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart ! 
K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in 
this, 
Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you ; 
You have been factious one against the other. 20 
Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; 
And what you do, do it unfeignedly. 

Q. Eliz. Here, Hastings; I will never more 
remember 
Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine ! 
K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, 

love lord marquess. 
Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, 
Upon my part shall be unviolable. 
Hast. And so swear I, my lord. 

[ They embrace. 
K. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal 
thou this league 
With thy embracements to my wife's allies, 30 
And make me happy in your unity. 
Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his 
hate 
On you or yours [to the Queen], but with all 

duteous love 
Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me 
With hate in those where I expect most love ! 
When I have most need to employ a friend, 
And most assured that he is a friend, 
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
Be he unto me ! this do I beg of God, 
When I am cold in zeal to you or yours. 40 

[They embrace. 
K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buck- 
ingham, 
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, 
To make the perfect period of this peace. 

Buck. And, in good time, here comes the 
noble duke. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glou. Good morrow to my sovereign king and 
queen ; 
And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 

K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent 
the day. 
Brother, we have done deeds of charity; 
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, 50 

Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 
Glou. A blessed labour, my most sovereign 
liege : 
Amongst this princely heap, "if any here, 



Scene 



KIXG RICHARD III. 



567 



By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
Hold me a foe ; 

If I unwittingly, or in my rage, 
Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
By any in this presence, I desire 
To reconcile me to his friendly peace : 
'Tis death to me to be at enmity ; 60 

I hate it, and desire all good men's love. 
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, 
Which I will purchase with my duteous service ; 
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham. 
If ever any grudge were lodged between us ; 
Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; 
That all without desert have frown'd on me ; 
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. 
I do not know that Englishman alive 
With whom my soul is any jot at odds 70 

More than the infant that is born to-night: 
I thank my God for my humility. 
Q. Eliz. A holy day shall this be kept here- 
after : 
I would to God all strifes were well compounded. 
My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty 
To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 
Clou. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for 

this, 
To be so flouted in this royal presence? 
Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? 

[ They all start. 

You do him injury to scorn his corse. 80 

Riv. Who knows not he is dead ! who knows 

he is? 
Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is 

this! 
Buck. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the 

rest? 
Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no one in this 

presence 
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. 
K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was 

reversed. 
Glou. But he, poor soul, by your first order 

died, 
And that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, 
That came too lag to see him buried. 90 

God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, 
Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood. 
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, 
And yet go current from suspicion ! 

Enter Derby. 
Der. A boon, my sovereign, for my service 

done ! 
K. Edw. I pray thee, peace : my soul is full 

of sorrow. 
Der. I will not rise, unless your highness grant. 
K. Edw. Then speak at once what is it thou 

demand'st. 
Der. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's 
life; 
Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman 100 

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. 
A". Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my bro- 
ther's death, 
And shall the same give pardon to a slave? 
My brother slew no man ; his fault was thought, 
And yet his punishment was cruel death. 
Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, 



Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised? 
Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? 
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake 
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? iro 
Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury, 
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, 
And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? 
Who told me, when we both lay in the field 
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap mo 
Even in his own garments, and gave himself, 
All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? 
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
Sinfully pluck 'd, and not a man of you 
Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 320 
But v. hen your carters or your waiting-vassals 
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced 
The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ; 
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : 
But for my brother not a man would speak, 
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself 
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all 
Have been beholding to him in his life ; 
Yet none of you would once plead for his life. 130 

God, I fear thy justice will take hold 

On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this ! 
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, 
poor Clarence ! 

[Exeunt some with King and Queen. 
Glou. This is the fruit of rashness ! Mark'd 
you not 
How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' 

death? 
O, they did urge it still unto the king ! 
God will revenge it. But come, let us in, 
To comfort Edward with our company. 

Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The palace. 

Enter the Duchess of York, with the two 
children 4/ Clarence. 

Boy. Tell me, good grandam, is our father 

dead? 
Duck. No, boy. 

Boy. Why do you wring your hands, and beat 
your breast, 
And cry ' O Clarence, my unhappy son ! ' 

Girl. Why do you look on us, and shake your 
head, 
And call us wretches, orphans, castaways, 
If that our noble father be ali\ t i 
Duck. My pretty cousins, you mistake me 
much ; 

1 do lament the sickness of the king, 

As loath to lose him, not your father's death ; 10 
It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. 

Boy. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is 
dead. 
The king my uncle is to blame for this : 
God will revenge it ; whom 1 will importune 
With dailv prayers all to that effedt. 

67;Y. And so will I. 

Duch. Peace, children, peace ! the king doth 
love you well : 
Incapable and shallow innocents, 
You cannot guess who caused your father's de ith. 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act 



for my good uncle 



Boy. Grandam, we can 
Gloucester 

Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, 
Devised impeachments to imprison him: 
And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my 

cheek ; 
Bade me rely on him as on my father, 
And he would love me dearly as his child. 

Duck. Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle 
shapes, 
And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile ! 
He is my son ; yea, and therein my shame ; 
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 30 
Sou. Think you my uncle did dissemble, 

grandam? 
Duck. Ay, boy. 
Son. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is this? 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, with her Jiair about 
her ears; Rivers and Dorset after her. 
Q. Eliz. Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and 
weep, 
To chide my fortune, and torment myself? 
I'll join with black despair against my soul, 
And to myself become an enemy. 
Duck. What means this scene of rude impa- 
tience? 
Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence : 
Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. 40 
Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? 
Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? 
If you will live, lament ; if die, be brief, 
That our swift- winged souls may catch the king's ; 
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. 
Duck. Ah, so much interest have I in thy 
sorrow 
As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
And lived by looking on his images : 50 

But now two mirrors of his princely semblance 
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, 
And I for comfort have but one false glass, 
Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. 
Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother, 
And hast the comfort of thy children left thee : 
But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine 

arms, 
And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, 
Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, ' 
Thine being but a moiety of my grief, 60 

To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries ! 
Boy. Good aunt, you wept not for our father's 
death ; 
How can we aid you with our kindred tears ? 

Girl, Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd ; 
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! . 

Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation ; 
I am not barren to bring forth complaints : 
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, 
That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, 
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the 
world ! 70 

Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! 
Chil. Oh for our father, for our dear lord 

Clarence ! 
Duck. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and 
Clarence ! 



Q. Eliz. What stay had I but Edward? and 

he 's gone. 
Chil. What stay had we but Clarence? and 

he 's gone. 
Duck. What stays had I but they? and they 

are gone. 
Ch Eliz. Was never widow had so dear a loss ! 
Chil. Were never orphans had so dear a loss ! 
Duck. Was never mother had so dear a loss ! 
Alas, I am the mother of these moans ! 80 

Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. 
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she : 
These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I ; 
I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 
Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress' d, 
Pour all your tears ! I am your sorrow's nurse, 
And Twill pamper it with lamentations. 
Dor. Comfort, dear mother: God is much 
displeased 
That you take with unthankfulness his doing : 90 
Incommon worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, 
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt 
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; 
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, 
For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful 
mother, 
Of the young prince your son: send straight 

for him; 
Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives : 
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave 
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 100 

Enter Gloucester, Buckingham, Derby, 
Hastings, and Ratcliff. 



Glou. Madam, have comfort : all of us have 
cause 
To wail the dimming of our shining star ; 
But none can cure their harms by wailing them. 
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy ; 
I did not see your grace : humbly on my knee 
I crave your blessing. 
Duck. God bless thee; and put meekness in 
thy mind, 
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty ! 

Glo?i. [Aside] Amen; and make me die a 
good old man ! 
That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: no 
I marvel why her grace did leave it out. 
Buck. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrow- 
ing peers, 
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, 
Now cheer each other in each other's love: 
Though we have spent our harvest of this king, 
We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, 
But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, 
Must gently be preserved, chensh'd, and kept : 
Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, 120 
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be 

fetch'd 
Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. 
Riv. Why with some little train, my Lord of 

Buckingham? 
Buck. Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, 
Ihe new-heal'd wound of malice should break 
out; 



Scene ii.] 



AYA'G RICHARD III. 



569 



Which would be so much the more dangerous, 
By how much the estate is green and yet un- 

govern'd : 
Where every horse bears his commanding rein, 
And may direct his course as please himself, 
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, 130 
In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 

Glou. I hope the king made peace with all 
of us ; 
And the compact is firm and true in me. 

Riv. And so in me; and so, I think, in all: 
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
To no apparent likelihood of breach, 
Which haply by much company might be urged: 
Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, 
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 

Hast. And so say I. 140 

Glou. Then be it so; and go we to de- 
termine 
Who they shall be that straight shall post to 

Ludlow. 
Madam, and you, my mother, will you go 
To give your censures in this weighty business? 

Q Dtfch Z ' } With aI1 ° ur heartS * 
[Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gloucester. 
Buck. My Lord, whoever journeys to the 
prince, 
For God's sake, let not us two be behind ; 
For, by the way, I '11 sort occasion, 
As index to the story we late talk'd of, 
To part the queen's proud kindred from the 
king. 150 

Glou. My other self, my counsel's consistory, 
My oracle, my prophet ! My dear cousin, 
I, like a child, will go by thy direction. 
Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. London. A street. 
Enter two Citizens, meeting. 
First Cit. Neighbour, well met : whither away 

so fast ? 
Sec. Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know 
myself: 
Hear you the news abroad ? 
First Cit. Ay, that the king is dead. 

Sec. Cit. Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes 
the better : 
I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. 

Enter another Citizen. 

Third Cit. Neighbours, God speed ! 

First Cit. Give you good morrow, sir. 

Third Cit. Doth this news hold of good King 
Edward's death? 

Sec. Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help 
the while ! 

Third Cit. Then, masters, look to see a 
troublous world. 

First Cit. No, no; by God's good grace his 
son shall reign. 10 

Third Cit. Woe to that land that 's govern'd 
by a child ! 

Sec. Cit. In him. there is a hope of govern- 
ment, 
That in his nonage council under him, 
And in his full and ripen'd years himself, 



No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. 
First Cit. So stood the state when Henry the 
Sixth 
Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
Third Cit. Stood the state so? No, no, good 
friends, God wot ; 
For then this land was famously enrich'd 
With politic grave counsel ; then the king 20 

Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 
First Cit. Why, so hath this, both by the 

father and mother. 
Third Cit. Better it were they all came by 
the father, 
Or by the father there were none at all ; 
For emulation now, who shall be nearest, 
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
( ), full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester ! 
And the queen's sons and brothers haught and 

proud : 
A n,l were they to be ruled, and not to rule, 
This sickly land might solace as before. 30 

First Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst; 

all shall be well. 
Third Cit. When clouds appear, wise men 
put on their cloaks; 
When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand ; 
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? 
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. 
All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 
Sec. Cit. Truly, the souls of men are full 
of dread : 
Ye cannot reason almost with a man 
That looks not heavily and full of fear. 40 

Third Cit. Before the times of change, still 
is it so : 
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust 
Ensuing dangers ; as, by proof, we see 
The waters swell before a boisterous storm. 
But leave it all to God. Whither away? 
Sec. Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the 

justices. 
Third Cit. And so was I : I '11 bear you com- 
pany. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. London. The palace. 

Enter tfie Archbishop of York, the young 
Duke of York, Queen Elizabeth, and t fie 
Duchess of York. 

Arch. Last night, I hear, they lay at North- 
ampton ; 
At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night: 
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 

Duch. I long with all my heart to see the 
prince : 
I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. 
Q. Eliz. But i hear, no; they say my son 
of York 
Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. 

York. Ay, mother; but I would not have 

it so. 
Duch. Why, my young cousin, it is good 

to grow. 
York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit 
at supper, 10 

My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle 
Gloucester, 



57^ 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act ii. 



' Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow 

apace : ' 
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, 
Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds 
make haste. 
Duch. Good faith, good faith, the sa3'ing did 
not hold 
In him that did object the same t'o thee : 
He was the wretched'st thing when he was young. 
So long a-growing and so leisurely, 
That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious. 
Arch. Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is. 21 
Duch. I hope he is ; but yet let mothers doubt. 
York. Now, by my troth, if I had been re- 
member'd, 
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, 
To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. 
Duch. How, my pretty York? I pray thee, 

let me hear it. 
York. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast 
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old : 
'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
Grandam, this would have. been a biting jest. 30 
Duch. I pray thee, pretty York, who told 

thee this ? 
York. Grandam, his nurse. 
Duch. His nurse ! why, she was dead ere thou 

wert born. 
York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who 

told me. 
Q. Eliz. A parlous boy : go to, you are too 

shrewd. 
Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the 

child. 
Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 

Enter a Messenger. 
A rch. Here comes a messenger. What news ? 
Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to 

unfold. 
Q. Eliz. How fares the prince ? 
Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 40 

Duch. What is thy news then ? 
Mess. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to 
Pomfret, 
With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 
Duch. Who hath committed them ? 
Mess. The mighty dukes 

Gloucester and Buckingham. 

Q. Eliz. For what offence? 

Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclosed ; 
Why or for what these nobles were committed 
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 
Q. Eliz. Ay me, I see the downfall of our 
house ! 
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind ; 50 
Insulting tyranny begins to jet 
Upon the innocent and aweless throne : 
Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre ! 
I see, as in a map, the end of all. 

Dtich. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, 
How many of you have mine eyes beheld ! 
My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
And often up and down my sons were toss'd, 
For me to joy and weep their gain and loss : 
! And being seated, and domestic broils 60 

! Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, 
! Make war upon themselves ; blood against blood, 
! Self against self : O, preposterous 



And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen ; 
Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy ; we will to 
sanctuary. 
Madam, farewell. 

Duch. I '11 go along with you. 

Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 

Arch. My gracious lady, go; 

And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
For my part, I '11 resign unto your grace 70 

The seal I keep : and so betide to me 
As well I tender you and all of yours ! 
Come, I '11 conduct you to the sanctuary. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. London. A street. 

The trumpets sound. Enter the young Prince, 
the Dukes ^Gloucester and Buckingham, 
Cardinal Boukchier, Catesby, and others. 
Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to 

your chamber. 
Glou. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' 
sovereign : 
The weary way hath made you melancholy. 

Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : 
I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
Glou. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of 
your years 
Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit : 
Nor more can you distinguish of a man 
Than of his outward show ; which, God he knows, 
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. 11 

Those uncles which you want were dangerous; 
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, 
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : 
God keep you from them, and from such false 
friends ! 
Prifice. God keep me from false friends ! but 

they were none. 
Glou. My lord, the mayor of London comes 
to greet you. 

Enter the Lord Mayor, and his train. 
May. God bless your grace with health and 

happy days ! 
Prince. I thank you, good my lord ; and thank 
you all. 
I thought my mother, and my brother York, 20 
Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not 
To tell us whether they will come or no ! 

Enter Lord Hastings. 
B?tck. And, in good time, here comes the 

sweating lord. 
Prince. Welcome 

mother come ? 
Hast. On what occasion, 
not I, 
The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
Have taken sanctuary : the tender prince 
Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, 
But by his mother was perforce withheld. 30 

Buck. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course 
Is this of hers ! Lord cardinal, will your grace 



my lord: what, will our 
God he knows, 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



57i 



Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York 
Unto his princely brother presently? 
If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him, 
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 
Card. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak 
oratory 
Can from his mother win the Duke of York, 
Anon expect him here ; but if she be obdurate 
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 40 

We should infringe the hoi}' privilege 
, Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land 
) Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. 

Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, 
1 Too ceremonious and traditional : 

Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, 
You break not 'sanctuary in seizing him. 
The benefit thereof is always granted 
To those whose dealings have deserved the place, 
And those who have the wit to claim the place : 
This prince hath neither claim'd ii nor deserved it ; 
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: 
Then, taking him from thence that is not there, 
You break no privilege nor charter there. 
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ; 
I But sanctuary children ne'er till now. 

Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind 
for once. 
Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? 
Hast. I go, my lord. 

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste 
you may. 60 

[Exctint Cardinal and Hastings. 
Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, 
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? 
Glou. Where it seems best unto your royal 
self. 
If I may counsel you, some day or two 
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower: 
Then where you please, and shall be thought 

most fit 
For your best health and recreation. 

Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place. 
Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord ? 
Buck. He did, my gracious lord, begin that 
place ; 70 

Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 
Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported 
Successively from age to age, he built it? 
Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
Prince. But say, my lord, it were not re- 
gister'd, 
Methinks the truth should live from age to age, 
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, 
Even to the general all-ending day. 

Glou. [Aside'] So wise so young, they say, do 

never live long. 
Prince. What say you, uncle ? 80 

Glou. I say, without characters, fame lives 
! long. 

i [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, 
1 I moralize two meanings in one word. 
I Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man ; 
With what his valour did enrich his wit, 
His wit set down to make his valour live : 
1 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; 
j For now he lives in fame, though not in life. 
! I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, — 

LBuck. What, my gracious lord? 90 

Prince. An if I live until I be a man. 



I '11 win our ancient right in France again, 
Or die a soldier, as I lived a king. 

Glou. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a 
forward spring. 

Enter young York, Hastings, and the 
Cardinal. 
Buck. Now, in good time, here conies the 

Duke of York. 
Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving 

brother? 
York. Well, my dread lord ; so must I call 

you now. 
Prince. Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is 
yours : 
Too late he died that might have kept that title, 
Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 100 
Glou. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of 

York? 
York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, 
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
Glou. He hath, my lord. 

1 'ork. And therefore is he idle? 

Glou. O. my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
York. Then is he more beholding to you 

than I. 
Glou. He may command me as my sovereign ; 
But you have power in me as in a kinsman. 
York. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. 
Glou. My dagger, little cousin? with all my 
heart. m 

Prince. A beggar, brother? 
3 'ork. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ; 
And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
Glou. A greater gift than that I'll give my 

cousin. 
York. A greater gift! O, that's the sword 

to it. 
Glou. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
York. O, then, I see, you will part but with 
light gifts; 
In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay. 
Gloti. It is too heavy for your grace to wear. 
York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 121 
Glou. What, would you have my weapon, 

little lord? 
York. I would, that I might thank you as you 

call me. 
Glou. How? 
York. Little. 

Prince. My Lord of York will still be cross in 
talk: 
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear 
with me : 
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; 
Because that 1 am little, like an ape, 130 

He thinks that you should bear me on your 
shoulders. 
Buck. With what a sharp- provided wit he 
reasons ! 
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
So cunning and so young is wonderful. 

Glou. My lord, will't please you pass along? 
Myself and my good cousin Buckingham 
Will to your mother, to entreat of her 
To meet you at the Tower and welcome vou. 



572 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act hi. 



York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my 
lord? 140 

Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
Glou. Why, what should you fear? 
York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost : 
My grandam told me he was murder'd there. 
Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
Glou. Nor none that live, I hope. 
Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. 
But come, my lord ; and with a heavy heart, 
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 150 

[A Sennet. Exeunt all hit Gloucester, 
Buckingham atid Catesby. 
Bieck. Think you, my lord, this little prating 
York 
Was not incensed by his subtle mother 
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? 
Glo2t. No doubt, no doubt : O, 'tis a parlous 
boy; 
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable : 
He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
Buck. Well, let them rest. Come hither, 
Catesby. 
Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we in- 
tend 
As closely to conceal what we impart : 
Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way ; 
What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter 161 
To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, 
For the instalment of this noble duke 
In the seat royal of this famous isle? 

Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the 
prince, 
That he will not be won to aught against him. 
Buck. What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? 

what will he? 
Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. 
Buck. Well, then, no more but this : go, gentle 
Catesby, 
And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings, 
How he doth stand affected to our purpose; 171 
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
To sit about the coronation. 
If thou dost find him tractable to us, 
Encourage him, and show him all our reasons: 
If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling, 
Be thou so too; and so break off your talk, 
And give us notice of his inclination : 
For we to-morrow hold divided councils, 
Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. 180 
Glou. Commend me to Lord William: tell 
him, Catesby, 
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ; 
And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, 
Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 
Btick. Good Catesby, go, effect this business 

soundly. 
Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed 

I may. 
Glou. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere 

we sleep ? 
Cate. You shall, my lord. 
Glou. At Crosby Place, there shall you find us 
both. [Exit Catesby. 190 

Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we 
perceive 
Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? 



Glou. Chop off his head, man ; somewhat we 
will do : 
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables 
Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd. 
Buck. I'll claim that promise at your grace's 

hands. 
Glou. And look to have it yielded with all 
willingness. 
Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards 
We may digest our complots in some form. 200 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Be/ore Lord Hastings' /touse. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. What, ho ! my lord ! 
Hast. [lVitki?i\ Who knocks at the door? 
Mess. A messenger from the Lord Stanley. 

Enter Lord Hastings. 

Hast. What is 't o'clock ? 

Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 

Hast. Cannot thy master sleep these tedious 
nights? 

Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. 
First, he commends him to your noble lordship. 

Hast. And then? 

Mess. And then he sends you word 10 

He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm : 
Besides, he says there are two councils held ; 
And that may be determined at the one 
Which may make you and him to rue at the other. 
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's 

pleasure, 
If presently you will take horse with him, 
And with all speed post with him toward the 

north, 
To shun the danger that his soul divines. 

Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord ; 
Bid him not fear the separated councils : 20 

His honour and myself are at the one, 
And at the other is my servant Catesby; 
Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us 
Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance : 
And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond 
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers : 
To fly the boar before the boar pursues, 
Were to incense the boar to follow us 
And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. 
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 31 

And we will both together to the Tower, 
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 

Mess. My gracious lord, I'll tell him what 
you say. [Exit. 

Enter Catesby. 
Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 
Hast. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are early 
stirring : 
What news, what news, in this our tottering state ? 

Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
And I believe 'twill never stand upright 
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 40 
Hast. How ! wear the garland ! dost thou mean 

the crown? 
Cate. Ay, my good lord. 



Scene ii.] 



KIXG RICHARD III. 



573 



Hast. I '11 have this crown of mine cut from 
my shoulders 
Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced. 
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? 
Cate. Ay, on my life ; and hopes to find you 
forward 
Upon his party for the gain thereof: 
And thereupon he sends you this good news, 
That this same very day your enemies, 49 

The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 

Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
Because they have been still mine enemies : 
But, that I '11 give my voice on Richard's side, 
To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
God knows I will not do it, to the death. 

Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious 

mind ! 
Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month 
hence, 
That the} r who brought me in my master's hate, 
I live to look upon their tragedy. 
I tell thee, Catesby, — 60 

Cate. What, my lord? 
Hast. Ere a fortnight make me elder, 
I'll send some packing that yet think not on it. 

Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, 
When men are unprepared and look not for it. 
Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls 
it out 
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : and so 'twill do 
With some men else, who think themselves as 

safe 
As thou and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
To princely Richard and to Buckingham. 70 

Cate. The princes both make high account of 
you ; 
[Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge. 
Hast. I know they do; and I have well de- 
served it. 

Enter Lord Stanley. 

Come on, come on ; where is your boar-spear, 

man? 
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided ? 

Stan. My lord, good morrow ; good morrow, 

Catesby : 
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, 
I do not like these several councils, I. 

Hast. My lord, 
I hold my life as dear as you do yours ; 80 

And never in my life, I do protest, 
Was it more precious to me than 'tis now : 
Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
I would be so triumphant as I am? 
Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode 

from London, 
Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure, 
And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; 
But yet, you see, how soon the day o'ercast. 
This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt: 
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! 90 
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is 

spent. 
Hast. Come, come, have with you. Wot you 

what, my lord? 
To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded. 

Stan. They, for their truth, might better wear 

their heads 



Than some that have accused them wear their 

hats. 
But come, my lord, let us away. 

Enter a Pursuivant. 
Hast. Go on before; I'll talk with this good 
fellow. ' [Exeunt Stanley and Catesby. 
How now, sirrah ! how goes the world with thee? 
Purs. The better that your lordship please 
to ask. 99 

Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now 
Than when I met thee last where now we meet : 
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
By the suggestion of the queen's allies; 
But now, 1 tell thee — keep it to thyself — 
This day those enemies are put to death, 
And I in better state than e'er I was. 
Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good 

content ! 
Hast. Gramercy, fellow : there, drink that for 
me. [ Throws hint his purse. 

Purs. God save your lordship 1 [Exit. 

Enter a Priest. 
Priest. Well met, my lord ; I am glad to see 
your honour. no 

Hast. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all 
my heart. 
I am in your debt for your last exercise; 
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 
[He whispers in his ear. 

Enter Buckingham. 
Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord cham- 
berlain ? 
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest ; 
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. 
Hast. Good faith, and when I met this holy 
man, 
Those men you talk of came into my mind. 
What, go you toward the Tower;' 

Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I shall not stay : 

I shall return before your lordship thence. 121 

Hast. 'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there. 

Buck. [Aside\ And supper too, although thou 

know'st it not. 

Come, will you go? 

Hast. I '11 wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Pomfret Castle. 

Enter Sir Richard Ratcliff, with halberds, 

carrying Rivers, Grev, and VAUGHAN to 

death. 

Rat. Come, bring forth the prisoners. 

Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this : 
To-day shalt thou behold a subject die- 
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. 

Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack 
of you ! 
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 

Vaug. You live that shall cry woe for this 
hereafter. 

Rat. Dispatch ; the limit of your lives is out. 

Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody 
prison, 
Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! 10 

Within the guilty closure of thy walls 
Richard the second here was hack'd to death ; 



574 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act in. 



And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, 
We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. 
Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our 
heads, 
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 
Riv. Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed 
she Buckingham, • 

Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God, 
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us ! 
And for my sister and her princely sons, 20 

Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, 
j Which, as thou kno\v*st, unjustly must be spilt. 
Rat. Make haste ; the hour of death is expiate. 
Riv. Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all 
embrace : 
And take our leave, until we meet in heaven. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The Tozver of London. 

Enter Buckingham, Derby, Hastings, the 

Bishop of Ely, Ratcliff, Lovel, withothers, 

and take their seats at a table. 

Hast. My lords, at once : the cause why we 
are met 
Is, to determine of the coronation. 
In God's name, speak: when is the royal day? 

Buck. Are all things fitting for that royal time ? 

Der. It is, and wants but nomination. 

Ely. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day. 

Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind 
herein ? 
Who is most inward with the royal duke? 

Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest 
know his mind. 

Buck. Who, I, my lord ! we know each other's 
faces, 10 

But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, 
Than I of yours ; 

Nor I no more of his, than you of mine. 
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 

Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me 
well; 
But, for his purpose in the coronation, 
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
But you, my noble lords, may name the time ; 
And in the duke's behalf I '11 give my voice, 20 
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Ely. Now in- good time, here comes the duke 

himself. 
Glou. My noble lords and cousins all, good 
morrow. 
I have been long a sleeper ; but, I hope, 
My absence doth neglect no great designs, 
Which by my presence might have been concluded. 
Buck. Had not you come upon your cue, my 
lord, 
William Lord Hastings had pronounced your 

part, — 
I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king. 
Glou. Than my Lord Hastings no man might 
be bolder ; 3° 

His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. 
Hast. I thank your grace. 
Glou. My lord of Ely ! 

Ely. My lord? 



Glou. When I was last in Holborn, 
I saw good strawberries in your garden there : 
I do beseech you send for some of them. 
Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my 
heart. [Exit. 

Glou. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 
[Drawi?ig hijn aside. 
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, 
And finds the testy gentleman so hot, 
As he will lose his head ere give consent 40 

His master's son, as worshipful he terms it, 
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 

Buck. Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll 
follow you. 
[Exit Gloucester, Buckingha7u following. 
Der. We have not yet set down this day of 
triumph. 
To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden ; 
For I myself am not so well provided 
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 

Re-enter Bishop of Ely. 

Ely. Where is my lord protector? I have sent 
for these strawberries. 

Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth 
to-day ; 50 

There's some conceit or other likes him well, 
When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit. 
I think there's never a man in Christendom 
That can less hide his love or hate than he ; 
For by his face straight shall you know his heart. 

Der. What of his heart perceive you in his face 
By any likelihood he show'd to-day? 

Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is 
offended ; 
For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 

Der. I pray God he be not, I say. 60 

Re-enter Gloucester and Buckingham. 
Glou. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve 
That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd 
Upon my body with their hellish charms? 
Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my 
lord, 
Makes me most forward in this noble presence 
To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be : 
I say, my lord, they have deserved death. 

Glou. Then be your eyes the witness of this ill : 
See how I am bewitch'd ; behold mine arm 70 
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: 
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, 
Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, 
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 
Hast. If they have done this thing, my gracious 

lord,— 
Glou. If! thou protector of this damned '< 
strumpet, 
Tellest thou me of 'ifs'? Thou art a traitor : 
Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear, 
I will not dine until I see the same. 
Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done : 80 

The rest, that love me, rise and follow me. 
[Exeunt all but Hastings, Ratcliff, and Lovel. 
Hast. Woe, woe for England ! not a whit for 
me; 
For I, too fond, might have prevented this. 
Stanley did dream the boar did raze his he'm ; 
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly : 



Scene iv.] 



K'lXG RICHARD III. 



575 



Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, 

And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, 

As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. 

0, now I want the priest that spake to me : 

I now repent I told the pursuivant, 90 

As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies, 

How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, 

And I myself secure in grace and favour. 

Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched hi 

Rat. Dispatch, my lord ; the duke would be at 
dinner: 
Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head. 

Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men. 
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks, 
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, 101 

Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 

Lov. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to 
exxlaim. 

Hast. O bloody Richard ! miserable England ! 

1 prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee 
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. 
Come, lead me to the block ; bear him my head : 
They smile at me that shortly shall be dead. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene V. The Tower-walls. 

Enter Gloucester and Buckingham, in rotten 
armour, marvellous ill-favoured. 

Clou. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and 
change thy colour, 
Murder thy breath in the middle of a word, 
And then begin again, and stop again. 
As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror? 

Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ; 
Speak and look back, and pry on every side, 
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
Intending deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
Are at my service, like enforced smiles; 
And both are ready in their offices, 10 

At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
But what, is Catesby gone? 

Glou. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor 
along. 

Enter the Mayer and Catesby. 
Buck. Lord mayor, — ■ 
Glou. Look to the drawbridge there ! 
Buck. Hark ! a drum. 
Glou. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. 
Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent — 
Glou. Lookback, defend thee, here are enemies. 
Buck. God and our innocency defend and 

guard us ! 20 

Glou. Be patient, they are friends, RatclifFand 

Lovel. 

Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, with Hastings' 
head. 
Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 
, I Glou. So dear I loved the man, that I must 

weep. 
I took him for the plainest harmless creature 
That breathed upon this earth a Christian ; 
Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded 



The history of all her secret thoughts : 
I So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, 
That, his apparent open guilt omitted, 30 

I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, 
He lived from all attainder of suspect. 

Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shel- 
ter'd traitor 
. That ever lived. 
Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
Were't not that, by great preservation, 
We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor 
This day had plotted, in the council-house 
To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester? 

May. What, had he so? 40 

Glou. What, think you we are Turks or infidels .' 
Or that we would, against the form of law, 
Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death, 
But that the extreme peril of the case, 
The peace of England and our persons' safety, 
Enforced us to this execution? 

May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserved his 
death ; 
And you my good lords, both have well proceeded, 
To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
I never look'd for better at his hands, 50 

After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. 

Glou. Yet had not we determined he should die, 
Until your lordship came to see his death ; 
Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented : 
Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
The manner and the purpose of his treason ; 
That you might well have signified the same 
Unto the citizens, who haply may 60 : 

Misconstrue us in him and wail his death. 

May. But, my good lord, your grace's word : 
shall serve, 
As well as I had seen and heard him speak : 
And doubt you not, right noble princes both, 
But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens 
With all your just proceedings in this cause. 

Glou. And to that end we wish'd your lord- 
ship here, 
To avoid the carping censures of the world. 

Buck. But since you come too late of our 
intents, 
Vet witness what you hear we did intend : 70 

And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 

[Exit Mayor. 

Glou. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post : 
There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, 
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, 
Only for saying he would make his son 
Heir to the crown ; meaning indeed his house, 
Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. 
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, 80 

And bestial appetite in change of lust ; 
Which stretched to their servants, daughters, 

wives, 
Even where his lustful eye or savage heart, 
Without control, listed to make his prey. 
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : 
Tell them, when that my mother went with child 
Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York 
My princely father then had wars in France ; 
And, by just computation of the time, 



57 6 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act in. 



Found that the issue was not his begot ; 90 

Which well appeared in his lineaments, 
Being nothing like the noble duke my father: 
But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
Because you know, my lord, my mother lives. 

Buck. Fear not, my lord, I '11 play the orator 
As if the golden fee for which I plead 
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. 

Glou. If you thrive well, bring them to Bay- 
nard's Castle ; 
Where you shall find me well accompanied 99 
With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops. 

Buck. I go ; and towards three or four o'clock 
Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. 

{Exit. 

Glou. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor 
Shaw; 
[To Cate.} Go thou to Friar Penker ; bid them both 
Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. 

[Exeunt all but Gloucester. 
Now will I in, to take some privy order, 
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight; 
And to give notice, that no manner of person 
At any time have recourse unto the princes. [Exit. 

Scene VI. The same. A street. 
Enter a Scrivener, ivith a paper in his hand. 
Scriv. This is the indictment of the good 

Lord Hastings ; 
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, 
That it may be this day read over in Paul's. 
And mark how well the sequel hangs together: 
Eleven hours I spent to write it over, 
For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me ; 
The precedent was full as long a-doing : 
And yet within these five hours lived Lord 

Hastings, 
Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. 
Here's a good world the while ! Why who's so 

gross, 10 

That seeth not this palpable device ? 
Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not? 
Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought, 
When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 

[Exit. 

Scene VII. Baynard's Castle. 

Enter Gloucester and Buckingham, at 

several doors. 

Glou. How now, my lord, what say the citizens ? 

Buck. Now, by the holy mother of our Lord, 
The citizens are mum and speak not a word. 

Glou. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's 
children? 

Buck. I did ; with his contract with Lady Lucy, 
And his contract by deputy in France ; 
The insatiate greediness of his desires, 
And his enforcement of the city wives ; 
His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, 
As being got, your father then in France, 10 

And his resemblance, being not like the duke : 
Withal I did infer your lineaments, 
Being the right idea of your father, 
Both in your form and nobleness of mind ; 
Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; 
Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose 



Untouch' d, or slightly handled, in discourse : 
And when mine oratory grew to an end, 2 

I bid them that did love their country's good 
Cry ' God save Richard, England's royal king !' 

Glou. Ah ! and did they so ? 

Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a 
word; 
But, like dumb statuas or breathing stones, 
Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale. 
Which when I saw, I reprehended them ; 
And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful ' 

silence : % 

His answer was, the people were not wont 
To be spoke to but by the recorder. 30 

Then he was urged to tell my tale again, 
' Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd ; ' 
But nothing spake in warrant from himself. 
When he had done, some followers of mine own, 
At the lower end of the hall, huiTd up their caps, 
And some ten voices cried ' God save King 

Richard ! ' 
And thus I took the vantage of those few, 
'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I ; 
'This general applause and loving shout 39 

Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:' 
And even here brake off, and came away. 

Glou. What tongueless blocks were they! 
would they not speak? 

Buck. No, by my troth, my lord. 

Glou. Will not the mayor then and his 
brethren come ? 

Buck. The mayor is here at hand : intend 
some fear ; 
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : 
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, 
And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord ; 
For on that ground I '11 build a holy descant : 
And be not easily won to our request : 50 

Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 

Glou. I go ; and if you plead as well for them 
As I can say nay to thee for myself, 
No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. 

B?cck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayor 
knocks. [Exit Gloucester. 

Enter the Mayor and Citizens. 
Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here ; 
I think the duke will not be spoke withal. 

Enter Catesby. 
Here comes his servant : how now, Catesby, 
What says he ? 

• Cate. My lord, he doth entreat your grace 
To visit him to-morrow or next day : 60 

He is within, with two right reverend fathers, 
Divinely bent to meditation ; 
And in no worldly suit would he be moved, 
To draw him from his holy exercise. 

Bicck. Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again ; 
Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens, 
In deep designs and matters of great moment, 
No less importing than our general good, 
Are come to have some conference with his grace. 

Cate. I'll tell him what you say, my lord. 70 

[Exit. 

Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an 
Edward ! 
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, 
But on his knees at meditation ; 



Scene, vii.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 

But meditating with two deep divines ; 

Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, 

But praying, to enrich his watchful soul: 

Happy were England, would this gracious prince 

Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: 

But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. 80 

May. Many, God forbid his grace should say 
us nay ! 

Buck. I fear he will. 

Re-enter Catesby. 

How now, Catesby, what says your lord ? 

Cate. My lord, 

He wonders to what end you have assembled 
Such troops of citizens to speak with him, 
His grace not being warn'd thereof before : 
My lord, he fears you mean no good to him. 

Buck. Sorry I am my noble cousin should 
Suspect me, that 1 mean no good to him : 
By heaven, I come in perfect love to him ; 90 
And so once more return and tell his grace. 

[Exit Catesby. 
When holy and devout religious men 
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence, 
So sweet is zealous contemplation. 

Enter Gloucester aloft, between two Bishops. 
Catesby returns. 

May. See, where he stands between two 
clergymen ! 

Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian 
prince, 
To stay him from the fall of vanity : 
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, 
True ornaments to know a holy man. 
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 100 
Lend favourable ears to our request; 
And pardon us the interruption 
Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. 

Glou. My lord, there needs no such apology- : 
I rather do beseech you pardon me, 
Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
Neglect the visitation of my friends. 
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure ? 

Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God 
above, 
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. no 

Glou. I do suspect 1 have done some offence 
That seems disgracious in the city's eye-. 
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 

Buck. 'You have, my lord: would it might 
please your grace, 
At our entreaties, to amend that fault ! 

Glou. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian 
land? 

Buck. Then know, it is your fault that you 
resign 
The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
The scepter'd office of your ancestors, 
Your state of fortune and your due of birth, 120 
The lineal glory of your royal house, 
To the conruption of a blemish'd stock : 
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
Which here we waken to our country's good, 
This noble isle doth want her proper limbs; 
Her face defaced with scars of infamy, 



Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 

And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf 

Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion. 

Which to recure, we heartily solicit 130 

Your gracious self to take on you the charge 

And kingly government of this your land , 

Not as protector, steward, substitute, 

Or lowly factor for another's gain ; 

But as successively from blood to blood, 

Your right of birth, your empery, your own. 

For this, consorted with the citizens, 

Your very worshipful and loving friends, 

And by their vehement instigation, 

In this just suit come I to move your grace. 140 

Glou. I know not whether to depart in silence, 
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof, 
Best fitteth my degree or your condition : 
If not to answer, you might haply think 
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded 
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, 
Which fondly you would here impose on me; 
If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
So season'd with your faithful love to me, 
Then, on the other side, I check' d my friends. 
Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first, 151 
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, 
Definitively thus 1 answer you. 
Your love deserves my thanks ; but my desert 
Unmeritable shuns your high request. 
First, if all obstacles were cut away, 
And that my path were even to the crown, 
As my ripe revenue and due by birth ; 
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, 
So mighty and so many my defects, 160 

As I had rather hide me from my greatness, 
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, 
Than in my greatness covet to be hid, 
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. 
But, God be thanked, there's no need of me, 
And much I need to help you, if need were; 
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
Will well become the seat of majesty, 
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 170 
On him I lay what you would lay on me, 
The right and fortune of his happy star- ; 
Which God defend that I should wring from him ! 

Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your 
grace ; 
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, 
All circumstances well considered. 
You say that Edward is your brother's son: 
So say we too, but not by Edward's 
For first he was contract to Lady Lucy — 
Your mother lives a witness to that vow — 180 
And afterward by substitute betroth'd 
in Bona, sister to the King of France. 
These both put by, a poor petitioner, 
A care-crazed mother of a many children, 
A beauty-waning and distressed widow, 
Even in the afternoon of her best 1 
Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye, 
Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts 
To base declension and loathed bigamy : 
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got- 190 

This Edward, whom our manners term the prince. 
More bitterly could I expostulate. 
Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 



578 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act in. 



Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 

This proffer'd benefit of dignity ; 

If not to bless us and the land withal, 

Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 

From the corruption of abusing times, 

Unto a lineal true-derived course. 200 

May. Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat 
you. 

Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd 
love. 

Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful 
suit! 

Glou. . Alas, why would you heap these cares 
on me? 
I am unfit for state and majesty: 
I do beseech you, take it not amiss ; 
I cannot nor I will not yield to you. 

Buck. If you refuse it, — as, in love and zeal, 
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; 
As well we know your tenderness of heart 210 
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, _ 
Which we have noted in you to your kin, 
And egally indeed to all estates, — 
Yet whether you accept our suit or no, 
Your brother's son shall never reign our king; 
But we will plant some other in the throne, 
To the disgrace and downfall of your house : 
And in this resolution here we leave you. — 
Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more. 

Glou. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. 
[Exit Buckhighmn with the Citizens. 

Cate. Call them again, my lord, and accept 
their suit. 221 

Another. Do, good my lord, lest all the land 
do rue it. 

Glou. Would you enforce me to a world of 
care? 
Well, call them again. I am not made of stone, 
But penetrable to your kind entreats, 
Albeit against my conscience and my soul. 

Re-enter Buckingham a?id the rest. 
Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men, 
Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no, 
I must have patience to endure the load : 230 
But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach 
Attend the sequel of your imposition, 
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
From all the impure blots and stains thereof; 
For God he knows, and you may partly see, 
How far I am from the desire thereof. 
May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and 

will say it. 
Glou. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. 
Buck. Then I salute you with this kingly 
title : 
Long live Richard, England's royal king ! 240 
May. and Cit. Amen. 
Buck. To-morrow will it please you to be 

crown' d? 
Glou. Even when you please, since you will 

have it so. 
Buck. To-morrow, then, we will attend your 
grace : 
And so most joyfully we take our leave. 

Glou. Come, let us to our holy task again. 
Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Before the Tower. 

Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess 
of York, and Marquess of Dorset ; on the 
other, Anne, Duchess of Gloucester, lead- 
ing Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clar- 
ence's young Daughter. 

Dzich. Who meets us here ? my niece Planta- 
genet 

Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? 

Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower, 

On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes. 

Daughter, well met. 

Anne. God give your graces both 

A happy and a joyful time of day ! 

Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister ! Whi- 
ther away ? 
Anne. No farther than the Tower; and, as I 
guess, 

Upon the like devotion as yourselves, 

To gratulate the gentle princes there. 10 

Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all 
together. 

Enter Brakenbury. 

And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. 
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, 
How doth the prince, and my young son of York? 
Brak. Right well, dear madam. By your 
patience, 
I may not suffer you to visit them ; 
The king hath straitly charged the contrary. 
Q. Eliz. The king ! why, who's that? 
Brak. I cry you mercy: I mean the lord 

protector. 
Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly 
title ! 20 

Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me? 
I am their mother; who should keep me from 
them? 
Ditch. I am their father's mother; I will see 

them. 
Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their 
mother : 
Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy 

blame 
And take thy office from thee, on my peril. 

Brak. No, madam, no; I may not leave it so: 
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 

[Exit. 

Enter Lord Stanley. 
Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour 
hence, 
And I '11 salute your grace of York as mother, 30 
And reverend looker on, of two fair queens. 
[To An7ie\ Come, madam, you must straight to 

Westminster, 
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 
Q. Eliz. O, cut my lace in sunder, that my 
pent heart 
May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon 
With this dead-killing news ! 

Anne. Despiteful tidings ! O unpleasingnews! 
Dor. Be of good cheer: mother, how fares 
your grace ? 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get 
thee hence ! 
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; 40 
Thy mother's name is ominous to children. 
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, 
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell : 
Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, 
Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; 
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, 
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 

Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, 
madam. 
Take all the swift advantage of the hours; 
You shall have letters from me to my son 50 

To meet you on the way, and welcome you. 
Be not ta en tardy by unwise delay. 

Duck. O ill-dispersing wind of misery ! 

my accursed womb, the bed of death ! 

A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, 
Whose unavoided eye is murderous. 

Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste 
was sent. 

Anne. And I in all unwillingness will go. 

1 would to God that the inclusive verge 

Of golden metal that must round my brow 60 
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! 
Anointed let me be with deadly venom, 
And die, ere men can say, God save the queen ! 

Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor sou!, I envynot th 
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. 
Anne. No ! why? When he that is my husband 

now 
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse, 
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his 

hands 
Which issued from my other angel husband 
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd ; 
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, 71 
This was my wish : ' Be thou," quoth I, ' accursed, 
For making me, so young, so old a widow ! 
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed ; 
And be thy wife — if any be so mad — 
As miserable by the life of thee 
As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death !' 
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, 
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart 
Grossly grew captive to his honey words 80 

And proved the subject of my own soul's curse, 
Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest; 
For never yet one hour in his bed 
Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep, 
But have been waked by his timorous dreams. 
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; 
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ! I pity thy com- 
plaining. 
Anne. No more than from my soul I mourn 

for yours. 
Q. Eliz. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of 

glory ! 90 

A nne. Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave 

of it! 
Ditch. [To Dorset] Go thou to Richmond, and 

good fortune guide thee ! 
[To Anne] Go thou to Richard, and good angels 

guard thee ! 
[To Queen Eliz.] Go thou to sanctuary, and good 

thoughts possess thee ! 
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 



Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, 
And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. 
Q. Eliz. Stay, yet look back with me unto the 
Tower. 
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes 
Whom envy hath immured within your walls ! 100 
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! 
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow 
For tender princes, use my babies well ! 
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. The palace. 

Enter Richard, in pomp, crowned; 
Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and others. 
K. Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buck- 
ingham ! 
Buck. My gracious sovereign? 
K. Rich. Give me thy hand. [Here he ascend- 
eth his throne.] Thus high, by thy advice 
And thy assistance, is King Richard seated: 
But shall we wear these honours for a day? 
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? 

Buck. Still live they and for ever may they 

last ! 
K. Rich. O Buckingham, now do I play the 
touch, 
To try if thou be current gold indeed : 
Young Edward lives : think now what I would say. 
Buck. Say on, my loving lord. n 

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would 

be king. 
Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice renowned 

liege. 
K. Rich. Ha ! am I king? 'tis so : but Edward 

lives. 
Buck. True, noble prince. 
K. Rich. O bitter consequence, 

That Edward still should live ! ' True, noble 

prince ! ' 
Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull : 
Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; 
And I would have it suddenly perform'd. 
What sayest thou? speak suddenly ; be brief. 20 
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 
K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kind- 
ness freeze th: 
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? 
Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, 
my lord, 
Before I positively speak herein : 
I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit. 
Cate. [Aside to a slander by] The king is angry : 

see, he bites the lip. 
K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools 
And unrespective boys : none are for me 
That look into me with considerate eyes: 30 

High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
Boy! 
Page. My lord? 

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any whom cor- 
rupting gold 
Would tempt unto a close exploit of death? 
Page. My lord, I know a discontented gen- 
tleman, 
Whose humble means match not his haughty- 
mind : 
Gold were as good as twenty orators, 

37—2 



5 8o 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act iv» 



And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 39 

K. Rich. What is his name ? 

Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. 

K. Rich. I partly know the man : go, call him 
hither. {Exit Page. 

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham 
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel : 
Hath he so long held out with me untired, 
And stops he now for breath ? 

Enter Stanley. 

How now ! what news with you? 

Stan. My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's 
fled 
To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea 
Where he abides. {Stands apart. 

K. Rich. Catesby! 

Cate. My lord? 50 

K. Rich. Rumour it abroad 
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die : 
I will take order for her keeping close. 
Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, 
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daugh- 
ter : 
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. 
Look, how thou dream'st ! I say again, give out 
That Anne my wife is sick and like to die : 
About it ; for it stands me much upon, 59 

To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. 
{Exit Catesby. 
I must be married to my brother's daughter, 
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. 
Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
Uncertain way of gain ! But I am in 
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin : 
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. 

Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel. 

Is thy name Tyrrel? 

Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient 

subjecl. 
K. Rich. Art thou, indeed? 
Tyr. Prove me, my gracious sovereign. 

K. Rich. Darest thou resolve to kill a friend 
of mine ? 70 

Tyr. Ay, my lord ; 
But I had rather kill two enemies. 
K. Rich. Why, there thou hast it: two deep 
enemies, 
Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers 
Are they that I would have thee deal upon : 
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, 
And soon I '11 rid you from the fear of them. 
K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, 
come hither, Tyrrel : 
Go, by this token : rise, and lend thine ear : 80 
[ Whispers. 
There is no more but so : say it is done, 
And I will love thee, and prefer thee too. 
Tyr. 'Tis done, my gracious lord. 
K. Rich. Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere 

we sleep ? 
Tyr. Ye shall, my lord. {Exit. 

Re-enter Buckingham. 
Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 



The late demand that you did sound me in. 
K. Rich. Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled 

to Richmond. 
Buck. I hear that news, my lord. 
A'. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : well, 
look to it. 90 

Buck. My lord, I claim your gift, my due by 
promise, 
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd ; 
The earldom of Hereford and the moveables 
The which you promised I should possess. 

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife : if she 
convey 
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 
Buck. What says your highness to my just 

demand ? 
K. Rich. As I remember, Henry the Sixth 
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, 
When Richmond was a little peevish boy. 100 
A king, perhaps, perhaps, — 
Buck. My lord ! 

K. Rich. How chance the prophet could not 
at that time 
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? 
Buck. My lord, your promise for the earl- 
dom, — 
K. Rich. Richmond ! When last I was at 
Exeter, 
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, 
And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I 

started, 
Because a bard of Ireland told me once, 
I should not live long after I saw Richmond. no 
Buck. My lord ! 
K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock? 
Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in mind 
Of what you promised me. 
K. Rich. ■ Well, but what's o'clock? 

Buck. Upon the stroke of ten. 
A". Rich. Well, let it strike. 

Buck. Why let it strike ? 

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou 
keep'st the stroke 
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
I am not in the giving vein to-day. 
Buck. Why, then resolve me whether you 
will or no. 120 

K. Rich. Tut, tut, 
Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein. 

{Exe?int all but Buckingham. 

Buck. Is it even so? rewards he my true service 

With such deep contempt? made I him king for 

this? 
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone 
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on ! 

{Exit. 

Scene III. The same. 
E?iter Tyrrel. 

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody deed is done, 
The most arch a<5t of piteous massacre 
That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
To do this ruthless piece of butchery, 
Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion 
Wept like two children in their dea ths' sad stories. 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



'Lo, thus,' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender 

babes : ' 
' Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, ' girdling one another 
Within their innocent alabaster arms : n 

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, 
Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. 

I A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; 

! Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my 
mind ; 

! But O ! the devil' — there the villain stopp'd ; 
Whilst Dighton thus told on : 'We smothered 
The most replenished sweet work of nature, 
That from the prime creation e'er she framed.' 
Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse ; 
They could not speak ; and so I left them both, 
To bring this tidings to the bloody king. 
And here he comes. 

Enter King Richard. 

All hail, my sovereign liege ! 
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in tin- 
news ? 
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in 
charge 
Beget your happiness, be happy then, 
For it is done, my lord. 
K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? 

Tyr. I did, my lord. 

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried 
them ; 
But how or in what place I do not know. 30 

A*. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after 
supper, 
And thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, 
And be inheritor of thy desire. 
Farewell till soon. [Exit Tyrrel. 

The son of Clarence have I pent up close ; 
His daughter meanly have I match' d in marriage : 
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, 
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good 

night. 
Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims 40 
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
.And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown, 
To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer. 

Enter Catesby. 
Cate. My lord ! 
K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou comest 

in so bluntly? 
Cate. Bad news, my lord : Ely is fled to 
Richmond ; 
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh- 
men, 
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 
K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me 
more near 
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army. 50 
Come, I have heard that fearful commenting 
Is leaden servitor to dull delay ; 
Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary : 
Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king ! 
Come, muster men : my counsel is my shield ; 
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene IV. Before the palace. 
Enter Queen Margaret. 
Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow 
And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, 
To watch the waning of mine adversaries. 
A dire induction am I witness to, 
And will to France, hoping the consequence 
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes 
here? 

Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess 
of York. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, my young princes ! ah, my 
tender babes ! 
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! 10 
If yet 3 r our gentle souls fly in the air 
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, 
Hover about me with your airy wings 
And hear your mother's lamental i 

Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right 
for right 
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 
Duch. So many miseries have crazed my 
voice, 
That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb, 
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead ? 

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. 
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 21 

Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such 
gentle lambs, 
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
When didst thou sleep when such a deed was 
done ? 
Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my 

sweet son. 
Duch. Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal 
living ghost, 
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 

usurp'd, 
Brief abstract and record of tedious days. 
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 

[Sittin 
Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood! 30 
Q. Eliz. O, that thou wouldst as well afford a 
grave 
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ! 
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. 
O, who hath any cause to mourn but 1 '.' 

[Sitting down by her. 
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverend, 
Give mine the benefit ofseniory, 
And let my woes frown on the upper hand. 
If sorrow can admit society, 

[Sitting down with then;. 
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : 
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 40 
I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him: 
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; 
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst 
kill him ; 
I had a Rutland too. th u holp'st to kill him. 
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and 
Richard kill'd him. 
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
A he'1-hound that doth hunt us all to death : 



582 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act iv. 



That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, 50 
That foul defacer of God's handiwork, 
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, 
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. 

upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur 
Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 

Ami makes her pew-fellow with others' moan ! 

Duck. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my 
woes! 
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 60 

Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for 
revenge, 
And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
Thy Edward he is,dead,that stabb'd my Edward; 
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; 
Young York he is but boot, because both they 
Match not the high perfection of my loss : 
Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward ; 
And the beholders of this tragic play, 
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 70 
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer, 
Only reserved their factor, to buy souls 
And send them thither : but at hand, at hand, 
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
To have him suddenly convey'd away. 
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, 
That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! 

Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time 
would come 
That I should wish for thee to help me curse 80 
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad ! 

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then vain flourish of 
my fortune ; 

1 call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen ; 
The presentation of but what I was ; 

The flattering index of a direful pageant ; 

One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below; 

A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes ; 

A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble, 

A sign of dignity, a garish flag, 

To be the aim of every dangerous shot; 90 

A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 

Where is thy husband now? where be thy bro- 
thers? 

Where are thy children? wherein dost thou joy? 

Who sues to thee and cries ' God save the queen ' ? 

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? 

Where be the thronging troops thatfollow'd thee? 

Decline all this, and see what now thou art : 

For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 

For joyful mother, one that wails the name; 

For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care ; 100 

For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; 

For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 

For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one; 

For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 

Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, 

And left thee but a very prey to time; 

Having no more but thought of what thou wert, 

To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 

Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not 

Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? no 

Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd 
yoke; 



From which even here I slip my weary neck, 
And leave the burthen of it all on thee. 
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis- 
chance : 
These English woes will make me smile in 
France. 
Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, sta)' 
awhile, 
And teach me how to curse mine enemies ! 

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast 
the days; 
Compare dead happiness with living woe ; 
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, 
And he that slew them fouler than he is : 121 
Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse : 
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. 
Q. Eliz. My words are dull ; O, quicken them 

with thine ! 
Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
pierce like mine. [E.rit. 

Duck. Why should calamity be full of words? 
Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, 
Airy succeeders of intestate joys, 
Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
Let them have scope : though what they do im- 
part 130 
Help not at all, 3'et do they ease the heart. 
Dzich. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with 
me, 
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother 
My damned son, > which thy two sweet sons 

smother'd. 
I hear his drum : be copious in exclaims. 

Enter King Richard, marching, -with drums 
and trumpets. 
R~. Rich. Who intercepts my expedition? 
Duch. O, she that might have intercepted 
thee, 
By strangling thee in her accursed womb, 
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast 
done ! 
Q. Eliz. Hidest thou that forehead with a 
golden crown, 140 

Where should be graven, if that right were right, 
The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown, 
And the dire death of my two sons and brothers? 
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my chil- 
dren? 
Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy 
brother Clarence? 
And little Ned Plantagenet. his son? 

Q. Eliz. Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, 

Vaughan, Grey? 
K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets ! strike alarum, 
drums! 
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
Rail on the Lord's anointed : strike, I say ! 150 
\_Flo7irish. Alarums. 
Either be patient, and entreat me fair, 
Or with the clamorous report of war 
Thus will I drown your exclamations. 
Duch. Art thou my son? 
K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my father, and 

yourself. 
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your 
condition, 
Which cannot brook the accent of reproof. 



Scene iv.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



583 



Duck. O, let me speak ! 

K. Rich. Do then; but I'll noj hear. 159 

Ditch. I will be mild and gentle in my speech. 
K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am 

in haste. 
Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for 
thee, 
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony. 

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort 

you? 
Ditch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it 
well, 
Thou earnest on earth to make the earth my hell. 
A grievous burthen was thy birth to me ; 
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ; 
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and 

furious, 
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and ven- 
turous, '170 
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, bloody, trea- 
cherous, 
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : 
What comfortable hour canst thou name, 
That ever graced me in thy company? 

A'. Rich. Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, 
that call'd your grace 
To breakfast once forth of my company. 
If I be so disgracious in your sight, 
Let me march on, and not offend your grace. 
Strike up the drum. 
Ditch. I prithee, hear me speak. 

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 
Duch. Hear me a word; 180 

For I shall never speak to thee again. 
A'. Rich. So. 

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just 
ordinance, 
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, 
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish 
And never look upon thy face again. 
Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse ; 
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more 
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st ! 
My prayers on the adverse party fight ; 190 

And there the little souls of Edward's children 
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies 
And promise them success and victory. 
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; 
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. 

[Exit. 
Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much 
less spirit to curse 
Abides in me ; I say amen to all. 

A". Rich. Stay, madam; I must speak a word 

with you. 

Q. Eliz. I have no moe sons of the royal 

blood 199 

For thee to murder : for my daughters, Richard, 

They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; 

And therefore level not to hit their lives. 

A'. Rich. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, 
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let 
her live, 
And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty ; 
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed ; 
Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
1 will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 



K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal 

blood. 
Q. Eliz. To save her life, I '11 say she is not so. 
A". Rich. Her life is only safest in her birth. 
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her ■ 

brothers. 
A". Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were 

opposite. 
Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were 

contrary. 
K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 
Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes 
destiny : 
My babes were destined to a fairer death, 
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. 220 
A". Rich. You speak as if that I had slain my 

cousins. 
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle 
cozen'd 
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, 
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : 
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt 
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, 
To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys 
Till that my nails were anchord in thine eyes ; 
And I, in such a desperate bay of death, 
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise 
And dangerous success of bloody wars, 
As I intend more good to you and yours 
Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd ! 
Q. Eliz. What good is covcr'd with the face 
of heaven, 
To be discover'd, that can do me good? 240 

K.Rich. The advancement of your children, 

gentle lady. 
Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose 

their heads? 
K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of 
honour. 
The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; 
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, 
Canst thou demise to any child of mine? 
A". Rich. Even all I have; yea, and myself 
and all. 
Will I withal endow a child of thine ; 
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 250 

Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs 
Which thou supposest I have done to thee. 

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy 
kindness 
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. 
A*. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I 

love thy daughter. 
Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with 

her soul. 
K. Rich. What do you think? 
Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter 
from thy soul : 
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her 
brothers ; 259 

And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. 
A". Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my 
meaning : 



584 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act iv. 



I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, 
And mean to make her queen of England. 

Q. Eliz. Say then, who dost thou mean shall 
be her king? 

K. Rich. Even he that makes her queen: who 
should be else? 

Q. Eliz. What, thou? 

K. Rich. I, even I: what think you of it, 
madam? 

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her? 

K. Rich. That would I learn of you, 

As one that are best acquainted with her humour. 

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me? 

K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. 270 

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew 
her brothers, 
A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave 
Edward and York ; then haply she will weep : 
Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — 
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain 
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body. 
And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith. 
If this inducement force her not to love, 
Send her a story of thy noble acts ; 280 

Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence, 
Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake, 
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt 
Anne. 

K. Rich. Come, come, you mock me; this is 
not the way 
To win your daughter. 

Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; 

Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, 
And not be Richard that hath done all this. 

K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of her. 

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose 
but hate thee, 
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 290 

K. R ich. Look, what is done cannot be now 
amended: 
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, 
Which after hours give leisure to repent. 
If I did take the kingdom from your sons, 
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. 
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, 
To quicken your increase, I will beget 
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter: 
A grandam's name is little less in love 
Than is the doting title of a mother ; 300 

They are as children but one step below, 
Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans 
Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
Your children were vexation to your youth, 
But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
The loss you have is but a son being king, 
And by that loss your daughter is made queen. 
I cannot make you what amends I would, 
Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 310 

Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul 
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, 
This fair alliance quickly shall call home . 
To high promotions and great dignity : 
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife, 
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother ; 
Again shall you be mother to a king, 
And all the ruins of distressful times 
Repair'd with double riches of content. 



What ! we have many goodly days to see : 320 
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed 
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, 
Advantaging their loan with interest 
Often times double gain of happiness. 
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go ; 
Make bold her bashful years with your experience ; 
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ; 
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess 
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : 330 
And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come 
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ; 
To whom I will retail my conquest won, 
And she shall be sole victress, Csesar's Caesar. 
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's 
brother 
Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle? 
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles? 
Under what title shall I woo for thee, 340 

That God, the law, my honour and her love, 
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? 
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this 

alliance. 
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still 

lasting war. 
K. Rich. Say that the king, which may coirf- 

mand, entreats. 
Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the king's 

King forbids. 
K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty 

queen. 
Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. 
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. 
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title 'ever' 
last? 350 

K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's 

end. 
Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet 

life last? 
K. Rich. So long as heaven and nature 

lengthens it. 
Q. Eliz. So long as hell and Richard likes of it. 
K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject 

love. 
Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such 

sovereignty. 
K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 
Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being 

plainly told. 
K. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my 

loving tale. 
Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh a 
style. 360 

K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too 

quick. 
Q. Eliz. O no, my reasons are too deep and 
dead; 
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave. 
A'. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; 

that is past. 
Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heart- 
strings break. 
K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and 

my crown, — 
Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonour' d, and the third 
usurp'd. 



K. Rich. I swear — 

Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath : 

The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; 
The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue ; 
The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory. 
If something thou wilt swear to be believed, 
Swear then by something that thou hast not 
wrong'd. 
K. Rich. Now, by the world — 
Q. Eliz. "lis full of thy foul wrongs. 

K. Rich. My father's death— 
Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. 

K. Rich. Then, by myself— 
Q. Eliz. Thyself thyself misusest. 

K. Rich. Why then, by God— 
Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 

If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, 
The unity the king thy brother made 
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain : 380 
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, 
The imperial metal, circling now thy brow, 
Had graced the tender temples of my child, 
And both the princes had been breathing here, 
Which now, two tender playfellows for dust, 
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. 
What canst thou swear by now? 

A". Rich. The time to come. 

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time 

o'erpast ; 

For I myself have many tears to wash 389 

Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. 

The children live, whose parents thou hast 

slaughter'd, 
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age ; 
The parents live, whose children thou hast 

butcher'd, 
Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age. 
Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast 
Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast. 

A". Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent, 
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours ! 400 
Day, yield me not thy light ; nor, night, thy rest ! 
Be opposite all planets of good luck 
To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love, 
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
T tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ! 
In her consists my happiness and thine ; 
Without her, follows to this land and me, 
To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul, 
Death, desolation, ruin and decay : 
Tt cannot be avoided but by this; 410 

It will not be avoided but by this. 
Therefore, good mother, — I must call you so — 
Be the attorney of my love to her : 
Plead what I will be, not what I have been; 
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
Urge the necessity and state of times, 
And be not peevish-fond in great designs. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 
K. Rich. Ay. if the devil tempt thee to do good. 
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself? 420 
A'. Rich. Ay, if yourself 's remembrance wrong 

yourself. 
Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. 
A'. Rich, lint in your daughter's womb I 
bury them : 
Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed 



Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ? 

A". Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 

Q. Eliz. I go. Write to me very shortly, 
And you shall understand from me her mind. 

A'. Rich. Bear her my true love's Id 

so, farewell. [Exit Queen Elizabeth. 430 
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman ! 

Enter Ratcliff; Catesby following. 
How now! what news? 
Rat. My gracious sovereign, on the western 
coast 
Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 

many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back: 
'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; 
And there they hull, expecling but the aid 
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. 
K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the 
Duke of Norfolk : 440 

Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he? 
Cate. Here, my lord. 

K. Rich. Fly to' the duke: [To Ratcliff] Post 
thou to Salisbury : 
When thou comest thither,— [To Catesby] Dull, 

unmindful villain, 
Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke? 
Cate. First, mighty sovereign, let me know 
your mind, 
What from your grace I shall deliver to him. 
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy 
straight 
The greatest strength and power he can make, 
And meet me presently at Salisbury. 450 

Cate. I go. [Exit. 

Rat. What is 't your highness' pleasure I shall do 
At Salisbury? 

A". Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there 

before I go? 
Rat. Your highness told me I should .post 

before. 
A'. Rich. My mind is changed, sir, my mind 
is changed. 

Enter Lord Stanley. 
How now, what news with you? 
Stan. None good, my lord, to please you with 
the hearing ; 
Nor none so bad, but it may well be told. 
K. Rich. Hoyday, a riddle ! neither good nor 
bad ! 4 6o 

Why dost thou run so many mile about, 
When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way? 
Once more, what news? 
Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 

A'. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas 
on him ! 
White-liver d runagate, what doth he there? 
Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by 

guess. 
A". Rich. Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess? 
Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and 
Ely, 
He makes for England, there to claim the crown. 
A'. Rich. Is tiie chair empty? is the sword 
unsway'd? ^ Q 

Is the king dead? the empire unposse.-s'd? 
What heir of York is there alive but we? 



586 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act iv. 



And who is England's king but great York's heir? 
Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea? 

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 
K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your 
liege, 
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 

Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust 

me not. 
K. Rich. Where is thy power, then, to beat 
him back? 4 8 ° 

Where are thy tenants and thy followers? 
Are they not now upon the western shore, 
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? 
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in 

the north. 
K. Rich. Cold friends to Richard: what do 
they in the north, 
When they should serve their sovereign in the 
west? 
Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty 
sovereign : 
Please it your majesty to give me leave, 
I '11 muster up my friends, and meet your grace 
Where and what time your majesty shall please. 
K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join 
with Richmond : 
I will not trust you, sir. 

Stan. Most mighty sovereign, 

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful : 
I never was nor never will be false. 

K. Rich. Well, 
Go muster men ; but, hear you, leave behind 
Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be 

firm, 
Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 

Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to you. 

[Exit. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devon- 
shire, 500 
As I by friends am well advertised, 
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate 
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there, 
With many moe confederates, are in arms. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Sec. Mess. My liege, in Kent the Guildfords 
are in arms ; 
And every hour more competitors 
Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Third Mess. My lord, the army of the Duke 

of Buckingham — 
K. Rich. Out on you, owls ! nothing but songs 
of death ? [He striketh him. 

Take that, until thou bring me better news. 510 
Third Mess. The news I have to tell your 
majesty 
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd ; 
And he himself wander'd away alone, 
No man knows whither. 

K. Rich. I cry thee mercy : 

There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. 
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd 
Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 



Third Mess. Such proclamation hath been 
made, my liege. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Fourth Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord 
Marquis Dorset, 520 

'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. 
Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace, 
The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest : 
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks 
If they were his assistants, yea or no ; 
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 
Upon his party : he, mistrusting them, 
Hoised sail and made away for Brittany. 

K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are 
up in arms ; 530 

If not to fight with foreign enemies, 
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 

Re-enter Catesby. 
Cate. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is 
taken ; 
That is the best news : that the Earl of Richmond 
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. 
K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury! while we 
reason here, 
A royal battle might be won and lost : 
Some one take order Buckingham be brought 
To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. 540 
[Flourish. Exeimt. 

Scene V. Lord Derby's house. 
Enter Derby and Sir Christopher Urswick. 

Der. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from 
me: 
That in the sty of this most bloody boar 
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold : 
If I revolt, off goes young George's head; 
The fear of that withholds my present aid. 
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? 

Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in 
Wales. 

Der. What men of name resort to him? 

Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; 
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley ; 10 

Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, 
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; 
And many moe of noble fame and worth : 
And towards London they do bend their course, 
If by the way they be not fought withal. 

Der. Return unto thy lord; commend me to 
him: 
Tell him the queen hath heartily consented 
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
Farewell. [Exeunt. 20 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Salisbury. An open place. 

Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham, with hal- 
berds, led to executio?i. 
Buck. Will not King Richard let me speak 

with him ? 
Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient. 



Scene i.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



587 



Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, 

Grey, 
Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
By underhand corrupted foul injustice, 
If that your moody discontented souls 
Do through the clouds behold this present hour, 
Even for revenge mock my destruction ! 
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not? 10 

Sher. It is, my lord. 
Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's 

doomsday. 
This is the day that, in King Edward's time, 
1 wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
False to his children or his wife's allies; 
This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall 
By the false faith of him I trusted most ; 
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul 
Is the determined respite of my wrongs : 
That high All-Seer that I dallied with 20 

Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head 
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms : 
Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head : 
' When he,' quoth she, ' shall split thy heart with 

sorrow, 
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.' 
Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame; 
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of 

blame. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The camp near Tamworth. 

Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, 
and others, with drum and colours. 

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving 

friends, 
Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, 
Thus far into the bowels of the land 
Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
And here receive we from our father Stanley 
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, 
That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful 

vines, 
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 

trough 
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 10 
Lies now even in the centre of this isle, 
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. 
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, 
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 

Ox/. Every man's conscience is a thousand 

swords, 
To fight against that bloody homicide. 

Herb. I doubt not but his friends will fly to us. 
Blunt. He hath no friends but who are friends 

for fear, 20 

Which in his greatest need will shrink from him. 

Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's 

name, march : 
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's 

wings ; 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene III. Bosworth Field. 

Enter King Richard in arms, with Norfolk, 
the Earl of Surrey, and otlters. 

K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in 
Bosworth field. 
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? 
Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my 

looks. 
K. Rich. My Lord of Norfolk,— 
Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha ! 

must we not ? 
Nor. We must both give and take, my gra- 
cious lord. 
K. Rich. Up with my tent there ! here will I 
lie to-night ; 
But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. 
Who hath descried the number of the foe ? 
Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost 
power. 10 

K. Rich. Why, our battalion trebles that 
account : 
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
Which they upon the adverse party want. 
Up with my tent there ! Valiant gentlemen, 
Let us survey the vantage of the field; 
Call for some men of sound direction : 
Let 's want no discipline, make no delay ; 
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 

Enter, on the other side 0/ the field, Richmond, 

Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and others. 

Sotne oj the Soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. 

Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden 
set, 
And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 20 

Gives signal of a goodly day to-morrow. 
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. 
Give me some ink and paper in my tent : 
I'll draw the form and model of our battle, 
Limit each leader to his several charge, 
And part in just proportion our small strength. 
My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon, 
And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. 
The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment : 
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, 
And by the second hour in the morning 31 

Desire the earl to see me in my tent: 
Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou 

go' st, 
Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know? 

Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours 
much, 
Which well I am assured I have not done, 
His regiment lies half a mile at least 
South from the mighty power <>f the king. 

Richm. If without peril it be possible, 39 

Good captain Blunt, bear my good-night to Aim, 
And give him from me this most needful scroll. 

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, 1 '11 under- 
take it ; 
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night ! 

Rich in. Good night, good Captain Blunt. 
Come, gentlemen, 
Lei us consult upon to-morrow's business: 
In to our tent; the air is raw and cold. 

[They withdraw into the tent. 



Enter, to his tent, King Richard, Norfolk, 
Ratcliff, Catesby, and others. 

K. Rich. What is't o'clock? 

Cate. It's supper-time, my lord ; 

It's nine o'clock. 

K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. 
Give me some ink and paper. 
What, is my beaver easier than it was? 50 

And all my armour laid into my tent? 

Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in 
readiness. 

K. Rich. Good Norfolk,'hie thee to thy charge ; 
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 

Nor. I go, my lord. 

K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle 
Norfolk. 

Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit. 

K. Rich. Catesby ! 

Cate. My lord? 

K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 

To Stanley's regiment ; bid him bring his power 
Before sunrising, lest his son George fall 61 

Into the blind cave of eternal night. 

[Exit Catesby. 
Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. 
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. 
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. 
Ratcliff! 

Rat. My lord? 

K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord 
Northumberland ? 

Rat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, 
Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop 70 
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. 

K. Rich. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl 
of wine : 
I have not that alacrity of spirit, 
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. 
Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? 

Rat. It is, my lord. 

K. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. 

Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent 
And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. 

[Exeunt Ratcliff and the other A tte7ida7its. 

Enter Derby to Richmond in his tent, Lords 
and others attending. 

Der. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 

Richm. All comfort that the dark night can 
afford 80 

Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
Tell me, how fares our loving mother? 

Der. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy 
mother, 
Who prays continually for Richmond's good : 
So much for that. The silent hours steal on, 
And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
In brief, — for so the season bids us be, — 
Prepare thy battle early in the morning, 
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. 90 

I, as I may — that which I would I cannot, — 
With best advantage will deceive the time, 
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms : 
But on thy side I may not be too forward, 
Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, 
Be executed in his father's sight. 



Farewell : the leisure and the fearful time 
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love 
And ample interchange of sweet discourse, 
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon : 
God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 101 
Once more, adieu : be valiant, and speed well ! 
RicJi7ii. Good lords, conduct him to his regi- 
ment: 
I '11 strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap, 
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, 
When I should mount with wings of victory : 
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. 
[Exeunt all but Richmond. 
O Thou, whose captain I account myself, 
Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, no 
That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
The usurping helmets of our adversaries ! 
Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
That we may praise thee in the victory ! 
To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes : 
Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still ! 

[Sleeps. 

Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, son to 
Henry the Sixth. 

Ghost. [To Richard] Let me sit heavy on 

thy soul to-morrow ! 
Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth 
At Tewksbury : despair, therefore, and die ! 120 
[To Richmond] Be cheerful, Richmond; for 

the wronged souls 
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 

Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth. 
Ghost. [To Richard] When I was mortal, my 
anointed body 
By thee was punched full of deadly holes : 
Think on the Tower and me : despair, and die ! 
Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die ! 
[To Richmond] Virtuous and holy, be thou 

conqueror ! 
Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king, 
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep : live, and flourish ! 

E7iter the Ghost of Clarence. 
Ghost. [To Richard] Let me sit heavy on 

thy soul to-morrow ! 131 

I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, 
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death ! 
To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die ! — 
[To R ich/no7id] Thou offspring of the house of 

Lancaster, 
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee : 
Good angels guard thy battle ! live, and flourish ! 

E7iter the Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, a7id 

Vaughan. 
Ghost of R. [To Richard] Let me sit heavy 
on thy soul to-morrow, 
Rivers, that died at Pomfret ! despair, and die ! 
Ghost ofG. [To Richard] Think upon Grey, 
and let thy soul despair ! 141 

Ghost of V. [To Richard] Think upon 
Vaughan, and, with guilty fear, 



Scene hi.] 



AV.VC RICHARD III. 



589 



Let fall thy lance : despair, and diel 
All. [To Richmond} Awake, and think our 
wrongs in Richard's bosom 
Will conquer him ! awake, and win the day ! 

Enter the Ghost of Hastings. 
Ghost. [To Richard] Bloody and guilty, 
guiltily awake, 
And in a bloody battle end thy days ! 
Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die! 
[To Richmond] (Juiet untroubled soul, awake, 

awake ! 
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake ! 

Enter the Ghosts of the tiuo young Princes. 
Ghosts. [To Richard] Dream on thy cousins 
smother'd in the Tower : 151 

Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death ! 
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die ! 
[To Richmond] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in 

peace, and wake in joy ; 
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! 
i Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 

Enter the Ghost ^/"Lady Anne. 
Ghost. [To Richard] Richard, thy wife, that 
wretched Anne thy wife, 
That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 160 

Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die ! 
'[To Richmond] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a 

quiet sleep ; 
Dream of success and happy victory ! 
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 

Etiter the Ghost ^/Buckingham. 
Ghost. [To Richard] The first was I that 
helped thee to the crown ; 
The last was I that felt thy tyranny : 
O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
And die in terror of thy guiltiness ! 170 

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death : 
Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath ! 
[To Richmond] I died for hope ere I could 

lend thee aid : 
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd : 
God and good angels fight on Richmond's side ; 
And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 

[The Ghosts z'anish. King Richard starts 
out of his dream. 
K. Rich. Give me another horse : bind up my 
wounds. 
Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ! I did but dream. 
(J coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! 
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. 
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by : 
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. 
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am : 
Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason 

wh y : 
Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? 
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good 
That I myself have done unto myself? 
O, no ! alas, I rather hate myself 
For hateful deeds committed by myself! 190 



I am a villain: yet I lie, 1 am n >t. 
Fool, of thyself speak well : fool, do not flatter. 
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; 
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree; 
All several sins, all used in each degree, 
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty ! guilty! 
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me ; 
And if I die, no soul shall pity me: 201 

Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself 
Find in myself no pity to myself? 
Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd 
Came to my tent; and every one did threat 
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 

Enter Ratcliff. 

Rat. My lord ! 

K. Rich. 'Zounds! who is there? 
Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early 
village-cock 
Hath twice done salutation to the morn ; 210 

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 
K. Rich. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful 
dream ! 
What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all 
true ? 
Rat. No doubt, my lord. 

K. Rich. OR uclifF, I fear, I fear,— 

Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of 

shadows. 
K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to- 
night 
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard 
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers 
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
It is not yet near clay. Come, go with me; 220 
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, 
To see if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt. 

Enter t/ie Lords to Richmond, sitting i?i his 
tent. 
Lords. Good morrow, Richmond ! 
Richm. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentle- 
men. 
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
Lords. How have you slept, up 
Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding 
dreams 
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, 
Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard 
murder'd, 230 

Came to my tent, and cried on victory: 
I promise you. my soul is very jocund 
In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
How far into the morning is it, lords? 
Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give 
direction. 

His oration to his so/diers. 
More than I have said, loving countrymen, 
The leisure and enforcement of the time 
Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this, 
God and our good cause fight upon our side ; 240 
The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, 
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces: 



59° 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act v. 



Richard except, those whom we fight against 
Had rather have us win than him they follow : 
For what is he they follow ? truly, gentlemen, 
A bloody tyrant and a homicide; 
One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd ; 
One that made means to come by what he hath, 
And slaughter'd those that were the means to 

help him ; 
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil 250 
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; 
One that hath ever been God's enemy : 
Then, if you fight against God's enemy, 
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers; 
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
If you do fight against your country's foes, 
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ; 
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
If you do free your children from the sword, 261 
Your children's children quit it in your age. 
Then, in the name of God and all these rights. 
Advance your standards, draw your willing 

swords. 
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheer- 
fully ; 
God and Saint George ! Richmond and victory ! 
[Exeunt. 2 70 

Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, A ttend- 
ants and Forces. 

K. Rich. What said Northumberland as touch- 
ing Richmond? 
Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 
K. Rich. He said the truth: and what said 

Surrey then? 
Rat. He smiled and said 'The better for our 

purpose.' 
K. Rich. He was in the right; and so indeed 
it is. [Clock striketh. 

Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. 
Who saw the sun to-day? 
Rat. Not I, my lord. 

K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for by 
the book 
He should have braved the east an hour ago: 
A black day will it be to somebody. 280 

Ratcliff! 
Rat. My lord ? 

K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; 

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
I would these dewy tears were from the ground. 
Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me 
More than to Richmond ? for the selfsame heaven 
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. 

Enter Norfolk. 
Nor. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in 

the field. 
K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison 
my horse. 
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power : 
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 291 

And thus my battle shall be ordered : 



My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, 

Consisting equally of horse and foot ; 

Our archers shall be placed in the midst : 

John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, 

Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. 

They thus directed, we will follow 

In the main battle, whose puissance on either 

side 
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 300 
This, and Saint George to boot! What thinkst 

thou, Norfolk? 
Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. 
This found I on my tent this morning. 

[He sheive th him a fiafier. 
K. Rich. [Reads] 'Jockey of Norfolk, be not 

too bold, 
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.' 
A thing devised by the enemy. 
Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge : 
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls: 
Conscience is but a word that cowards use, 
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe: 310 
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our 

law. 
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell; 
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. 

His oration to his Army. 

What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? 

Remember whom you are to cope withal ; 

A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, 

A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants, 

Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth 

To desperate ventures and assured destruction. 

You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; 320 

You having lands, and blest with beauteous 
wives, 

They would restrain the one, distain the other. 

And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, 

Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? 

A milk-sop, one that never in his life 

Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? 

Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; 

Lash hence these overweening rags of France, 

These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; 

Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, 330 

For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd them- 
selves: 

If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, 

And not these bastard Bretons ; whom our 
fathers 

Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and 
thump'd, 

And in record, left them the heirs of shame. 

Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives? 

Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off. ~\ Hark! 
I hear their drum. 

Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 

Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! 

Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 

Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! 341 

Enter a Messenger. 
What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his 
power? 
Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 
K. Rich. Off with his son George's head ! 
Nor. My lord, the enemy is past the marsh : 
After the battle let George Stanley die. 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



59i 



K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within 
my bosom : 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! 350 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 

Alarum: excursions. Enter Norfolk and 
forces fighting 1 to him Catesiiy. 
Cate. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, 
rescue ! 
The king enacts more wonders than a man, 
Daring an opposite to every danger : 
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, 
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. 
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! 

Alarums. Enter King Richard. 
A". Rich. Ahorse! ahorse! my kingdom for 

a horse ! 
Cate. Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to 

a horse. 
A". Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon 
a cast, 
And I will stand the hazard of the die : 10 

I think there be six Richmonds in the field; 
Five have I slain to-day instead of him. 
A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. A nother part of the field. 

Alarum. Enter Richard and Richmond; 
they fight. Richard is slain. Retreat and. 
flourish. Re-enter Richmond, Derby bear- 
ing tlie crown, -with divers other Lords. 
Richm. God and your arms be praised, victor- 
ious friends ; 
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 

Der. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou 
acquit thee. 
Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty 
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 



Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal : 
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
Richm. Great God of heaven, say Amen 

to all ! _ 
But, tell me, is young George Stanley living? 
Der. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester 

town ; 10 

Whither, if it please you, we may now with- 

draw us. 
Richm. What men of name are slain on 

either side? 
Der. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord 

Ferrers, 
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. 
Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their 

births : 
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled 
That in submission will return to us: 
And then, as we have ta'cn the sacrament, 
We will unite the white rose and the red: 
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 20 

That long have frown'd upon their enmity ! 
What traitor hears me, and says not amen ? 
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; 
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, 
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, 
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire : 
All this divided York and Lancaster, 
Divided in their dire division, 
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
The true succeeders of each royal house, 30 

By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! 
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so. 
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced 

peace, 
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days! 
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
That would reduce these bloody days again, 
And make poor England weep in streams of 

blood ! 
Let them not live to taste this land's increase 
That would with treason wound this fair land's 

peace ! 
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again: 
That she may long live here, God say amen"! 

[Exeunt. 



THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF 

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Eighth. 

Cardinal Wolsey. 

Cardinal Campeius. 

Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor 

Charles V. 
Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Buckingham. 
Duke of Suffolk. 
Earl of Surrey. 
Lord Chamberlain. 
Lord Chancellor. 

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 
Bishop of Lincoln. 
Lord Abergavenny. 
Lord Sands. 
Sir Henry Guildford. 
Sir Thomas Lovell. 
Sir Anthony Denny. 
Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
Secretaries to Wolsey. 
Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey. 



Griffith, Gentleman-usher to Queen Ka- 
tharine. 
Three Gentlemen. 

Doctor Butts, Physician to the King. 
Garter King-at-Arms. 
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 
Brandon, and a Sergeant-at-Arms. 
Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, 

and his Man. 
Page to Gardiner. A Crier. 
Queen Katharine, wife to King Henry, 

afterwards divorced. 
Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honour, after- 
wards Queen. 
An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. 
Patience, woman to Queen Katharine. 
Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; 
Women attending upon the Queen ; Scribes, 
Officers, Guards, and other Attendants. 

Spirits. 
Scene: London; Westminster; Kimbolton. 



THE PROLOGUE. 

I come no more to make you laugh : things now, 
That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, 
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, 
We now present. Those that can pity, here 
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; 
The subject will deserve it. Such as give 
Their money out of hope they may believe, 
May here find truth too. Those that come to see 
Only a show or two, and so agree 10 

The play may pass, if they be still and willing, 
I '11 undertake may see away their shilling 
Richly in two short hours. Only they 
That come to hear a merry bawdy play, 
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow 
In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, 
Will be deceived ; for, gentle hearers, know, 
To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
To make that only true we now intend, 21 

Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are 

known 
The first and happiest hearers of the town, 
Be sad, as we would make ye : think ye see 
The very persons of our noble story 
As they were living ; think you see them great, 
And follow' d with the general throng and sweat 
Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see 
How soon this mightiness meets misery: 30 

And, if you can be merry then, I '11 say 
A man may weep upon his wedding-day. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. An ante-chamher in the 
palace. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk at one door; at 
the other, ike Duke of Buckingham a7id the 
Lord Abergavenny. 

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have 
ye done 
Since last we saw in France? 

Nor. I thank your grace, 

Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
Of what I saw there. 

Buck. An untimely ague 

Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when 
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
Met in the vale of Andren. 

Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde : 

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback ; 
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung 
In their embracement, as they grew together; 10 
Which had they, what four throned ones could 

have weigh' d 
Such a compounded one? 

Buck. All the whole time 

I was my chamber's prisoner. 

Nor. Then you lost 

The view of earthly glory : men might say, 
Till this time pomp was single, but now married 
To one above itself. Each following day 
Became the next day's master, till the last 
Made former wonders its. To-day the French, 
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, 19 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



593 



Shone down the English ; and, to-morrow, they 
Made Britain India: every man that stood 21 
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
As cherubins, all gilt : the madams too, 
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
The pride upon them, that their very labour 
Was to them as a painting : now this masque 
Was cried incomparable ; and the ensuing night 
Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, 
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, 
As presence did present them ; him in eye, 30 
Still him in praise : and, being present both, 
'Twas said they saw but one ; and no discerner 
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these 

suns — 
For so they phrase 'em — by their heralds chal- 
lenged 
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
Beyond thought's compass ; that former fabulous 

story, 
Being now seen possible enough, got credit, 
That Bevis was believed. 

Buck. O, you go far. 

Nor. As I belong to worship and affect 
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing 40 
Would by a good discourser lose some life, 
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; 
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd, 
Order gave each thing view ; the office did 
Distinctly his full function. 

Buck. Who did guide, 

I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
Of this great sport together, as you guess? 

Nor. One, certes, that promises no element 
In such a business. 

Buck. I pray you, who, my lord ? 

Nor. All this was order'd by the good dis- 
cretion 50 
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. 

Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is 
freed 
From his ambitious finger. What had he 
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder 
That such a keech can with his very bulk 
Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun 
And keep it from the earth. 

Nor. Surely, sir, 

There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends ; 
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace 
Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon 60 
For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied 
To eminent assistants ; but, spider-like, 
tOut of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, 
The force of his own merit makes his way ; 
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
A place next to the king. 

Aber. I cannot tell 

What heaven hath given him, — let some graver 

eye 
Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride 
Peep through each part of him : whence has he 

that, 
If not from hell? the devil is a niggard, 70 

Or has given all before, and he begins 
A new hell in himself. 

Buck. Why the devil, 

Upon this French going out, took he upon him, 
Without the privity o' the king, to appoint 
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file 



Of all the gentry; for the most part such 
To whom as great a charge as little honour 
He meant to lay upon : and his own letter, 
The honourable board of council out, 
fMust fetch him in he papers. 

A bcr. I do know 80 

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
They shall abound as formerly. 

Buck. O, many 

Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em 
For this great journey. What did this vanity 
But minister communication of 
A most poor issue ? 

Nor. Grievingly I think, 

The peace between the French and us not values 
The enst that did conclude it. 

Buck. Every man, 

After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 90 
A thing inspired ; and, not consulting, broke 
Into a general prophecy: That this tempest, 
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
The sudden breach on't. 

Nor. Which is budded out : 

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath 

attach'd 
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. 

Aber. Is it therefore 

The ambassador is silenced? 

Nor. Marry, is't. 

A bcr. A proper title of a peace ; and purchased 
At a superfluous rate ! 

Buck. Why, all this business 

Our reverend cardinal carried. 

Nor. Like it your grace, 100 

The state takes notice of the private difference 
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you — 
And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
Honour and plenteous safety — that you read 
The cardinal's malice and his potency 
Together ; to consider further that 
What his high hatred would effect wants not 
A minister in his power. You know his nature. 
That he 's revengeful, and I know his sword 
Hath a sharp edge : it's long and, 't may be said, 
It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, in 
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel. 
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that 

rock 
That I advise your shunning. 

Enter Cardinal Wolsey, the purse borne before 
him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries 
■with papers. The Cardinal in his passage 
fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, rt>/<7' Bucking- 
ham on him, both full of disdain. 
Wol. TheDukeof Buckingham's surveyor, ha? 

Where's his examination? 

First Seer. Here, so please you. 

Wol. Is he in person ready? 
First Seer. Ay, please your grace. 

Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and 
Buckingham 

Shall lessen this big look. 

[Exeunt Wolsey and his Train. 

Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, 

and I 120 

Have not the power to muzzle him: therefore best 

Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 



38 



Outworths a noble's blood. 

Nor. What, are you chafed? 

Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance 

only 
Which your disease requires. 

Buck. I read in's looks 

Matter against me ; and his eye reviled 
Me, as his abject object : at this instant 
He bores me with some trick : he 's gone to the 

king ; 
I '11 follow and outstare him. 

Nor. Stay, my lord, _ 

And let your reason with your choler question 
What 'tis you go about : to climb steep hills 131 
Requires slow pace at first : anger is like 
A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, 
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
Can advise me like you : be to yourself 
As you would to your friend. 

Buck. I'll to the king; - 

And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim 
There 's difference in no persons. 

Nor. Be advised ; 

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 140 

That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, 
By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
The fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er, 
In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised: 
I say again, there is no English soul 
More stronger to direct you than yourself, 
If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
Or but allay, the fire of passion. 

Buck. Sir, 

I am thankful to you ; and I'll go along 150 

By your prescription : but this top-proud fellow, 
Whom from the flow of gall I name not but 
From sincere motions, by intelligence, 
And proofs as clear as founts in July when 
We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
To be corrupt and treasonous. 

Nor. Say not ' treasonous.' 

Buck. To the king I'll say't; and make my 
vouch as strong 
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, 
Or wolf, or both, — for he is equal ravenous 
As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief 160 

As able to perform 't ; his mind and place 
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally — 
Only to show his pomp as well in France 
As here at home, suggests the king our master 
To this last costly treaty, the interview. 
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass 
Did break i' the rinsing. 

Nor. Faith, and so it did. 

Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning 
cardinal 
The articles o' the combination drew 
As himself pleased; and they were ratified 170 
As he cried 'Thus let be' : to as much end 
As give a crutch to the dead: but our count- 
cardinal 
Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, 
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, — 
Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
To the old dam, treason, — Charles the emperor, 
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, — 
For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came 



To whisper Wolsey, — here makes visitation : 
His fears were, that the interview betwixt 180 
England and France might, through their amity, 
Breed him some prejudice; for from this league 
Peep'd harms that menaced him : he privily 
Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — 
Which I do well ; for I am sure the emperor 
Paid ere he promised ; whereby his suit was granted 
Ere it was ask'd ; but when the way was made, 
And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired, 
That he would please to alter the king's course, 
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, 
As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal 191 
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, 
And for his own advantage. 

Nor. I am sorry 

To hear this of him ; and could wish he were 
Something mistaken in't. 

Buck. No, not a syllable : 

I do pronounce him in that very shape 
He shall appear in proof. 

E titer Brandon, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, \ 
and two or three oj 'the Guard. 

Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 

Serg. Sir, 

My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl 
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 200 | 
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
Of our most sovereign king. 

Buck. Lo, you, my lord, 

The net has fall'n upon me ! I shall perish 
Under device and practice. 

Bran. I am sorry 

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
The business present : 'tis his highness' pleasure 
You shall to the Tower. 

Buck. It will help me nothing 

To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me 
Which makes my whitest part black. The will 

of heaven 
Be done in this and all things ! I obey. 210 

my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well ! 
Bran. Nay, he must bear you company. The 

king [To Abergavenny. 

Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know 
How he determines further. 

A ber. As the duke said, 

The will of heaven be done, and the king's plea- 
sure 
By me obey'd ! 

Brati. ' Here is a warrant from 
The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the 

bodies 
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, 
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 

Buck. So, so ; 219 

These are the limbs o' the plot : no more, I hope. 
Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux. 
Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins? 

Bran. He. 

Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great 
cardinal 
Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd 
already : 

1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham* 
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, 
By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



595 



Scene II. The same. The council-chamber. 

Cornets. Enter tlie King, leaning on the 
Cardinal's shoulder, the Nobles, and Sir 
Thomas Lovell; the Cardinal places him- 
self under the KlNG'sfeet on his right side. 

King. My life itself, and the best heart of it, 
Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the 

level 
Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us 
That gentleman of Buckingham's ; in person 
I '11 hear him his confessions justify ; 
And point by point the treasons of his master 
He shall again relate. 

A noise within, crying ' Room for the Queen !' 
Enter Queen Katharine, ushered by the 

Duke of Norfolk, and the Duke of Suf- 
folk : she kneels. The King riseth from his 

state, takes her up, kisses and placcth her by 

him. 

Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel : I am 
a suitor. 

King. Arise, and take place by us : half 
your suit 10 

Never name to us ; you have half our power : 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; 
Repeat your will and take it. 

Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 

That you would love yourself, and in that love 
Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor 
The dignity of your office, is the point 
Of my petition. 

King. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a (<?\v. 
And those of true condition, that your subjects 
Are in great grievance : there have been com- 
missions 20 
Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the 

heart 
Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, 
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
Most bitterly on you, as putter on 
Of these exactions, yet the king our master — 
Whose honour heaven shield from soil ! — even he 

escapes not 
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
In loud rebellion. 

Nor. Not almost appears, 

It doth appear ; for, upon these taxations, 30 

The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
The many to them longing, have put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, 
And danger serves among them. 

King. Taxation ! 

Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal, 
You that are blamed for it alike with us, 
Know you of this taxation? 

Wol. Please you, sir, 40 

I know but of a single part, in aught 
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
Where others tell steps with me. 

Q. Kath. No, my lord, 



You know no more than others ; but you frame 
Things that are known alike ; which are not 

wholesome 
To those which would not know them, and yet 

must 
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions 
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear 'cm. 
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say 50 
They are devised by you ; or else you suffer 
Too hard an exclamation. 

King. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, 
Is this exaction? 

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 

In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd 
Under your promised pardon. The subjects' 

grief 
Comes through commissions, which compel from 

each 
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
Without delay; and the pretence for this 
Is named, your wars in France : this makes bold 

mouths : 60 

Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts 

freeze 
Allegiance in them ; their curses now 
Live where their prayers did: and it's come to 

pass, 
This tractable obedience is a slave 
To each incensed will. I would your highness 
Would give it quick consideration, for 
There is no primer business. 

King. By my life, 

This is against our pleasure. 

Wol. And for me, 

I have no further gone in this than by 
A single voice ; and that not pass'd me but 70 
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am 
Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither 

know 
My faculties nor person, yet will be 
The chronicles of my doing, let me say 
"f is but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
That virtue must go through. We must not 

stint 
Our necessary actions, in the fear 
To cope malicious censurers ; which ever, 
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further 80 
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, 

I I itting a grosser quality, is cried up 
For our best act. If we shall stand still, 

Tn fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
State-statues only. 

King. Things done well, 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; 
Things done without example, in their issue go 
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
Of this commission? I believe, not any. 
We must not rend our subjects from our laws, 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of 1 
A trembling contribution ! Why, we tike 
From every tree lop, bark, and part 0' the timber ; 
And, though we leave it with .1 root, thus hack'd, 
The air will drink the sap, £0 every county 



.' ; - 



39 6 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act i. 



Where this is question'd send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied ioo 
The force of this commission: pray, look to't; 
I put it to your care. 

Wol. A word with you. 

[To the Secretary. 
Let there be letters writ to every shire, 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved 

commons 
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be noised 
That through our intercession this revokement 
And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you 
Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary. 

Enter Surveyor. 

Q. Kath. I am sorry that the Duke of Buck- 
ingham 
Is run in your displeasure. 

King. It grieves many : no 

The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare 

speaker ; 
To nature none more bound ; his training such, 
That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, 
And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, 
When these so noble benefits shall prove 
Not well disposed, the mind growing once 

corrupt, 
They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, 
Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find 120 
His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, 
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
That once were his, and is become as black 
As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall 

hear — 
This was his gentleman in trust — of him 
Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount 
The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 

Wol. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate 
what you, 
Most like a careful subject, have collected 130 
Out of the Duke of Buckingham. 

King. Speak freely. 

Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day 
It would infect; his speech, that if the king 
Should without issue die, he'll carry it so 
To make the sceptre his : these very words 
I 've heard him utter to his son-in-law, 
Lord Abergavenny ; to whom by oath he menaced 
Revenge upon the cardinal. 

Wol. Please your highness, note 

This dangerous conception in this point. 
Not friended by his wish, to your high person 140 
His will is most malignant; and it stretches 
Beyond you, to your friends. 

Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, 

Deliver all with charity. 

King. Speak on : 

How grounded he his title to the crown, 
Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him 
At any time speak aught? 

Surv. He was brought to this 

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 

King. What was that Hopkins ? 

Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, 

His confessor; who fed him every minute 
With words of sovereignty. 



King. How know'st thou this? 150 

Surv. Not long before your highness sped to 
France, 
The duke being at the Rose, within the parish 
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
What was the speech among the Londoners 
Concerning the French journey : I replied, 
Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, 
To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 
'Twould prove the verity of certain words 
Spoke by a holy monk ; ' that oft,' says he, 160 
' Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit 
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour 
To hear from him a matter of some moment : 
Whom after under the confession's seal 
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke 
My chaplain to no creature living, but 
To me, should utter, with demure confidence 
This pausingly ensued: Neither the king nor's 

heirs, 
Tell you the duke, shall prosper : bid him strive 
To gain the love o' the commonalty : the duke 170 
Shall govern England.' 

Q. Kath. If I know you well, 

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your 

office 
On the complaint o' the tenants : take good heed 
You charge not in your spleen a noble person 
And spoil your nobler soul : I say, take heed ; 
Yes, heartily beseech you. 

King. Let him on. 

Go forward. 

Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. 
I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions 
The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas 

dangerous for him 
To ruminate on this so far, until 180 

It forged him some design, which, being believed, 
It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush, 
It can do me no damage ; ' adding further, 
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, 
The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
Should have gone off. 

King. Ha ! what, so rank ? Ah ha ! 

There's mischief in this man: canst thou say 
further? 
Surv. I can, my liege. 
King. Proceed. 

Surv. Being at Greenwich, 

After your highness had reproved the duke 
About Sir William Blomer, — 

King. I remember 190 

Of such a time : being my sworn servant, 
The duke retain'd him his. But on; what 
hence ? 
Surv. 'If,' quoth he, ' I for this had been 
committed, 
As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd 
The part my father meant to act upon 
The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, 
Made suit to come in 's presence ; which if 

granted, 
As he made semblance of his duty, would 
Have put his knife into him.' 
King. A giant traitor ! 

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in 
freedom, 200 

And this man out of prison ? 



Scene ii.] 



KIXG HENRY VIII. 



597 



Q. Kath. God mend all ! 

King. There 's something more would out of 

thee; what sny'st? 
Surv. After 'the duke his father,' with 'the 
knife,' 
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his 

dagger, 
Another spread on 's breast, mounting his eyes, 
He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenour 
Was, — were he evil used, he would outgo 
His father by as much as a performance 
Does an irresolute purpose. 

King. There's his period, 

To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 210 
Call him to present trial : if he may 
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none, 
Let him not seek 't of us : by day and night, 
He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. An antechamber in the palace. 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord 
Sands. 

Cham. Is't possible the spells of France 
should juggle 
Men into such strange mysteries? 

Sands. New customs, 

Though they be never so ridiculous, 
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow' d. 

Cham. As far as 1 see, all the good our 
English 
Have got by the late voyage is but merely 
A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd 

ones ; 
For when they hold 'em, you would swear 

directly 
Their very noses had been counsellors 
To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. 10 
Sands. They have all new legs, and lame 
ones: one would take it, 
That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin 
Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. 

Cham. Death ! my lord, 

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. 

Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 

How now ! 
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? 

Lov. Faith, my lord, 

I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 

Cham. What is't for? 

Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and 
tailors. 20 

Cham. I 'm glad 'tis there : now I would 
pray our monsieurs 
To think an English courtier may be wise, 
And never see the Louvre. 

Lov. They must either, 

For so run the conditions, leave those remnants 
• Of fool and feather that they got in France, 
j With all their honourable points of ignorance 
1 Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, 
J Abusing better men than they can be, 

Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean 
I The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, 



and those types of 
3i 



Short blister'd breeches 

travel, 
And understand again like honest men 
Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, 
They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away 
The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. 

Sands. 'Tis time to give 'cm physic, their 
diseases 
Are grown so catching. 

Cham. What a loss our ladies 

Will have of these trim vanities ! 

Lov. Ay, marry, 

There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whore- 
sons 
Have got a, speeding trick to lay down ladies; 40 
A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. 

Sands. The devil fiddle 'em ! I am glad they 
are going, 
For, sure, there 's no converting of 'em : now 
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten 
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song 
And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady, 
Held current music too. 

Cham. Well said, Lord Sands; 

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 

Sands. No, my lord ; 

Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 

Cham. Sir Thomas, 

Whither were you a-going ? 

Lov. To the cardinal's: 50 

Your lordship is a guest too. 

Cham. O, 'tis true : 

This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
The beauty of this kingdom, I '11 assure you. 

Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind 
indeed, 
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; 
His dews fall every where. 

Cham. No doubt he's noble ; 

He had a black mouth that said other of him. 

Sands. He may, my lord ; has wherewithal : 
in him 
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doc- 
trine : 60 
Men of his way should be most liberal ; 
They are set here for examples. 

Cham. True, they are so ; 

But few now give so great ones. My barge 

stays ; 
Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir 

Thomas, 
We shall be late else ; which I would not be, 
For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford 
This night to be comptrollers. 

Sands. I am your lordship's. [Exeunt 

Scene IV. A Hall in York Place. 

Hautboys. A small table under a state for the 
CARDINAL, a longer table for the gitests. 
Then enter, on one side. Anne Bullen and 
divers other Ladies and Gentlemen a 
at one door; at another door, enter Sir 
Henry i 

Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his 
grace 
Salutes ye all ; this night he dedicates 
To fair content and you : none here, he hopes. 



593 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act 



In all this noble bevy, has brought with her 
One care abroad ; he would have all as merry 
As, first, good company, good wine, good wel- 
come, 5 
Can make good people. O, my lord, you re 
tardy : 

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and 

Sir Thomas Lovell. 
The very thought of this fair company 
Clapp'd wings to me. 

Cham. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. 
Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 10 
But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these 
Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 
I think would better please 'em : by my life, 
They are a sweet society of fair ones. 
Lov. O, that your lordship were but now con- 
fessor 
To one or two of these ! 

Sands. I would I were ; 

They should find easy penance. 
Lov. Faith, how easy? 

Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 
Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? 
Sir Harry, 19 

Place you that side ; I'll take the charge of this : 
j His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze ; 
j Two women placed together makes cold weather : 
I My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; 
Pray, sit between these ladies. 

Sands. By my faith, 

And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet 

ladies: 
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
I had it from my father. 
Anne. Was he mad, sir? 

Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in 
love too : 
But he would bite none ; just as I do now, 
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. 

[Kisses her. 
Cham. Well said, my lord. 30 

So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen, 
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
Pass away frowning. 

Sands. For my little cure, 

Let me alone. 

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, and 
takes his state. 

Wol. You're welcome, my fair guests: that 
noble lady, 
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, 
Is not my friend : this, to confirm my welcome ; 
And to you all, good health. [Drinks. 

Sands. Your grace is noble : 

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
And save me so much talking. 

Wol. My Lord Sands, 40 

I am beholding to you : cheer your neighbours. 
Ladies, you are not merry : gentlemen, 
Whose fault is this? 

Sands. The red wine first must rise 

In their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have 

'em 
Talk us to silence. 

Anne. You are a merry gamester, 

My Lord Sands. 



Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 

Here's to your ladyship : and pledge it, madam, 
For 'tis to such a thing, — 

A nne. You cannot show me. 

Sands. I told your grace they would talk anon. 
[Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged. 

Wol. What's that? 

Cham. Look out there, some of ye. 

[Exit Servant. 

Wol. What warlike voice, 50 

And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; 
By all the laws of war you're privileged. 

Re-enter Servant. 
Cham. How now ! what is 't? 
Serv. A noble troop of strangers ; 

For so they seem : they 've left their barge and 

landed ; 
And hither make, as great ambassadors 
From foreign princes. 

Wol. Good lord chamberlain, 

Go, give 'em welcome ; you can speak the French 

tongue ; 
And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em 
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. 
[Exit Chamberlain, attended. A 11 rise, 
and tables removed. 
You have now a broken banquet; but we'll 
mend it. 61 

A good digestion to you all : and once more 
1 shower a welcome on ye ; welcome all. 

Hautboys. Enter the King and others, as 
masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by 
the Lord Chamberlain. They pass direflly 
before the Cardinal, and gracefully salute 
him. 
A noble company ! what are their pleasures? 
Cham. Because they speak no English, thus 
they pray'd 
To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame 
Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
But leave their flocks ; and, under your fair con- 
duct, 70 
Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat 
An hour of revels with 'em. 

Wol. Say, lord chamberlain, 

They have done my poor house grace ; for which 

I pay 'em 
A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their 
pleasures. 
[They choose Ladies for the dance. The 
King chooses A nne Bullen. 
King. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! O 
beauty, 
Till now I never knew thee ! [Music. Dance. 
Wol. My lord! 
Cham. Your grace ? 

Wol. Pray, tell 'em thus much from me : 

There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, 
More worthy this place than myself; to whom, 
If I but knew him, with my love and duty So 
I would surrender it. 

Cham. I will, my lord. 

[ Whispers the Masquers. 
Wol. What say they? 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



599 



Cham. Such a one, they all confess, 

There is indeed ; which they would have your 

grace 
Find out, and he will take it. 

Wol. Let me see, then. 

By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll 

make 
My royal choice. 
King. Ye have found him, cardinal : 

[ Unmasking. 
You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: 
You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, 
I should judge now unhappily. 

Wol. I am glad 

Your grace is grown so pleasant. 

King. My lord chamberlain, 90 

Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that? 
Cham. An't please your grace, Sir Thomas 
Bullen's daughter, — 
The Viscount Rochford, — one of her highness' 
women. 
King. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet- 
heart,' 
I were unmannerly, to take you out, 
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen ! 
Let it go round. 

Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
I' the privy chamber? 
Lov. Yes, my lord. 

Wol. Your grace, 

I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 100 

King, I fear, too much. 

Wol. There's fresher air, my lord, 

In the next chamber. 
King. Lead in your ladies, every one : sweet 
partner, 
I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry: 
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
To lead 'em once again ; and then let's dream 
Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. 
[Exeunt with trumpets. 

ACT II. 
Scene I. Westminster. A street. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
First Gent. Whither away so fast? 
- Sec. Gent. O, God save ye ! 

Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 
Of the great Duke of Buckingham. 

First Gent. I '11 save you 

That labour, sir. All's now done, but the cere- 
mony 
Of bringing back the prisoner. 

Sec. Gent. Were you there ? 

First Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 
Sec. Gent. Pray, speak what has happen'd. 

You may guess quickly what. 

Is he found guilty? 
Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd 



First Gent. 
Sec. Gent. 
First Gent. 

upon't. 
Sec. Gent. 
First Gent. 
Sec. Gent. 
First Gent. 

duke 
Came to the bar; where-to his accusations 



I am sorry for 't. 

So are a number more. 
But, pray, how pass'd it? 10 

1 '11 tell you in a little. The great 



He pleaded still not guilty and alleged 

Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 

The king's attorney on the contrary 

Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions 

Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired 

To have brought viva voce to his face : 

At which appear'd against him his surveyor ; 

Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, 

Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, 21 

Hopkins, that made this mischief. 

^ Sec. Gent. That was he 

That fed him with his prophecies? 

First Gent. The same. 

All these accused him strongly ; which he fain 
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he 

could not: 
And so his peers, upon this evidence, 
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
Was either pitied in him or forgotten. 

Sec. Gent. After all this, how did he bear 
himself? 30 

First Gent. When he was brought again to 
the bar, to hear 
His knell rung out, his judgement, he was stirr'd 
With such an agony, he sweat extremely, 
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty : 
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly 
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 

Sec. Gent. I do not think he fears death. 

First Gent. Sure, he does not : 

He never was so womanish; the cause 
He may a little grieve at. 

Sec. Gent. Certainly 

The cardinal is the end of this. 

First Gent. 'Tis likely, 40 

By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, 
Then deputy of Ireland ; who removed, 
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, 
Lest he should help his father. 

Sec. Gent. That trick of state 

Was a deep envious one. 

First Gent. At his return 

No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, 
And generally, whoever the king favours, 
The cardinal instantly will find employment, 
And far enough from court too. 

Sec. Gent. All the commons 

Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, 50 
Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much 
They love and dote on ; call him bounteous 

Buckingham, 
The mirror of all courtesy; — 

First Gent. Stay there, sir, 

And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 

Enter B uc K 1 xgh a m front his arraignment; lip- 
staves be/ore him; tlie axe with th 
towards him; fialberds on each side : accom- 
panied with Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Nich- 
olas Vaox, Sir William Sands, and com- 
mon people. 

Sec. Gent. Let'sstandclose,andbeholdhim. 
Buck. All good people, 

You that thus far have come to pity me, 
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
I have this day received a traitor's judgement, 
And by that name must die : yet, heaven bear 



6oo 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act ii. 



And if I have a conscience, let it sink me, 60 

Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
The law I bear no malice for my death ; _ 
'T has done, upon the premises, but justice : 
But those that sought it I could wish more Chris- 
tians : 
Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em : 
Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, 
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ; 
For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. 
For further life in this world I ne'er hope, 
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 70 
More than I dare make faults. You few that 

loved me, 
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave 
Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, 
And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's 
name. 
Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, 
If ever any malice in your heart 80 

Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 
Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive 
you 
As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ; 
There -cannot be those numberless offences 
'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: no 

black envy 
Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his 

grace ; 
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him 
You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers 
Yet are the king's ; and, till my soul forsake, 
Shall cry for blessings on him : may he live 90 
Longer than I have time to tell his years ! 
Ever beloved and loving may his rule be ! 
And when old time shall lead him to his end, 
Goodness and he fill up one monument! 
Lov. To the water side I must conduct your 
grace ; 
Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, 
Who undertakes you to your end. 

Vaux. Prepare there, 

The duke is coming: see the barge be ready; 
And fit it with such furniture as suits 
The greatness of his person. 

Buck. Nay, Sir Nicholas, 100 

Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. 
When I came hither, I was lord high constable 
And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward 

Bohun : 
Yet I am richer than my base accusers, 
That never knew what truth meant : I now seal it ; 
And with that blood will make 'em one day groan 

for't. 
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
Who first raised head against usurping Richard, 
Flying for succour to his servant Banister, 
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, no 
And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! 
Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins, 
Made my name once more noble. Now his son, 
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all 
That made me happy at one stroke has taken 



For ever from the world. I had my trial, 

And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes 

me 
A little happier than my wretched father : 120 
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes : both 
Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most . 
A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
Heaven has an end in all : yet, you that hear me, 
This from a dying man receive as certain : 
Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels 
Be sure you be not loose; for those you make 

friends 
And give your hearts to, when they once per- 
ceive 
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
Like water from ye, never found again 130 

But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, 
Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye : the last 

hour 
Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
Farewell : 

And when you would say something that is sad, 
Speak how I fell, I have done ; and God for- 



give me i 



[Exeunt Duke and Train. 



First Gent. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,, 
I fear, too many curses on their heads 
That were the authors. 

Sec. Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 

'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 140 
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, 
Greater than this. 

First Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! 
What may it be ? You do not doubt my faith, 
sir? 

Sec. Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill 
require 
A strong faith to conceal it. 

First Gent. Let me have it; 

I do not talk much. 

Sec. Gent. I am confident ; 

You shall, sir : did you not of late days hear 
A buzzing of a separation 
Between the king and Katharine ? 

First Gent. Yes, but it held not : 

For when the king once heard it, out of anger 150 
He sent command to the lord mayor straight 
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
That durst disperse it. 

Sec. Gent. But that slander, sir, 

Is found a truth now : for it grows again 
Fresher than e'er it was ; and held for certain 
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, 
Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
That will undo her : to confirm this too, 
Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately; 160 
As all think, for this business. 

First Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ; 

And merely to revenge him on the emperor 
For not bestowing on him, at his asking, 
The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed. 

Sec. Gent. I think you have hit the mark : but 
is't not cruel 
That she should feel the smart of this? The 

cardinal 
Will have his will, and she must fall. 

First Gent. 'Tis woful. 

We are too open here to argue this ; 
Let's think in private more. [Exeunt. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



Scene II. An ante-cJiamber hi the palace. 

E?iter the Lord Chamberlain, reading- a 
letter. 

Cham. 'My lord, the horses your lordship 
sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well cho- 
sen, ridden, and furnished. They were young 
and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. 
When they were ready to set out for London, a 
man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and 
main power, took 'em from me ; with this reason : 
His master would be served before a subject, if 
not before the king; which stopped our mouths, 
sir.' 10 

I fear he will indeed : well, let him have them : 
He will have all, I think. 

Enter, to t/te Lord Chamberlain, the Dukes 
of Norfolk and Suffolk. 
Nor. Well met, my lord chamberlain. 
Cham. Good day to both your graces. 
Suf. How is the king employ'd? 
Cham. I left him private, 

Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
Nor. What's the cause? 

Cham. It seems the marriage with his bro- 
ther's wife 
Has crept too near his conscience. 

Suf No, his conscience 

Has crept too near another lady. 

Nor. 'Tis so : 

This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 20 
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, 
Turns what he list. The king will know him one 
day. 
Suf. Pray God he do ! he '11 never know him- 
self else. 
Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
And with what zeal ! for, now he has crack'd the 

league 
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great 

nephew, 
He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters 
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, 
Fears, and despairs ; and all these for his mar- 
riage : 
And out of all these to restore the king, 30 

He counsels a divorce ; a loss of her 
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ; 
Of her that loves him with that excellence 
That angels love good men with ; even of her 
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, 
Will bless the king: and is not this course pious? 
Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 
'Tis most true 
These news are every where ; every tongue 

speaks 'em, 
And every true heart weeps for 't : all that dare 40 
Look into these affairs see this main end, 
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day 

open 
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
This bold bad man. 

Suf. And free us from his slavery. 

Nor. We had need pray, 
And heartily, for our deliverance ; 
Or this imperious man will work us all 



From princes into pages: all men's honours 
Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
Into what pitch he please. 

Suf. For me, my lords, 50 

I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: 
As I am made without him, so I'll stand, 
If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in. 
I knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him 
To him that made him proud, the pope. 

Nor._ Let's in; 

And with some other business put the king 
From these sad thoughts, that work too much 

upon him : 
My lord, you'll bear us company? 

Cham. Excuse me ; 

The king has sent me otherwhere : besides, 60 
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: 
Health to your lordships. 

Nor. _ Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 
[Exit Lord Chamberlain; and the 
King draws the curtain, and sits 
reading pensively. 

Suf How sad he looks! sure, he is much 
afflicted. 

King. Who's there, ha? 

Nor. Pray God he be not angry. 

King. Who's there, I say? How dare you 
thrust yourselves 
Into my private meditations? 
Who am I? ha? 

Nor. A gracious king that pardons all offences 
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way 
Is business of estate ; in which we come 70 

To know your royal pleasure. 

King. Ye are too bold : 

Go to ; I '11 make ye know your times of business : 
Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? 

Enter Wolsey and Campeius, with a com- 
mission. 
Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my 

Wolsey, 
The quiet of my wounded conscience ; 
Thou art a cure fit for a king. [To Camp.] 

You're welcome, 
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom : 
Use us and it. [To Wol.] My good lord, have 

great care 
I be not found a talker. 

Wol. Sir, you cannot. 

I would your grace would give us but an hour 80 
Of private conference. 
King. [To Nor. and Suf.} We are busy ; go. 
Nor. [Aside to Suf] This priest has no pride 

in him? 
Suf. [Aside to Nor.] Not to speak of: 
I would not be so sick though for his place : 
But this cannot continue. 

Nor. [Aside- to Suf] If it do, 
I '11 venture one have-at-him. 
Suf. [Aside to Nor.] I another. 

[Exeunt Nor. and Suf. 
Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of 
wisdom 
Above all princes, in committing freely 
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom : 
Who can be angry now? what envyreach you? 
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, 90 j 



6o2 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act ir. 



Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms 
Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of 

judgement, 
Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
One general tongue unto us, this good man, 
This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; 
Whom once more I present unto your highness. 
King. And once more in mine arms I bid him 

welcome, 
And thank the holy conclave for their loves : ioo 
They have sent me such a man I would have 

wish'd for. 
Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all 

strangers' loves, 
You are so noble. To your highness' hand 
I tender my commission ; by whose virtue, 
The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord 
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant 
In the unpartial judging of this business. 
King. Two equal men. The queen shall be 

acquainted 
Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? 
Wol. I know your majesty has always loved 

her no 

So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
A woman of less place might ask by law : 
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. 
King. Ay, and the best she shall have; and 

my favour 
To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal, 
Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary : 
I find him a fit fellow. {Exit Wolsey. 

Re-enter Wolsky, with Gardiner. 
Wol. [Aside to Gar d.\ Give me your hand : 
much joy and favour to you ; 
You are the king's now. 

Gard. [Aside to Wol.~\ But to be commanded 

For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. 

King. Come hither, Gardiner. 121 

[ Walks and whispers. 

Cam. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor 

Pace 

In this man's place before him? 

Wol. Yes, he was. 

Cam. Was he not held a learned man? 
Wol. Yes, surely. 

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread 
then 
Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How! of me? 

Cam. They will not stick to say you envied 
him, 
And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
Kept him a foreign man still ; which so grieved 

him, 
That he ran mad and died. 

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! 

That's Christian care enough: for living mur- 
murers 131 

There's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; 
For he v/ould needs be virtuous: that good fellow, 
If I command him, follows my appointment: 
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 
King. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 
[Exit Gardi7ier. 



The most convenient place that I can think of 
For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars ; 
There ye shall meet about this weighty business. 
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, 141 
Would it not grieve an able man to leave 
Sc sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, con- 
science ! 
O, 'tis a tender place ; and I must leave her. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. An ante-chamber of the Queen's 
apartments. 

Enter Anne Bullen and an Old Lady. 

Anne. Not for that neither : here's the pang 
that pinches : 
His highness having lived so long with her, and 

she 
So good a lady that no tongue could ever 
Pronounce dishonour of her ; by my life, 
She never knew harm-doing : O, now, after 
So many courses of the sun enthroned, 
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which 
To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 
'Tis sweet at first to acquire, —after this process, 
To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 10 

Would move a monster. 

Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 

Melt and lament for her. 

Anne. O, God's will ! much better 

She ne'er had known pomp: though't be tem- 
poral, 
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce 
It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging 
As soul and body's severing. 

Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 

She's a stranger now again. 

A nne. So much the more 

Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
And range with humble livers in content, 20 

Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
And wear a golden sorrow. 

Old L. Our content- 

Is our best having. 

Anne. By my troth and maidenhead, 

I would not be a queen. 

Old L. Beshrew me, I would, 

And venture maidenhead for 't ; and so would you, 
For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, 
Have too a woman's heart ; which ever yet 
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which 

. S ifts > . . . 30 

Saving your mincing, the capacity 
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, 
If you might please to stretch it. 
Anne. Nay, good troth. 

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth; you would not 

be a queen ? 
Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
Old L. 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd 
would hire me, 
Old as I am, to queen it : but, I pray you, 
What think you of a duchess? have you limbs 
To bear that load of title ? 

Anne. No, in truth. 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



603 



Old L. Then you are weakly made : pluck off 
a little ; 40 

I would not be a young count in your way, 
For more than blushing comes to : if your back 
Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, 'tis too weak 
Ever to get a boy. 

Anne. How you do talk ! 

I swear again, I would not be a queen 
For all the world. 

OldL. In faith, for little England 

You'ld venture an emballing : I myself 
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd 
No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes 
here? 

Enter tlic Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What were't 
worth to know 50 

The secret of your conference? 

Anne. My good lord. 

Not your demand; it values not your asking: 
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
The action of good women : there is hope 
All will be well. 

Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ! 

Chant. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
blessings 
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's 59 
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
Commends his good opinion of you, and 
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 
Than Marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
A thousand pound a year, annual support, 
Out of his grace he adds. 

Anne. I do not know 

What kind of my obedience I should tender; 
More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers 
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers 

and wishes 
Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, 70 
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, 
As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness ; 
Whose health and royalty I pray for. 

Chaw. Lady, 

I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit 
The king hath of you. [Aside] I have perused 

her well ; 
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled 
That they have caught the king : and who knows 

yet 
But from this lady may proceed a gem 
To lighten all this isle'? I'll to the king, 
And say I spoke with you. 

[Exit Lord Chamberlain. 

Anne. My honour'd lord. 80 

Old L. Why, this it is; see, see ! 
I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could 
Come pat betwixt too early and too late 
For any suit of pounds ; and you, O fate! 
A very fresh-fish here — fie, fie, fie upon 
This compell'd fortune ! — have your mouth fill'd 

up 
Before you open it. 

Anne. This is strange to me. 



Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty- 
pence, no. 
There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, 90 

That would not be a queen, that would she not, 
For all the mud in Egypt : have you heard it? 

Amie. Come, you are pleasant. 

Old L. With your theme, I could 

O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pem- 
broke ! 
A thousand pounds a year for pure respect ! 
No other obligation ! By my life, 
That promises moe thousands: honour's train 
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time 
I know your back will bear a duchess: say, 
Are you not stronger than you were? 

Anne. Good lady, 100 

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, 
If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, 
To think what follows. 
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
In our long absence : pray, do not deliver 
What here you've heard to her. 

OldL. What do you think me? 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A hall in Black-Friars. 

Trumpets, sennet, and comets. Enter two 
Vergers, with short silver wands I next them, 
two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after 
them, /^Archbishop of Canterbury alone; 
after him, the BiSHOPS of Lincoln. Ely, Ro- 
chester, andSAiNT Asaph ; next them 
some small distance, follows a Gentleman bear- 
ing the purse, with the great seal, and a car- 
dinal's hat ; then two Priests, bearing each a 
silver cross; then a Gentleman-Usher bare- 
headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms 
bearing a silver mace ; then two Gentlemen 
bearing two great silver pillars ; after them, 
side by side, the two Cardinals ; tw 
men with the sword and mace. 'Die King 
takes place under the cloth of state ; : 
Cardinals sit under him as judges. The 
Queen takes place some distance from the 
King. The Bishops place themselves on each 
side the court, in manner of a consistory ; 
below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next 
the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand 
in convenient order about the st 

Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is 
read, 
Let silence be commanded. . 

King. What's the need? 

It hath already publicly been read, 
And on all sides the authority allow'd; 
You may, then, spare that time. 

Wol. Be'tso. Proceed. 

Scribe. .Say, Henry King of England, come 
into the court. 

Crier. Henry King of England, &c. 

King. Here. 

Scribe. Say, Katharine Queen of England, 
come into the court n 

Crier. Katharine Queen of England, &c. 

[The Queen makes no answer, rises out 
of her chair, goes about r . 



604 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act ii. 



comes to the King, and kneels at his 
feet; then speaks. 
Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you do me right and 
justice ; 
And to bestow your pity on me : for 
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
Born out of your dominions ; having here 
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, 
In what have I offended you? what cause 
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, 20 
That thus you should proceed to put me off, 
And take your good grace from me? Heaven 

witness, 
I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
At all times to your will conformable; 
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 
Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry 
As I saw it inclined : when was the hour 
I ever contradicted your desire, 
Or made it not mine too? Or which of your 

friends 
Have I not strove to love, although I knew 30 
He were mine enemy? what friend of mine 
That had to him derived your anger, did I 
Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice 
He was from thence discharged? Sir, call to 

mind 
That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
With many children by you : if, in the course 
And process of this time, you can report, 
And prove it too, against mine honour aught, 
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 40 
Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir, 
The king, your father, was reputed for 
A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
And unmatch'd wit and judgement : Ferdinand, 
My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one 
The wisest prince that there had reign' d by many 
A year before : it is not to be question'd 50 

That they had gather'd a wise council to them 
Of every realm, that did debate this business, 
Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I 

humbly 
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
Be by my friends in Spain advised ; whose counsel 
I will implore : if not, i' the name of God, 
Your pleasure be fulfill' d ! 

Wol. You have here, lady, 

And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men 
Of singular integrity and learning, 
Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled 60 
To plead your cause : it shall be therefore boot- 
less 
That longer you desire the court ; as well 
For your own quiet, as to rectify 
What is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well and justly : therefore, madam, 
It's fit this royal session do proceed; 
And that, without delay, their arguments 
Be now produced and heard. 

Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, 

To you I speak. 

Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? 



Q. Kath. Sir, 

I am about to weep ; but, thinking that 70 ' 

We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain ! 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I '11 turn to sparks of fire. 

Wol. Be patient yet. 

Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble ; nay, 
before, 
Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
Induced by potent circumstances, that 
You are mine enemy, and make my challenge 
You shall not be my judge : for it is you 
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me ; 
Which God's dew quench ! Therefore I say again, 
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul 81 

Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wol. I do profess 

You speak not like yourself; who ever yet 
Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me 

wrong : 
I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice 
For you or any : how far I have proceeded, 90 
Or how far further shall, is warranted 
By a commission from the consistory, 
Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge 

me 
That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : 
The king is present : if it be known to him 
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, 
And worthily, my falsehood ! yea, as much 
As you have done my truth. If he know 
That I am free of your report, he knows 
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 100 
It lies to cure me : and the cure is, to 
Remove these thoughts from you : the which be- 
fore 
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking 
And to say so no more. 

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak 
To oppose your cunning. You're meek and 

humble-mouth'd ; 
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, 
With meekness and humility; but your heart 
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride, no 
You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, 
Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted 
Where powers are your retainers, and your words, 
Domestics to you, serve your will as't please 
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, 
You tender more your person's honour than 
Your high profession spiritual : that again 
I do refuse you for my judge ; and here, 
Before you all, appeal unto the pope, 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 120 
And to be judged by him. 
[She curtsies to the King, and offers to depart. 

Cam. The queen is obstinate, 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well. 
She's going away. 

King. Call her again. 

Crier. Katharine Queen of England, come 
into the court. 



Scene iv.j 



KIXG HENRY VIII. 



605 



Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. 
Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, 
keep your way : 
When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord 

help, 
They vex me past my patience! Pray you, 
pass on: 130 

I will not tarry; no, nor ever more 
Upon this business my appearance make 
In any of their courts. 

[Exeunt Queen, and her Attendants. 
King. Go thy ways, Kate : 

That man i' the world who shall report he has 
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, 
For speaking false in that : thou art, alone, 
If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, 
Obeying in commanding, and thy parts 139 

Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, 
The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born ; 
And, like her true nobility, she has 
Carried herself towards me. 

Wol. Most gracious sir, 

In humblest manner I require your highness, 
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing 
Of all these ears, — for where I am robb'd and 

bound, 
There must I be unloosed, although not there 
At once and fully satisfied, — whether ever I 
Did broach this business to your highness ; or 
Laid any scruple in your way, which might 150 
Induce you to the question on't? or ever 
Have to you, but with thanks to God for such 
A royal lady, spake one the least word that 

might 
Ee to the prejudice of her present state, 
Or touch of her good person? 

King. My lord cardinal, 

I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honour, 
I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
That you have many enemies, that know not 
Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, 
Bark when their fellows do: by some of these 160 
The queen is put in anger. You're excused : 
But will you be more justified? you ever 
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never 

desired 
It to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd, oft, 
The passages made toward it : on my honour, 
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, 
And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me 

to't, 
I will be bold with time and your attention: 
Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ; give 

heed to't: 
My conscience first received a tenderness, 170 
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French am- 
bassador ; 
Who had been hither sent on the debating 
A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and 
Our daughter Mary : i' the progress of this busi- 
ness, 
Ere a determinate resolution, he, 
I mean the bishop, did require a respite : 
Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
Whether our daughter were legitimate, 179 

Respedting this our marriage with the dowager, 
I Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook 



The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, 

Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 

The region of my breast; which forced such 

way, 
That many mazed considerings did throng 
And press'd in with this caution. First, methought 
I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, 
If it conceived a male child by me, should 
Do no more offices of life to't than 190 

The grave does to the dead ; for her male issue 
Or died where they were made, or shortly after 
This world had air'd them: hence I took a 

thought, 
This was a judgement on me ; that my kingdom, 
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not 
Be gladded in't by me : then follows, that 
I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in 
By this my issue's fail ; and that gave to me 
Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in 
The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 200 
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
Now present here together; that's to say, 
I meant to rectify my conscience, — which 
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, — 
By all the reverend fathers of the land 
And doctors learn'd : first I began in private 
With you, my Lord of Lincoln ; you remember 
How under my oppression I did reek, 
When I first moved you. 

Lin. Very well, my liege. 

King. I have spoke long : be pleased yourself 
to say 210 

How far you satisfied me. 

Lin. So please your highness, 

The question did at first so stagger me, 
Bearing a state of mighty moment in't 
And consequence of dread, that I committed 
The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt ; 
And did entreat your highness to this course 
Which you are running here. 

King. I then moved you, 

My Lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
To make this present summons : unsolicited 
I left no reverend person in this court ; 220 

But by particular consent proceeded 
Under your hands and seals : therefore, go on ; 
For no dislike i' the world against the person 
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward : 
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life 
And kingly dignity, we are contented 
To wear our mortal state to come with her, 
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
That's paragon'd o' the world. 

Cam. So please your highness, 230 

The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
That we adjourn this court till further day : 
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion 
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
She intends unto his holiness. 

King. [Aside] I may perceive 

These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor 
This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. 
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
Prithee, return: with thy approach, I In 
My comfort comes along. Break up the court: 
I say, set on. 241 

[Exeunt in manner as they entered. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act nr. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. London. The Queen's apartments. 

E7iter the Queen and her Women, as at work. 
Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul 
grows sad with troubles; 
Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst : leave 
working. 

Song. 
Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
And the mountain tops that freeze, 

Bow themselves when he did sing : 
To his music plants and flowers 
Ever sprung ; as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting spring. 
Every thing that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 10 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art, 
Killing care and grief of heart 
Fall asleep, or hearing, die. 

Enter a Gentleman. 
Q. Kath. How now ! 

Gent. An't please your grace, the two great 
cardinals 
Wait in the presence. 

Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 

Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
Q. Kath. Pray their graces 

To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their 

business 
With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from 
favour? 20 

I do not like their coining. Now I think on't, 
They should be good men; their affairs as right- 
eous : 
But all hoods make not monks. 

Enter the two Cardinals, Wolsey and 
Campeius. 
Wol. Peace to your highness ! 

Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a 
housewife, 
I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
What are your pleasures with me, reverend 
lords? 
Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to 
withdraw 
Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
The full cause of our coming. 

Q. Kath. Speak it here ; 

There's nothing I have done yet, o' my con- 
science, 30 
Deserves a corner : would all other women 
Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
My lords, I care not, so much I am happy 
Above a number, if my actions 
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, 
Envy and base opinion set against 'em, 
I know my life so even. If your business 
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, 
Out with it boldly : truth loves open dealing. 

Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, 
regina serenissima, — 41 

Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; 
I am not such a truant since my coming, 



As not to know the language I have lived in : 
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, 

suspicious ; 
Pray, speak in English : here are some will 

thank you, 
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ; 
Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord 

cardinal, 
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed 
May be absolved in English. 

Wol. Noble lady, 50 

I am sorry my integrity should breed, 
And service to his majesty and you, 
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
We come not by the way of accusation, 
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, 
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, 
You have too much, good lady ; but to know 
How you stand minded in the weighty dif- 
ference 
Between the king and you ; and to deliver, 
Like free and honest men, our just opinions 60 
And comforts to your cause. 

Cam. Most honour'd madam, 

My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, 
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, 
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
Both of his truth and him, which was too far, 
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
His service and his counsel. 

Q. Kath. [Aside] To betray me. — 

My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; 
Ye speak like honest men ; pray God, ye 

prove so ! 
But how to make ye suddenly an answer, 70 

In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, — 
More near my life, I fear, — with my weak wit, 
And to such men of gravity and learning, 
In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
Among my maids : full little, God knows, looking 
Either for such men or such business. 
For her sake that I have been, — for I feel 
The last fit of my greatness, — good your graces, 
Let me have time and counsel for my cause : 
Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless ! 80 

Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with 

these fears : 
Your hopes and friends are infinite. 

Q. Kath. In England 

But little for my profit : can you think, lords, 
That any Englishman dare give me counsel? 
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' 

pleasure, 
Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, 
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
They that must weigh out my afflictions, 
They that my trust must grow to, live not here : 
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence 90 
In mine own country, lords. 

Cam. I would your grace 

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
Q. Kath. How, sir? 

Cam. Put your main cause into the king's 

protection ; 
He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much 
Both for your honour better and your cause ; 
For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye, 
You '11 part away disgraced. 

Wol. He tells you rightly. 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



607 



Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, — 
my ruin : 
Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! 
Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a judge 100 
That no king can corrupt. 

Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 

Q. Kath. The more shame for ye : holy men 
I thought ye, 
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; 
But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye : 
Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your 

comfort ? 
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, 
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
I will not wish ye half my miseries ; 
I have more charity : but say, I warn'd ye ; 
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at 
once no 

The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye. 

Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
You turn the good we offer into envy. 

Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing : woe upon 
ye 
And all such false professors ! would you have 

me — 
If you have any justice, any pity ; 
If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits — 
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? 
Alas, has banish'd me his bed already, 
His love, too long ago ! I am old, my lords, 120 
And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
Is only my obedience. What can happen 
To me above this wretchedness? all your studies 
Make me a curse like this. 

Cam. Your fears are worse. 

Q. Kath. Have I lived thus long — let me 
speak myself, 
Since virtue finds no friends — a wife, a true one? 
A woman, I dare say without vain-glory. 
Never yet branded with suspicion? 
Have I with all my full affections 
Still met the king? loved him next heaven? 
obey'd him? 130 

Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? 
Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. 
Bring me a constant woman to her husband, 
One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure ; 
And to that woman, when she has done most, 
Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. 

Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we 

aim at. 
Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so 
guilty, 
To give up willingly that noble title 140 

Your master wed me to : nothing but death 
Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 

Wol. Pray, hear me. 

Q. Kath. Would I had never trod this English 
earth, 
J Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
: Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your 
hearts. 
What will become of me now, wretched lady ! 
I am the most unhappy woman living. 
Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes ! 
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me ; 
Almost no grave allowed me: like the lily, i^i 



That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, 
I '11 hang my head and perish. 

Wol. If your grace 

Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, 
You 'Id feel more comfort: why should we, good 

lady, 
Upon what cause, wrong 3'ou? alas, our places, 
The way of our profession is against it : 
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. 
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 160 

Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this car- 
riage. 
The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits 
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
I know you have a gentle, noble temper, 
A soul as even as a calm, : pray, think us 
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and 

servants. 
Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong 

your virtues 
With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit, 
As yours was put into you, ever casts 170 

Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king 

loves you ; 
Beware you lose it not : for us, if you please 
To trust us in your business, we are ready 
To use our utmost studies in your service. 

Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: and, 

pray, forgive me, 
If I have used myself unmannerly ; 
You know I am a woman, lacking wit 
To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
Pray, do my service to his majesty: 
He has my heart yet ; and shall have my prayers 
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend 

fathers, ^i. 

Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
That little thought, when she set footing here, 
She should have bought her dignities so dear. 

[Excufit. 

Scene II. Ante-chamber to tJie King's apart- 
ment. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of 

Suffolk, the Earl of Surkev, and t/ie 

Lord Chamberlain. 

Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints, 
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal 
Cannot stand under them : if you omit 
The offer of this time, I cannot promise 
But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, 
With these you bear already. 

Sur. I am joyful 

To meet the least occasion that may give me 
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, 
To be revenged on him. 

Suf. Which of the peers 

Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 10 
Strangely neglected? when did he 1 
The stamp of nobleness in any person 
Out of himself! 

Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures: 
What he deserves of you and me 1 know; 
What we can do to him, though now the time 
Gives way to US, I much fear. If you cannot 
Bar his access to the king, never attempt 



6o8 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act hi. 



Any thing on him ; for he hath a witchcraft 
Over the king in 's tongue. 

Nor, O, fear him not ; 

His spell in that is out: the king hath found 20 
Matter against him that for ever mars 
The honey of his language. No, he's settled, 
Not to come off, in his displeasure. 

Sur. Sir, 

I should be glad to hear such news as this 
Once every hour. 

Nor. Believe it, this is true : 

In the divorce his contrary proceedings 
Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears 
As I would wish mine enemy. 

Sur. How came 

His practices to light? 

Suf. Most strangely. 

Sur. O, how, how? 

Suf. The cardinal's letters to the pope mis- 
carried, 30 
And came to the eye o' the king : wherein was 

read, 
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
To stay the judgement o' the divorce ; for if 
It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive 
My king is tangled in affection to 
A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' 

Sur. Has the king this ? 

Suf. Believe it. 

Sur. Will this work? 

Cham. The king in this perceives him, how 
he coasts 
And hedges his own way. But in this point 
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
After his patient's death : the king already 41 
Hath married the fair lady. 

Sur. Would he had ! 

Suf May you be happy in your wish, my lord ! 
For, I profess, you have it. 

Sur. Now, all my joy 

Trace the conjunction ! 

Suf My amen to't ! 

Nor. All men's ! 

Suf There 's order given for her coronation : 
Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, 
She is a gallant creature, and complete 
In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her 50 
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
In it be memorized. 

Sur. But, will the king 

Digest this letter of the cardinal's ? 
The Lord forbid ! 

Nor. Marry, amen ! 

Suf. No, no; 

There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose 
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Cam- 

peius 
Is stol'n away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ; 
Has left the cause o' the king unhandled ; and 
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, 
To second all his plot. I do assure you 60 

The king cried Ha ! at this. 

Cham. Now, God incense him, 

And let him cry Ha ! louder ! 

Nor. But, my lord, 

When returns Cranmer? 

Suf. He is return'd in his opinions ; which 
Have satisfied the king for his divorce, 



Together with all famous colleges 

Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe, 

His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 

Her coronation. Katharine no more 

Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager 70 

And widow to Prince Arthur. 

Nor. This same Cranmer 's 

A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
In the king's business. 

Suf He has ; and we shall see him 

For it an archbishop. 

Nor. So I hear. 

Suf. 'Tis so. 

The cardinal ! 

Enter Wolsey and Cromwell. 

Nor. Observe, observe, he 's moody. 

Wol. The packet, Cromwell, 
Gave't you the king? 

Crom. To his own hand, in 's bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? 

Crom. Presently 

He did unseal them : and the first he view'd, 
He did it with a serious mind ; a heed 80 

Was in his countenance. You he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

To come abroad? 

Crom. I think, by this he is. 

Wol. Leave me awhile. [Exit Cromwell. 
[Aside] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, 
The French king's sister : he shall marry her. 
Anne Bullen ! No ; I '11 no Anne Bullens for him : 
There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen ! 
No, we '11 no Bullens. Speedily I wish 
To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pem- 
broke ! 90 

Nor. He's discontented. 

Suf. May be, he hears the king 

Does whet his anger to him. 

Sur. Sharp enough, 

Lord, for thy justice ! 

Wol. [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman, 

a knight's daughter, 

To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! 

This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; 

Then out it goes. What though I know her 

virtuous 
And well deserving? yet I know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to 
Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 100 
Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, 
And is his oracle. 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Sur. I would 'twere something that would 
fret the string, 
The master-cord on 's heart ! 

Enter the King, reading of a schedule, and 

Lovell. 
Suf. The king, the king ! 

King. What piles of wealth hath he accumul- 
ated 
To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour 
Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of 

thrift, 
Does he rake this'together ! Now, my lords, no 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



609 



Saw you the cardinal? 

Nor. My lord, we have 

Stood here observing him: some strange com- 
motion 
Is in his brain : he bites his lip, and starts; 
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
1 Then lays his finger on his temple : straight 
' Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, 

Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts 
I His eye against the moon : in most strange pos- 
tures 
We have seen him set himself. 

King. It may well be ; 

There is a mutiny in 's mind. This morning 120 
Papers of state he sent me to peruse. 
As I required : and wot you what I found 
There, — on my conscience, put unwittingly? 
Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing ; 
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure. 
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
Possession of a subject. 

Nor. It's heaven's will : 

Some spirit put this paper in the packet, 
To bless your eye withal. 

King. If we did think 130 

His contemplation were above the earth, 
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid 
His thinkings arc below the moon, not worth 
His serious considering. 

[King takes his scat ; whispers Lovcll. who 
gc?s to the Cardinal. 
Wol. Heaven forgive me ! 

Ever God bless your highness ! 

King. Good my lord, 

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the in- 
ventory 
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
You were now running o'er : you have scarce time 
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 140 
To keep your earthly audit : sure, in that 
I deem you an ill husband, and am glad 
To have you therein my companion. 

Wol. _ Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
To think upon the part of business which 
I bear i' the state ; and nature does require 
Her times of preservation, which perforce 
I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
Must give my tendence to. 

King. You have said well. 

Wol. And ever may your highness yoke to- 
gether, 150 
As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
With my well saying ! 

King. 'Tis well said again ; 

And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well : 
And yet words are no deeds. My father loved 

you: 
He said he did ; and with his deed did crown 
His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
Em pi oy'd you where high profits might come home, 
But pared my present havings, to bestow 
My bounties upon you. 

Wol. [Aside] What should this moan? 160 
Sur. [Aside] The Lord increase this busi- 



King. Have 1 not made you 

The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell 

me, 
If what I now pronounce you have found true : 
And. if you may confess it, say withal, 
If you are bound to us or no. What say you? 
Wol. My sovereign, I confess your royal 
graces, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than 

Could 

My studied purposes requite; which went 
Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours 
Have ever come too short of my desires, 170 

Yet died with my abilities: mine own ends 
Have been mine so that evermore they pointed 
To the good of your most sacred person and 
The profit of the state. For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, 
My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, 
Which ever has and ever shall be growing, 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

King. Fairly answer'd ; 

A loyal and obedient subject is 180 

Therein illustrated : the honour of it 
Does pay the act of it ; as, i' the contrary, 
The foulness is the punishment. I presume 
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, 

more 
On you than any ; so your hand and heart, 
Your brain, and every function of your power. 
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
To me, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess 190 

That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
More than mine own ; t that am, have, and will be — 
Though all the world should crack their duty to 

you, 
And throw it from their soul ; though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, 

and 
Appear in forms more horrid, — yet my duty, 
As doth a rock against the cbiding flood, 
Should the approach of this wild river break, 
And stand unshaken yours. 

King. 'Tis nobly spoken : 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 200 

For you have seen him open't. Read o'er this ; 
[Giving him papers. 
And after, this: and then to breakfast with 
What appetite you have. 

[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal 
Wolsey : the Nobles throng after 
him, smiling and iviiispering. 
Wol. What should this mean? 

What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it? 
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
Leap'd from his eyes: so looks the chafed lion 
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
Then makes him nothing. I. must read tin's 

paper; 
I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so ; 
This paper has undone me : 'tis the account 210 
( )f all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the pope- 
dom, 
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence! 



39 



6io 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act in 



Fit for a fool to fall by : what cross devil 
Made me put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this? 
No new device to beat this from his brains? 
I know 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune 
Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To the 
Pope!' 220 

The letter, as I live, with all the business 
I writ to's holiness. Nay then, farewell ! 
I have touch'd the highest point of all my great- 
ness; 
And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
And no man see me more. 

Re-enter to Wolsey, the Dukes of Norfolk 

and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the 

Lord Chamberlain. 

Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who 
commands you 
To render up the great seal presently 
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 230 

To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's, 
Till vou hear further from his highness. 

Wol. Stay : 

Where's your commission, lords? words cannot 

carry 
Authority so weighty. 

Suf. Who dare cross 'em, 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ? 

Wol. Till I find more than will or words to 
do it, 
I mean your malice, know, officious lords, 
I dare and must deny it. Now I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy : 
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, 240 

As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; 
You have Christian warrant for 'em, and, no 

doubt, 
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 
Mine and your master, with his own hand gave 

me; 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, 
During my life ; and, to confirm his goodness, 
Tied it by letters-patents : now, who'll take it? 

Sur. The king, that gave it. 

Wol. It must be himself, then. 251 

Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 

Wol. Proud lord, thou best : 

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue than said so. 

Sur. Thy ambition, 

Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : 
The heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
With thee and all thy best parts bound together, 
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy ! 
You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 260 

Far from his succour, from the king, from all 
That might have mercy on the fault thou gavest 

him; 
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
Absolved him with an axe. 

Wol. This, and all else 



This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 

I answer is most false. The duke by law 

Found his deserts : how innocent I was 

From any private malice in his end, 

His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 

If I loved many words, lord, I should tell you 

You have as little honesty as honour, 271 

That in the way of loyalty and truth 

Toward the king, my ever royal master, 

Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, 

And all that love his follies. 

Sur. By my soul, 

Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou shouldst 

feel 
My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My 

lords, 
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? 
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, 280 

Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
And dare us with his cap like larks. 

Wol. All goodness 

Is poison to thy stomach. 

Sur. Yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, 
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ; 
The goodness of your intercepted packets 
You v/rit to the pope against the king: your 

goodness, 
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. 
My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, 
As you respect the common good, the state 290 
Of our despised nobility, our issues, 
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, 
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
Collected from his life. I '11 startle you 
Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown 

wench 
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise 
this man, 
But that I am bound in charity against it ! 

Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's 
hand: 
But, thus much, they are foul ones. 

Wol. So much fairer 300 

And spotless shall mine innocence arise, 
When the king knows my truth. 

Stir. This cannot save you : 

I thank my memory, I yet remember 
Some of these articles ; and out they shall. 
Now, if you can blush and cry 'guilty,' cardinal, 
You'll show a little honesty. 

Wol. Speak on, sir; 

I dare your worst objections : if I blush, 
It is to see a nobleman want manners. 

Sur. I had rather want those than my head. 
Have at you ! 
First, that, without the king's assent or know- 
ledge, 310 
You wrought to be a legate ; by which power 
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 

Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else 
To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus' 
Was still inscribed; in which you brought the 

king 
To be your servant. 

Suf. Then that, without the knowledge 

Either of king or council, when you went 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VI! T. 



61 1 



Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
To carry into Flanders the great seal. 

Stir. Item, you sent a large commission 320 
To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude, 
Without the king's will or the state's allowance, 
A league between his highness and Ferrara. 

Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have 
caused 
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 

Sur. Then that you have sent innumerable 
substance — 
By what means got, I leave to your own con- 
science — 
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
You have for dignities ; to the mere undoing 
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 330 
Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
I will not taint my mouth with. 

Cham. O my lord, 

Press not a falling man too far ! 'tis virtue : 
His faults lie open to the laws; let them, 
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
So little of his great self. 

Sur. I forgive him. 

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further plea- 
sure is, 
Because all those things you have done of late, 
By your power legatine, within this kingdom, 
Fall into the compass of a praemunire, 340 

That therefore such a writ be sued against you; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection. This is my charge. 

Nor. And so we'll leave you to your medi- 
tations 
How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
About the giving back the great seal to US, 
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank 

you. 
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 349 
[Exeunt all but Wolsey. 

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hopes ; to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely ! 
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory, 360 

But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : 
I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 369 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have : 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 

Enter Cromwell, and stands amazed. 

Why, how now, Cromwell ! 
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 
Wol. What, amazed 



At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder 

A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, 

I am fall'n indeed. 

Crom. How does your grace ? 

II 'ol Why. well ; 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now ; and I feci within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured 

me, 
I humbly thank his grace; and froii' 

shoulders, 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, too much honour: 
O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven ! 

Crom. I am glad your grace has ma 
right use of it. 

Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, raethinks, 
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, 
To endure more miseries and greater far 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 390 
What news abroad ? 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst 

Is your displeasure with the king. 

Wol. " God bless him ! 

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is 
chosen 
Lord chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That 's somewhat sudden : 

But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice 
For truth's sake and his conscience ; that his bones, 
When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
What more ? 400 

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol That's news indeed. 

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was view'd in open as his queen, 
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me 
down. Cromwell, 
The king has gone beyond me : all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost for ever: 410 

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Crom- 
well; 
I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master : seek the king ; 
That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told him 
What and how true thou art : he will advance 

thee ; 
Some little memory of me will stir him — ■ 
I know his noble nature — not to let 419 

Thy hopeful service perish too: good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord, 

Must I, then, leave you? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble and so true a master! 
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
For ever and for ever shall he yours. 



39-^ 



6l2 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act iv. 



JVol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 430 
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Crom- 
well ; 
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall he, 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee, 
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 440 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? 
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate 

thee; 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O 

Cromwell, 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king ; 
And,— prithee, lead me in : 45 1 

There take an inventory of all I have, 
To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 
And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 
Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
Wol. So I have. Farewell 

! The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do 
dwell. [Exeunt. 460 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. A street in Westtninster. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another. 
First Gent. You're well met once again. 
Sec. Gent. So are you. 

First Gent. You come to take your stand here, 
and behold 
The Lady Anne pass from her coronation? 

Sec. Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last 
encounter, 
The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 
First Gent. Tis very true : but that time of- 
fer'd sorrow; 
This, general joy. 

Sec. Gent. 'Tis well: the citizens, 

I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds — 
As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever for- 
ward — 
In celebration of this day with shows, 10 

Pageants and sights of honour. 

First Gent. Never greater, 

Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. 

Sec. Gent. May I be bold to ask what that 
contains, 
That paper in your hand ? 

First Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list 

Of those that claim their offices this day 
By custom of the coronation. 
The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims 



To be high-steward : next, the Duke of Norfolk, \ 
He to be earl marshal : you may read the rest. 

Sec. Gent. I thank you, sir : had I not known 
those customs, 20 

I should have been beholding to your paper. 
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine, 
The princess dowager? how goes her business? 

First Gent. That I can tell you too. The 
Archbishop 
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 
Learned and reverend fathers of his order, 
Held a late'court at Dunstable, six miles off 
From Ampthill where the princess lay; to which 
She was often cited by them, but appear'd not : 
And, to be short, for not appearance and 30 

The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
Of all these learned men she was divorced, 
And the late marriage made of none effect: 
Since which she was removed to Kimbolton, 
Where she remains now sick. 

Sec. Gent. Alas, good lady ! 

[Trumpets. 

The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is 

coming. [Hautboys. 

THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION. 

i. A lively flourish of Ti'itmpets. 

2. Then, two Judges. 

3. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace 

before him. 

4. Choristers, singing. [Music. 

5. Mayor of London, beai'ing the mace. Then 

Garter, in his coat of arms, and o?i his head 
a gilt copper crozvu. 

6. Marquess Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, 

on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With 
him. the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod 
of silver with the dove, crorvned with an 
earl's coronet. Collars of SS. 

7. Duke of Suffolk, in. his robe of estate, his 

coronet on his head, bearing a long white 
wand, as high-steward. With him, the 
Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of mar- 
shalship, a coro?iet on his head. Collars 
ofSS. 

8. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports ; 

tinder it. the Queen in her robe; in her 
hair richly adorned with pearl, crowned. 
On each side her, the Bishops of London 
and Winchester. 

9. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal 

of gold, wrought with fiozuers, bearing the 
Queen's train. 
10. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain 
circlets of gold without flowers. 
They pass over the stage hi order and state. 
Sec. Gent. A royal train, believe me. These 
I know : 
Who's that that bears the sceptre? 

First Gent. Marquess Dorset : 

And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod. 

Sec. Gent. A bold brave gentleman. That 

should be 40 

The Duke of Suffolk? 

First Gent. 'Tis the same : high-steward. 

Sec. Gent. And that my Lord of Norfolk? 

First Gent. Yes. 

Sec. Gent. Heaven bless thee ! 

[Looking on i/ie Queen. 



Scene i.J 



A'lXG IIEKRV VIII. 



613 



Co 



Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. 

Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; 

Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 

And more and richer, when he strains that lady : 

I cannot blame his conscience. 

First Gent. They that bear 

The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
Of the Cinque-ports. 
Sec. Gent. Those men are happy; and so are 
all are near her. 50 

I take it, she that carries up the train 
Is that old noble lady, 1 >uchess of Norfolk. 

First Gent. It is; and all the rest are count- 
esses. 
Sec. Gent. Their coronets say so. These are 
stars indeed; 
And sometimes falling ones. 

First Gent. No more of that. 

[Exit procession, and t/icn a great flourish 
of trumpets. 

Etitcr a third Gentleman. 

First Gent. God save you, sir ! where have 
you been broiling? 

Third Gent. Among the crowd i' the Abbey ; 
where a finger 
Could not be wedged in more : I am stifled 
With the mere rankness of their joy. 

Sec. Gent. You saw 

The ceremony 

Third Gent. 

First Gent. 

Third Gent. 

Sec. Gent. 

Third Gent. 
stream 
Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen 
To a prepared place in the choir, fell off 
A distance from her; while her grace sat down 
To rest awhile, some half an hour or so, 
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
The beauty of her person to the peopie. 
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
That ever lay by man : which when the people 70 
Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, — 
Doublets, I think, — flew up; and had their faces 
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
I never saw before. Great-bellied women, 
That had not half a week to go, like rams 
In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living 
Could say ' This is my wife ' there ; all were woven 
So strangely in one piece. 

Sec. Gent. But, what follow'd? 81 

'Third Gent. At length her grace rose, and 
with modest paces 
Came to the altar ; where she kneel'd, and saint- 
like 
Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly. 
Then rose again and bow'd her to the people : 
When by the Archbishop of Canterbury 
She had all the royal makings of a queen ; 
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
Laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the choir, 90 
With all the choicest music of the kingdom, 



That I did. 

How was it? 
Well worth the seeing. 

Good sir, speak it to us. 
As well as I am able. The rich 



Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted. 
And with the same full state paced back again 
To York-place, where the feast is held. 

First Gent. Sir, 

You must no more call it York-place, that's past; 
For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost: 
"f is now the king's, and call'd Whitehall. 

Third Gent. I know it ; 

But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 
Is fresh about me. 

Sec. Gent. What two reverend bishops 

Were those that went on each side of the queen? 

Third Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner ; the one ; 
of Winchester, 101 

Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary, 
The other, London. 

Sec. Gent. He of Winchester 

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
The virtuous Cranmer. 

Third Gent. All the land knows that : 

However, yet there is no great breach , when it 

comes, 
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 

Sec. Gent. Who may that be, I pray you! 

Third Gent. Thomas Cromwell; 

A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 
A worthy friend. The king has made him 
O 1 the jewel house, 11 1 

And one, already, of the privy council. 

Sec. Gent. He will deserve more. 

Third Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 

Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests: 
Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
I 11 tell ye more. 

Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Kimbolton. 

Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between 

Griffith, her gentleman usher, and Pa- 
tience, her woman. 

Grif. How does your grace? 

Kath. O Griffith, sick to death ! 

My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
Willing to leave their burthen. Reach a chair : 
So ; now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led' st me, 
That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead? 

Grif. Yes, madam ; but I think your grace, 
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. 

Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he 
died: 
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily 10 

For my example. 

Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 

For after the stout Earl Northumb 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward, 
As a man sorely tainted, to his answer, 
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. Alis. poor man ! 

Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to 

Leicester, 

Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abb 't. 

With all his covent, honourably received him ; 19 

To whom he gave these words, 'O. father abbot, 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act iv. 



An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; 
Give him a little earth for charity !' 
So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness 
Pursued him still : and, three nights after this, 
About the hour of eight, which he himself 
Foretold should be his last, full of repentance, 
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
He gave his honours to the world again, 29 

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently 
on him ! 
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
And yet with charity. He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion, 
Tied all the kingdom : simony was fair-play ; 
His own opinion was his law : i' the presence 
He would say untruths ; and be ever double 
Both in his words and meaning : he was never, 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 40 

His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
But his performance, as he is now, nothing : 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Grif. Noble madam. 

Men's evil manners live in brass : their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good now ? 

Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 49 
Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle. 
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading : 
Lofty and sour to them that loved him not : 
But to those men that sought him sweet as 

summer. 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam, 
He was most princely : ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning that he raised in you, 
Ipswich and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 60 

The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And found the blessedness of being little : 
And, to add greater honours to his age 
Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 

Kath. After my death I wish no other herald. 
No other speaker of my living actions, 70 

To keep mine honour from corruption, 
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
With thy religious truth and modesty, 
Now in his a%hes honour : peace be with him ! 
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower: 
I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 80 

[Sad and solemn music. 

Grif. She is asleep: good wench, let's sit 
down quiet, 
For fear we wake her : softly, gentle Patience. 



The vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after 
another, six personages, clad in white robes, 
wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and 
golden vizards on their faces; branches of 
bays or palm in their hands. They first con- 
gee unto her, then dance; a?id, at certain 
changes, the first two hold a spare garland 
over her head; at which the other fo2ir make 
reverent curtsies; then the two that held the 
ga?-land deliver the same to the other next 
two, who observe the same order in their 
changes, and holding the garland over her 
head: which done, they deliver the same gar- 
land to the last two, who likewise observe 
the same order: at which, as it were by in- 
spiration, she makes in her sleep signs of 
rejoicing, and holdeth up herhajids to heaven : 
and so in their dancing vanish, carrying the 
garland with them. The music continues. 

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye 
all gone, 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 

Grif. Madam, we are here. 

Kath. It is not you I call for: 

Saw ye none enter since I slept? 

Grif None, madam. 

Ka th. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed 
troop 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? 
They promised me eternal happiness ; 90 

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, assuredly. 

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good 
dreams 
Possess your fancy. 

Kath. Bid the music leave, 

They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases. 

Pat. Do you note 

How much her grace is alter' d on the sudden? 
How long her face is drawn ? how pale she looks, 
And of an earthy cold? Mark her eyes ! 

Grif. She is going, wench : pray, pray. 

Fat. Heaven comfort her ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. An't like your grace, — 
Kath. You are a saucy fellow : 100 

Deserve we no more reverence? 

Grif. You are to blame, 

Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, 
To use so rude behaviour ; go to, kneel. 
Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' 
pardon ; 
My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying 
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : but this 
fellow 
Let me ne'er see again. 

[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger. 

Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius. 
If my sight fail not, 
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. no 
Cap. Madam, the same ; your servant. 
Kath. O, my lord, 

The times and titles now are alter'd strangely 



I 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



With me since first you knew me. But, I pray 

you, 
What is your pleasure with me? 

Cap. Noble lady. 

First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
The king's request that I would visit you ; 
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
Sends you his princely commendations, 
And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes 
too late ; 120 

Tis like a pardon after execution : 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me ; 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness? 

Cap. Madam, in good health. 

Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 

When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor 

name 
Banish'd the kingdom ! Patience, is that letter, 
I caused you write, yet sent away? 

J\u. No, madam. 

[Giving it to Katharine. 
Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 

Cap. Most willing, madam. 130 

Kath. In which I have commended to his 
goodness 
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! 
Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding, — 
She is young, and of a noble modest nature, 
I hope she will deserve well, — and a little 
To love her for her mother's sake, that loved him, 
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor pet- 
ition 
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long 140 

Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully: 
Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
And now I should not lie, but will deserve, 
For virtue and true beauty of the soul, 
For honesty and decent carriage, 
A right good husband, let him be a noble : 
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have 

'em. 
The last is, for my men ; they are the poorest, 
But poverty could never draw 'em from me ; 149 
That they may have their wages duly paid 'em, 
And something over to remember me by : 
If heaven had pleased to have given me longer 

life 
And able means, we had not parted thus. 
These are the whole contents: and, good my 

lord, 
By that you love the dearest in this world, 
As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, 
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the 

king 
To do me this last right. 

Cap. By heaven, I will, 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember 
me 160 

In all humility unto his highness : 
Say his long trouble now is passing 
Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him, 
For SO I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell, 
My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience, 



615 



You must not leave me yet : 1 must to bed ; 
Call in more women. When I am dead, good 

wench, 
Let me be used with honour : strew me over 
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 170 
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katharine. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. London. A gallery in the palace. 

Enter Cakdixer, Bishop of Winchester, a Page 
with a torch be/ore hint, met by Sik Thomas 

I.OVELL. 

Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? 

Boy. It hath struck. 

Gar. These should be hours for necessities, 
Not for delights; times to repair our nature 
With comforting repose, and not for us 
To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir 

Thomas ! 
Whither so late? 

Lov. Came you from the king, my lord? 

Gar. I did, Sir Thomas; and left him at 
primero 
With the Duke of Suffolk. 

Lov. I must to him too, 

Before he go to bed. I '11 take my leave. 

Gar. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's 
the matter? 10 

It seems you are in haste : an if there be 
No great offence belongs to't, give your friend 
Some touch of your late business : affairs, that 

walk, 
As they say spirits do, at midnight, have 
In them a wilder nature than the business 
That seeks dispatch by day. 

Lov. My lord, I love you ; 

And durst commend a secret to your ear 
Much weightier than this work. The queen's in 

labour, 
They say, in great extremity; and fear'd 
She'll with the labour end. 

Gar. The fruit she goes with 20 

I pray for heartily, that it may find 
Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir 

Thomas, 
I wish it grubb'd up now. 

Lov. Methinks I could 

Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says 
She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
Deserve our better wishes. 

Gar. But, sir, sir, 

rlear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman 
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; 
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, 
'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me, 30 
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
Sleep in their graves. 

Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 

The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Crom- 
well, 
Beside that of the jewel house, is made master 
( )' the rolls, and the king's secretary ; further, sir, 
Stands in the gap and trade of moe prefem 



6i6 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act v. 



With which the time will load him. The arch- 
bishop 
Is the king's hand and 'tongue ; and who dare 

speak 
One syllable against him? 

Gar. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, 

There are that dare ; and I myself have ventured 
To speak my mind of him: and indeed this 
day, 41 

Sir, I may tell it you, I think I have 
Incensed the lords o' the council, that he is, 
For so I know he is, they know he is, 
A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
That does infect the land : with which they 

moved 
Have broken with the king ; who hath so far 
Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace 
And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded 50 
To-morrow morning to the council-board 
He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir 

Thomas, 
And we must root him out. From your affairs 
I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas. 
Lov. Many good nights, my lord : I rest your 
servant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page. 

Enter the King and Suffolk. 

King: Charles, I will play no more to-night ; 
My mind's not on 't; you are too hard for me. 

Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before. 

King. But little, Charles ; 
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. 60 
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news? 

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
What you commanded me, but by her woman 
I sent your message ; who return'd her thanks 
In the great'st humbleness, and desired your 

highness 
Most heartily to pray for her. 

King. What say'st thou, ha ? 

To pray for her? what, is she crying out? 

Lov. So said her woman; and that her suf- 
ferance made 
Almost each pang a death. 

King. Alas, good lady ! 

Suf. God safely quit her of her burthen, and 
With gentle travail, to the gladding of 71 

Your highness with an heir ! 

King. 'Tis midnight, Charles ; 

Prithee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember 
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone ; 
For I must think of that which company 
Would not be friendly to. 

Suf. I wish your highness 

A quiet night ; and my good mistress will 
Remember in my prayers. 

King. Charles, good night. [Exit Suffolk. 

Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 

Well, sir, what follows? 

Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the arch- 
bishop, 80 
As you commanded me. 

King. Ha! Canterbury? 

Den. Ay, my good lord. 

King. 'Tis true: where is he, Denny? 



Deft. He attends your highness' pleasure. 
A ing. Bring him to us. 

[Exit Denny. 
Lov.^ [Aside] This is about that which the 
bishop spake : 
I am happily come hither. 

Re-enter Denny, with Cranmek. 
King. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to 

stay. ] Ha ! I have said. Be gone. 
What ! [Exeunt Lovell and Denny. 

Cran. [Aside] I am fearful : wherefore frowns 

he thus? 
'Tis his aspecl: of terror. All's not well. 

King. How now, my lord ! you do desire to 

know 90 

Wherefore I sent for you. 

Cran. [Kneeling] It is my duty 
To attend your highness' pleasure. 

King. Pray you, arise, 

My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury. 
Come, you and I must walk a turn together ; 
I have news to tell you: come, come, give me 

your hand. 
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, 
And am right sorry to repeat what follows : 
I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 
Grievous complaints of you; which, being con- 

sider'd, 100 

Have moved us and our council, that you shall 
This morning come before us ; where, I know, 
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself, 
But that, till further trial in those charges 
Which will require your answer, you must take 
Your patience to you, and be well contented 
To make your house our Tower : you a brother 

of us, 
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
Would come against you. 

Cran. [Kneeling] I humbly thank your 

highness ; 
And am right glad to catch this good occasion no 
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff 
And corn shall fly asunder : for, I know, 
There's none stands under more calumnious 

tongues 
Than I myself, poor man. 

King. Stand up, good Canterbury : 

Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted 
In us, thy friend : give me thy hand, stand up: 
Prithee, let's walk. Now, by my holidame, 
What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd 
You would have given me your petition, that 
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together 
Yourself and your accusers ; and to have heard 

you, 121 

Without indurance, further. 

Cran. Most dread liege, 

The good I stand on is my truth and honesty : 
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, 
Will triumph o'er my person ; which I weigh not, 
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
What can be said against me. 

King. Know you not 

How your state stands i' the world, with the 

whole world? 
Your enemies are many, and not small ; their 

practice's 



Scene j.] 



KING HENRY I'll I. 



6.7 



Must bear the same proportion; and not ever 130 
The justice and the truth o' the question carries 
The due o' the verdict with it : at what ease 
! Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
To swear against you? such things have been 

done. 
You are potently opposed ; and with a malice 
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, 
I mean, in perjured witness, than your master, 
I Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived 
Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to ; 
You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 140 
And woo your own destruction. 

Cran. God and your majesty 

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
The trap is laid for me ! 

King. Be of good cheer ; 

They shall no more prevail than we give way to. 
Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see 
You do appear before them : if they shall 

chance, 
In charging you with matters, to commit you, 
The best persuasions to the contrary 
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
I The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties 150 
' Will render you no remedy, this ring 
Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
There make before them. Look, the good man 

weeps ! 
He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest 

mother ! 
I swear he is true-hearted ; and a soul 
None better in my kingdom. Get you gone, 
\ And do as I have bid you. [Exit Crantner.] 

He has strangled 
His language in his tears. 

Enter Old Lady, Lovell following. 

Gent. [Within] Come back: what mean 

you? 
Old L. I'll not come back; the tidings that 
I bring 160 

\ Will make my boldness manners. Now, good 
angels 
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
Under their blessed wings ! 

King: Now, by thy looks 

I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd? 
Say, ay ; and of a boy. 

Old L. Ay, ay, my liege; 

And of a lovely boy : the God of heaven 
lioth now and ever bless her ! 'tis a girl, 
i Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
Desires your visitation, and to be 169 

Acquainted with this stranger : 'tis as like you 
As cherry is to cherry. 

King. Lovell ! 

Lov. Sir? 

King. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to 
the queen. [Exit. 

Old L. An hundred marks! By this light, 
I'll ha' more. 
An ordinary groom is for such payment. 
I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
Said I for this, the girl was like to him ? 
I will have more, or else unsay 't ; and now. 
While it is hot, I '11 put it to the issue. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene II. Before tlie cowicil-chand'cr. 

Pursuivants, Pages, &c. attending. 
Enter Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet the 

gentleman, 
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me 
To make great haste. All fast? what means 

this? Ho! 
Who waits there? Sure, you know me? 



Enter Keeper. 

Keep. 

But yet I cannot help you. 
Cran. Why.' 



Yes, my lord ; 



Enter Doctor Butts. 

Keep. Your grace must wait till you be 

call'd for. 
Cran. So. 

Butts. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I 

am glad 
I came this way so happily: the king 
Shall understand it presently. [Exit. 

Cran. [Aside] 'Tis Putts, 10 

The king's physician : as he pass'd along, 
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For 

certain, 
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me — 
God turn their hearts ! I never sought their 

malice — 
To quench mine honour: they would shame to 

make me 
Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor, 
'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their 

pleasures 
Must be fulnU'd, and I attend with patience. 

Enter the King and Butts at a ivindcnu above. 

Butts. I '11 show your grace the strangest 

sight— 
King. What's that, Butts? 20 

Butts. I think your highness saw this many 

a day. 
King. Body o' me, where is it? 
Suits. There, my lord : 

The high promotion of his grace of Canter- 
bury; 
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursui- 
vants, 
Pages, and footboys. 

King. Ha ! 'tis he, indeed : 

Is this the honour they do one another? 
'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had 

thought 
They had parted so much honest y among 'em, 
At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer 
A man of his place, and SO near our favour, 30 
To dance attendance 011 their lordships' plea- 
sures, 
And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery: 
Let 'em alone, ami draw the curtain close : 
We shall hear more anon. [Exeunt. 



6i8 



KING HENRY VIII. 



[Act v. 



Scene III. The Council-Chamber. 

Enter Lord Chancellor ; places himself at 
the upper end of the table on the left hand; a 
seat being left void above him, as for Canter- 
bury's seat. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of 
Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gar- 
diner, seat themselves in order on each side. 
Cromwell at lower end, as secretary. Keeper 
at the door. 

Chan. Speak to the business, master secre- 
tary : 
Why are we met in council? 

Crom. Please your honours, 

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canter- 
bury. 

Gar. Has he had knowledge of it? 

Crom. Yes. 

Nor. _ "Who waits there ? 

Keep. Without, my noble lords? 

Gar. Yes. 

Keep. My lord archbishop ; 

And has done half an hour, to know your plea- 
sures. 

Chan. Let him come in. 

Keep. Your grace may enter now. 

[Cranmer enters and approaches 

the council-table. 

Chan. My good lord archbishop, I'm very 
sorry 
To sit here at this present, and behold 
That chair stand empty : but we all are men, 10 
tin our own natures frail, and capable 
Of our flesh ; few are angels : out of which frailty 
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach 

us, 
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, 
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
The whole realm, by your teaching and your 

chaplains, 
For so we are inform'd, with new opinions, 
Divers and dangerous ; which are heresies, 
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 19 

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
My noble lords : for those that tame wild horses 
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, 
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and 

spur 'em, 
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer, 
Out of our easiness and childish pity 
To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, 
Farewell all physic : and what follows then? 
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
Of the whole state : as, of late days, our neigh- 
bours, 
The upper Germany, can dearly witness, 30 

Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the 
progress 
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, 
And with no little study, that my teaching 
And the strong course of my authority 
Might go one way, and safely; and the end 
Was ever, to do well : nor is there living, 
I speak it with a single heart, my lords, 
A man that more detests, more stirs against, 
Both in his private conscience and his place, 40 
Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 



Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 

With less allegiance in it ! Men that make 

Envy and crooked malice nourishment 

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 

That, in this case of justice, my accusers, 

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, 

And freely urge against me. 

Suf Nay, my lord, 

That cannot be : you are a counsellor, 
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 50 

Gar. My lord, because we have business of 
more moment, 
We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' 

pleasure, 
And our consent, for better trial of you, 
From hence you be committed to the Tower ; 
Where, being but a private man again, 
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
More than, I fear, you are provided for. 

Cran. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I 
thank you ; 
You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, 
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,6o 
You are so merciful : 1 see your end ; 
'Tis my undoing : love and meekness, lord, 
Become a churchman better than ambition : 
Win straying souls with modesty again, 
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience 
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, 
But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 

Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sedtary, 70 
That's the plain truth: your painted gloss dis- 
covers, 
To men that understand you, words and weak- 
ness. 

Crom. My Lord of Winchester, you are a 
little, 
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, 
However faulty, yet should find respect 
For what they have been : 'tis a cruelty 
To load a falling man. 

Gar. Good master secretary, 

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst 
Of all this table, say so. 

Crom. Why, my lord? 

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer 80 
Of this new sedl? ye are not sound. 

Crom. Not sound? 

Gar. Not sound, I say. 

Cro?n. Would you were half so honest ! 

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their 
fears. 

Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 

Crom. Do. 

Remember your bold life too. 

Chan. This is too much ; 

Forbear, for shame, my lords. 

Gar. I have done. 

Crom. And I. 

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord : it stands 
agreed, 
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith 
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner ; 
There to remain till the king's further pleasure 
Be known unto us : are you all agreed, lords? 91 

A II. We are. 

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



619 



Why, what a shame was this! Did my com- 
mission 
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye 
Power as he was a counsellor to try him, 
Not as a groom : there's some of ye, I see, 
More out of malice than integrity, 
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; 
Which ye shall never have while I live. 

Chan. Thus far. 

My most dread sovereign, may it like y 
To let my tongue excuse all. What was pur- 
posed 
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather, 750 
If there be faith in men, meant for his trial, 
And fair purgation to the world, than malice, 
I 111 sure, in me. 

King. Well, well, my lords, respect him ; 
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. 
I will say thus much for him, if a prince 
May be beholding to a subje I I 
Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him : 
Be friends, for shame, my lords ! My Lord of 
Canterbury, I Q 

I have a suit which you must not deny me ; 
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants bap- 
tism. 
You must be godfather, and answer for her. 

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may 
glory 
In such an honour : how may I deserve it, 
That am a poor and humble subject to you? 

King. Come, come, my lord, you 'Id spare 
your spoons : you shall have two noble partners 
with you; the old Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady 
Marquess Dorset: will these please you? 170 

Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge 

you, 
Embrace and love this man. 

Gar. With a true heart 

And brother-love I do it. 

Cran. And let heaven 

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 

King. Good man, those joyful tears show thy 
true heart : 
The common voice, I see, is verified 
Of thee, which says thus, ' Do my Lord of Can- j 

terbury 
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.' 
Come, lords, we trifle time away : I long 
To have this young one made a Christian. 180 
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The palace yard. 

Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and 
his Man. 

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals : 
do you take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude 
slaves, leave your gaping. 

i /; 'ithin] Good master porter, I belong to the 
larder. 

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, 
ye rogue ! is this a place to roar in ? Feti 
dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones : these 
are but switches to 'em. 1 '11 scratch your heads : 



But I must needs to the lower, my lords ? 

Gar. What other 

Would you expect? you are strangely trouble- 
some. 
Let some o' the guard be ready there. 

Enter Guard. 
Cran. Forme? 

Must 1 go like a traitor thither? 

Gar. Receive him, 

And see him safe i' the Tower. 

Cran. Stay, good my lords, 

I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords ; 
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause 
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 100 
To a most noble judge, the king my master. 
Chain. This is the king's ring. 
Sur. 'lis no counterfeit. 

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told 
ye all, 
When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling, 
T would fall upon ourselves. 

Nor. Do you think, my lords, 

The king will suffer but the little finger 
j Of this man to be vex'd? 

Chan. 'Tis now too certain : 

How much more is his life in value with him i 
1 Would I were fairly out on't ! 

Crom. My mind gave me, 

I In seeking tales and informations no 

I Against this man, whose honesty the devil 
And his disciples only envy at, 
Ye blew the fire that burns ye : now have at ye ! 

] E?iter King, frowning on them; takes his scat. 

Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we 
bound to heaven 
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; 
Not only good and wise, but most religious : 
One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
I The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen 
( That holy- duty, out of dear respect, 
His royal self in judgement comes to hear 120 
The cause betwixt her and this great offender. 
King. You were ever good at sudden com- 
mendations, 
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not 
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
They are too thin and bare to hide offences. 
To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel, 
And think with wagging of your tongue to win 

me; 
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure 
Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody. 
[To Cranmer] Good man, sit down. Now let me 
see the proudest 130 

He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : 
By all that's holy, he had better starve 
j Than but once think this place becomes thee not. 
Sur. May it please your grace.— 
King. No, sir, it does not please me. 

I had thought I had had men of some under- 
standing 
And wisdom of my council ; but I find none. 
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, 
This good man, — few of you deserve that title, — 
This honest man, wait like a lousy fdotboy 139 
At chamber-door? and one as great as you are? 



you must be seeing christenings? do you look for 
ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? n 

Man. Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much im- 
possible — 
Unless we sweep 'em from the door with can- 
nons — 
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep 
On May-day morning; which will never be : 
We may as well push against Powle's, as stir 'em. 

Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ? 

Man. Alas, I know not ; how gets the tide in? 
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot — 
You see the poor remainder — could distribute, 20 
I made no spare, sir. 

Port. You did nothing, sir. 

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor 
Colbrand, 
To mow 'em down before me : but if I spared any 
That had a head to hit, either young or old, 
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, 
Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again ; 
And that I would not for a cow, God save her ! 

[Within] Do you hear, master porter? 

Port. I shall be with you presently, good 
master puppy. Keep the door close, sirrah. 30 

Man. What would you have me do ? 

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em 
down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to mus- 
ter in? or have we some strange Indian with the 
great tool come to court, the women so besiege 
us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at 
door! On my Christian conscience, this one 
christening will beget a thousand; here will be 
father, godfather, and all together. 39 

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. 
There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he 
should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my con- 
science, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's 
nose; all that stand about him are under the line, 
they need no other penance : that fire-drake did 
I hit three times on the head, and three times 
was his nose discharged against me; he stands 
there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There 
was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, 
that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off 
her head, for kindling such a combustion in the 
state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that 
woman; who cried out 'Clubs!' when I might 
see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her 
succour, which were the hope o' the Strand, 
where she was quartered. They fell on ; I made 
good my place : at length they came to the broom- 
staff to me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a 
file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such 
a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine 
honour in, and let 'em win the work : the devil 
was amongst 'em, I think, surely. 

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a 
playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no 
audience, but the tribulation of Tower-hill, or the 
limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able 
to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, 
and there they are like to dance these three days ; 
besides the running banquet of two beadles that 
is to come. 70 

Enter Lord Chamberlain. 
Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are 
here ! 



They grow still too ; from all parts they are com- 

. m s< 

As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these 

porters, 
These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, 

fellows : 
There's a trim rabble let in : are all these 
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall 

have 
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 
When they pass back from the christening. 

Port. An't please your honour, 

We are but men ; and what so many may do, 
Not being torn a-pieces, we have done : 80 

An army cannot rule 'em. 

Cham. As I live, 

If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all 
By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads 
Clap round fines for neglect : ye are lazy knaves ; 
And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when 
Ye should do service. Hark ! the trumpets 

sound ; 
They're come already from the christening: 
Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
To let the troop pass fairly ; or I '11 find 
A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two 
months. 90 

Port. Make way there for the princess. 

Man. You great fellow, 

Stand close up, or I '11 make your head ache. 

Port. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail ; 
I '11 peck you o'er the pales else. [Exe?tnt. 

Scene V. The palace. 

Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, 
Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of 
Norfolk with his marshal's staff, Duke of 
Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great stand- 
ing-bowls for the christening-gifts ; then four 
Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the 
Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing 
the child richly habited in a mantle, &>c, 
train borne by a Lady; then follows the 
Marchioness Dorset, the other godmother, 
and Ladies. The troop pass once about the 
stage, and Garter speaks. 
Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, 

send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to 

the high and mighty princess of England, 

Elizabeth ! 

Flourish. Enter King and Guard. 
Cran. [Kneeling] And to your royal grace, 
and the good queen, 
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray : 
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, 
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
May hourly fall upon ye ! 

King. Thank you, good lord archbishop : 

What is her name ? 

Cran. Elizabeth. 

King. Stand up, lord. 10 

[ The King kisses the child. 
With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thee ! 
Into whose hand I give thy life. 

Cran. Amen. 

King. My noble gossips, ye have been too 
prodigal : 



Scene v.] 



KING HENRY VIII. 



621 



I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, 
When she has so much English. 

Cran. Let me speak, sir, 

For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
Let none think flattery, for they '11 find 'em truth. 
This royal infant — heaven still move about her ! — 
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 20 
Which time shall bring to ripeness : she shall be — 
But few now living can behold that goodness — 
A pattern to all princes living with her, 
And all that shall succeed : Saba was never 
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue 
Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces. 
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
With all the virtues that attend the good, 
Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse 

her, 
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : 30 
She shall be loved and fear*d : her own shall 

bless her ; 
Her foes shake like afield of beaten corn, 
And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows 
with her : 

) In her days every man shall eat in safety. 
Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : 
God shall bo truly known; and those about her 

I From her shall read the perfecl: ways of honour, 

1 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 

, Nor shall this peace sleep with her : but as when 
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 41 
Her ashes new create another heir, 

! As great in admiration as herself; 

I So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
When heaven shall call her from this cloud of 
darkness, 

■ Who from the sacred ashes of her honour 

f Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was. 
And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, 
terror, 

! That were the servants to this chosen infant, 

j Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him : 50 
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
His honour and the greatness of his name 
Shall be, and make new nations : he shall flourish. 
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 



To all the plains about him : our children's child- 
ren 
Shall see this, and bless heaven. 

King. Thou speakest wonders. 

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of Eng- 
land. 
An aged princess ; many days shall see her, 
And yet nj day without a deed to crown it. 59 
Would I had known no more ! but she must die, 
She must, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin, 
A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 

King. O lord archbishop, 
Thou hast made me now a man ! never, before 
This happy child, did I get any thing: 
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me, 
That when I am in heaven I shall desire 
To see what this child does, and praise my 

.Maker. 
I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor, 70 
And your good brethren, I am much beholding ; 
1 have received much honour by your presence, 
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way. 

lords: 
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank 

ye, 

She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
Has business at his house ; for all shall stay : 
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunf. 

EPILOGUE. 

'Tis ten to one this play can never please 
All that are here : some come to take their ease, 
And sleep an adt or two; but those, we fear, 
We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis 

clear, 
They'll say 'tis naught : others, to hear the city 
Abused extremely, and to cry 'That's witty !' 
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, 
All the expected good we're like to hear 
For this play at this time, is only in 
The merciful construction of good women ; 10 

j For such a one we show'd 'em : if they smile. 
And say 'twill do, I know, within a while 
All the best men are ours ; for 'tis ill hap, 

! If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Priam, king of Troy. 

Hector, 

Troilus, 

Paris, )*his sons. 

Deiphobus, 

Helenus, 

Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam. 

yENEAS, 1 rr • , 

ANTENOR,| Tr °J an commanders. 
Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with 

the Greeks. 
Pandarus, uncle to Cressida. 
Agamemnon, the Grecian general. 
Menelaus, his brother. 
Achilles, ^ 
Ajax, 

Ulysses, I n 
Nestor, Y Gte <^ P" nces 

DlOMEDES, 

Patroclus. 



J 



PROLOGUE. 

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of 

Greece 
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, 
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, 
Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore 
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
Put forth toward Phrygia ; and their vow is 

made 
To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures 
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, 
With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. 
To Tenedos they come ; 

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
Their warlike fraughtage : now on Dardan 

plains 
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, 
Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien, 
And Antenorides, with massy staples 
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
Sperr up the sons of Troy. 

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 20 

On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
Sets all on hazard : and hither am I come 
A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence 
Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited 
In like conditions as our argument, 
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those 

broils, 
Beginning in the middle, starting thence away 
To what may be digested in a play. 
Like or find fault ; do as your pleasures are : 30 
Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 



Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Gre- 
cian. 
Alexander, servant to Cressida. 
Servant to Troilus. 
Servant to Paris. 
Servant to Diomedes. 

Helen, wife to Menelaus. 
Andromache, wife to Hector. 
Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a pro- 
phetess. 
Cressida, daughter to Calchas. 



Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. 



Scene: Troy, and the Grecian camp 
before it. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Troy. Befoi'e Priam's palace. 
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 

Tro. Call here my varlet ; I'll unarm again: 
Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
That find such cruel battle here within? 
Each Trojan that is master of his heart, 
Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 

Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended? 

Tro. The Greeks are strong and skilful to 
their strength, 
Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant ; 
But I am weaker than a woman's tear, 
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, 10 

Less valiant than the virgin in the night 
And skilless as unpractised infancy. 

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : 
for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. 
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must 
needs tarry the grinding. 

Tro. Have I not tarried? 

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry 
the bolting. 

Tro. Have I not tarried? 

Pan. Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the 
leavening. 20 

Tro. Still have I tarried. 

Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in 
the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the making of 
the cake, the heating of the oven and the baking ; 
nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may 
chance to burn your lips. 

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, 
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. 



Scene i.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



623 



At Priam's royal table do I sic; 
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 
So, traitor! 'When she comes!' When is she 
thence? 31 

Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than 
ever I saw her look, or any woman else. 

Tro. I was about to tell thee : — when my heart, 
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, 
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, 
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : 
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 40 
Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker 
than Helen's — -well, go to — there were no more 
comparison between the women : but, for my part, 
she is my kinswoman ; I would not, as they term 
it, praise her: but I would somebody had heard 
her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise 
your sister Cassandra's wit, but — • 

Tro. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, — 
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, 
Reply not in how many fathoms deep 50 

They lie indrench'd. I tell thse I am mad 
In Cressid's love : thou answer'st 'she is fair ;' 
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, 
Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure 
The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense 
Hard as the palm of ploughman : this thou tell'st 

me, 
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her ; 60 
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 
The knife that made it. 

Pan. I speak no more than truth. 
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 
Pan. Faith, I 'II not meddle in 't. Let her be 
as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an 
she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. 
Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus ! 
Pan. I have had my labour for my travail ; ill- 
thought on of her and ill-thought on of you ; gone 
between and between, but small thanks for my 
labour. 

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, 
with me? 

Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore she 's 
not so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me, 
.she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on 
Sunday. But what care I ? I care not an she 
were a black-a-moor ; 'tis all one to me. 80 

Tro. Say I she is not fair? 
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's 
a fool to stay behind her father ; let her to the 
Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see 
her : for my part, I '11 meddle nor make no more 
'.' the matter. 

Tro. Pandarus, — 
Pan. Not I. 
Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will 

leave all as I found it, and there an end. 91 

[Exit Pandarus. An alarum. 

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace, 

rude sounds ! 

Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair, 



When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 

I cannot fight upon this argument ; 

It is too starved a subject for my sword. 

But Pandarus, — O gods, how do you plague me ! 

I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar ; 

And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, 

As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 100 

Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, 

What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? 

Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl : 

Between our Ilium and where she resides, 

Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood, 

Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar 

Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark. 

Alarum. Enter .-Eneas. 
. Ene. How now, Prince Troilus ! wherefore 

not afield? 
Tro. Because not there : this woman's an- 
swer sorts, 
For womanish it is to be from thence. no 

What news, ^Eneas, from the field to-day? 
/E?ie. That Paris is returned home and hurt. 
Tro. By whom, ./Eneas? 

^Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. 

Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'tis but a scar to scorn ; 

Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 

. En,'. Hark, what good sport is out of town 

to-day ! 
Tro. Better at home, if ' would I might' were 
'may.' 
But to the sport abroad : are you bound thither? 
AEne. In all swift haste. 
Tro. Come, go we then together. 

[Ex-. -U)lt. 

Scene II. The same. A street. 
E?iter Cressida and Alexander. 

Cres. Who were those went by? 

Alex. Queen Hecuba and Helen. 

Cres. And whither go they? 

Alex. Up to the eastern tower, 

Whose height commands as subject all the vale, 
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved : 
He chid Andromache and struck his armorer, 
And, like as there were husbandry in war, 
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light, 
And to the field goes he ; where every flower 
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 10 

In Hector's wrath. 

Cres. What was his cause of anger? 

Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among 
the Greeks 
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; 
They call him Ajax. 

Cres. Good; and what of him? 

Alex. They say he is a very man per se, 
And stands alone. 

Cres. So do all men, unless they are drunk, 
sick, or have no legs. 

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many 
beasts of their particular additions; he is as 
valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as 
the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so 
crowded humours that his valour is crushed into 
folly, his folly sauced with discretion : there is no 
man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, 



624 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



TAct I. 



nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain 
of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry 
J against the hair: he hath the joints of every 
, thing, but every thing so out of joint that he is 
] a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or 
J purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 31 

Cres. But how should this man, that makes 
| me smile, make Hector angry? 

"Alex. They say he yesterday coped Hector 
I in the battle and struck him down, the disdain 
! and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hedtor 
! fasting and waking. 

Cres. Who comes here ? 

A lex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Cres. Hector's a gallant man. 40 

Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 

Pan. What's that? what's that? 

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : what do 
you talk of? Good morrow, Alexander. How 
do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? 

Cres. This morning, uncle. 

Pan. What were you talking of when I came ? 
J Was Hector armed and gone ere ye came to 
I Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? 50 

Cres. Hector was gone, but Helen was not up. 

Pan. Even so : Hector was stirring early. 

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his 
anger. 

Pan. Was he angry? 

Cres. So he says here. 

Pan. True, he was so : I know the cause 
too: he'll layabout him to-day, I can tell them 
that: and there's Troilus will not come far be- 
hind him ; let them take heed of Troilus, I can 
tell them that too. 61 

Cres. What, is he angry too ? 

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better 
man of the two. 

Cres. O Jupiter ! there's no comparison. 

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? 
Do you know a man if you see him? 

Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew 
him. 

Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 70 

Cres. Then you say as I say ; for, I am sure, 
he is not Hector. 

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some 
degrees. 

Cres. 'Tisjust to each of them; he is him- 
self. 

Pan. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus ! I would 
he were. 

Cres. So he is. 

Pan. Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. 

Cres. He is not Hector. 81 

Pan. Himself! no, he's not himself: would 
a' were himself ! Well, the gods are above ; 
time must friend or end : well, Troilus, well : I 
would my heart were in her body. No, Hector 
is not a better man than Troilus. 

Cres. Excuse me. 

Pan. He is elder. 

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 89 

Pan. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell 
me another tale, when th' other's come to't. 
Hector shall not have his wit this year. 



Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 

Pan. Nor his qualities. 

Cres. No matter. 

Pan. Nor his beauty. 

Cres. 'Twould not become him ; his own's 
better. 

Pan. You have no judgement, niece : Helen 
herself swore th' other clay, that Troilus, for a 
brown favour — for so 'tis, I must confess, — not 
brown neither, — 

Cres. No, but brown. 

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not 
brown. 

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 

Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris. 

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 

Pan. So he has. 109 

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if 
she praised him above, his complexion is higher 
than his ; he having colour enough, and the other 
higher, is too flaming a praise for a good com- 
plexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had 
commended Troilus for a copper nose. 

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him 
better than Paris. 

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek indeed. 

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came 
to him th' other day into the compassed window, 
— and, you know, he has not past three or four 
hairs on his chin, — 

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon 
bring his particulars therein to a total. 

Pan. Why, he is very young: and yet will 
he, within three pound, lift as much as his bro- 
ther Hector. 

Cres. Is he so young a man and so old a 
lifter? 129 

Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves 
him : she came and puts me her white hand to 
his cloven chin — 

Cres. Juno have mercy ! how came it cloven ? 

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think 
his smiling becomes him better than any man in 
all Phrygia. 

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. 

Pan. Does he not? 

Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 139 

Pan. Why, go to, then : but to prove to you 
that Helen loves Troilus, — 

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you '11 
prove it so. 

Pan. Troilus ! why, he esteems her no more 
than I esteem an addle egg. 

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you 
love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the 
shell. 

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how 
she tickled his chin : indeed, she has a marvellous 
white hand, I must needs confess, — 151 

Cres. Without the rack. 

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white 
hair on his chin. 

Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 

Pan. But there was such laughing ! Queen 
Hecuba laughed that her eyes ran o'er. 

Cres. With mill-stones. 

Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 

Cres. But there was more temperate fire under 
the pot of her eyes : did her eyes run o'er too ? 161 



Scene ii.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



625 



Pan. And Hecflor laughed. 

Cres. At what was all this laughing? 

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen 
spied on Troilus' chin. 

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should 
have laughed too. 

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair 
as at his pretty answer. 

Cres. What was his answer? 170 

Pan. Quoth she, ' Here 's but two and fifty 
hairs on your chin, and one of them is while.' 

Cres. This is her question. 

Pan. That's true ; make no question of that. 
'Two and fifty hairs,' quoth he, ' and one white : 
that white hair is my father, and all the rest are 
his sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she, 'which of these 
hairs is Paris my husband ? ' ' The forked one,' 
quoth he, 'pluck't out, and give it him.' But 
there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, 
and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, 
that it passed. 

Cres. So let it now ; for it has been a great 
while going by. 

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yester- 
day ; think on't. 

Cres. So I do. 

Pan. I '11 be sworn 'tis true ; he will weep you. 
an 'twere a man born in April. 189 

Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere 
a nettle against May. [A retreat sounded. 

Pan. Hark! they are coming from the field : 
shall we stand up here, and see them as they 
pass toward Ilium? good niece, do, sweet niece 
Cressida. 

Cres. At your pleasure. 

Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place; 
here we may see most bravely : I '11 tell you them 
all by their names as they pass by; but mark 
Troilus above the rest. 200 

Cres. Speak not so loud. 

^Eneas passes. 
Pan. That's ^Eneas : is not that a brave man? 
he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you: 
but mark Troilus ; you shall see anon. 

Antenor passes. 

Cres. Who's that? 

Pan. That's Antenor: he has a shrewd wit, 
I can tell you ; and he 's a man good enough : he 's 
one o' the soundest judgements in Troy, whoso- 
ever, and a proper man of person. When comes 
Troilus? I'll show you Troilus anon: if he see 
me, you shall see him nod at me. 

Cres. Will he give you the nod ? 

Pan. You shall see. 

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 



Hector passes. 

Pan. That's Hecflor, that, that, look you, 
that; there's a fellow! Go thy way. Hector! 
There's a brave man, niece. O brave Hecflor! 
Look how he looks! there's a countenance ! is't 
not a brave man ? 

Cres. O, a brave man ! ' 220 

Pan. Is a' not? it does a man's heart good. 

Look you what hacks are on his helmet ! look you 

yonder, do you see? look you there: there's no 



jesting; there's laying on, take't off who will, as 
they say : there be hacks ! 

Cres. Be those with swords? 

Pan. Swords ! any thing, he cares not ; an the 
devil come to him, it's all one: by God's lid, it 
does one's heart good. Yonder comes Paris, 
yonder comes Paris. 230 

Paris passes. 
Look ye yonder, niece; is't not a gallant man 
too, is't not? Why, this is brave now. Who said 
he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why, 
this will do Helen's heart good now, ha ! Would 
I could see Troilus now ! You shall see Troilus 
anon. 

Helenus passes. 

Cres. Who's that? 

Pan. That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus 
is. That's Helenus. I think he went not forth 
to-day. That's Helenus. 240 

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? 

Pan. Helenus? no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent , 
well. I marvel where Troilus is. Hark ! do you 
not hear the people cry * Troilus'? Helenus is a I 
priest. 

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? 

Troilus passes. 
Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus. 'Tis 
Troilus! there's a man, niece! Hem! Brave 
Troilus ! the prince of chivalry ! 

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 250 

Pan. Mark him ; note him. O brave Troilus ! 

Look well upon him, niece : look you how his 

sword is bloodied, and his helm more hacked than 

Hecftor's, and how he looks, and how he goes! 

admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three and 
twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way ! Had 

1 a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, 
he should take his choice. O admirable man ! 
Paris? Paris is dirt to him ; and, I warrant, Helen, 
to change, would give an eye to boot. 260 

Cres. Here come more. 

Forces pass. 

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts ! chaff and bran, chaff 
and bran ! porridge after meat ! I could live and 
die i' the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look : 
the eagles are gone : crows and daws, crows and 
daws ! I had rather be such a man as Troilus 
than Agamemnon and all Greece. 

Cres. There is among the Greeks Achilles, 
a better man than Troilus. 269 

Pan. Achilles ! a drayman, a porter, a very 
camel. 

Cres. Well, well. 

Pan. ' Well, well!' Why, have you any dis- 
cretion? have you any eyes? do you know what 
a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, dis- 
course, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, 
youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt 
that season a man ''. 

Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be 
baked with no date in the pie, for then the man's 
date's out. 281 

Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows not 
at what ward you lie. 

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly; 



40 



626 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



[Act i. 



upon my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my 
secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to 
defend my beauty ; and you, to defend all these : 
and at all these vyards I lie, at a thousand 
watches. 

Pan. Say one of your watches. 290 

Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's 
one of the chiefest of them too : if I cannot ward 
what I would not have hit, 1 can watch you for 
telling how I took the blow ; unless it swell past 
hiding, and then it's past watching. 
Pan. You are such another ! 

Enter Troilus's Boy. 

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with 
you. 

Pan. Where? 299 

Boy. At your own house ; there he unarms him. 

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. \_Exit Boy.] 
I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece. 

Cres. Adieu, uncle. 

Pan. I '11 be with you, niece, by and by. 

Cres. To bring, uncle? 

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 

Cres. By the same token, you are a bawd. 

[Exit Pandarus. 
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
He offers in another's enterprise : 
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see 310 

Than in the glass of Bandar's praise may be ; 
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
Things won are done ; joy's soul lies in the doing. 
That she beloved knows nought that knows not 

this: 
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is : 
That she, was never yet that ever knew 
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue. 
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach : 
Achievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech : 
Then though my heart's content firm love doth 
bear, 320 

Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The Grecian camp. Before 
Agamemnon s tent. 
Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, 
Menelaus, and others. 
Agant. Princes, 
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
The ample proposition that hope makes 
In all designs begun on earth below 
Fails in the promised largeness : checks and dis- 
asters 
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd, 
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap. 
Infect the sound pine and divert his grain 
Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us 10 

That we come short of our suppose so far 
That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand ; 
Sith every action that hath gone before, 
Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
And that unbodied figure of the thought 
That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you 

princes, 
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works, 



And call them shames? which are indeed nought 

else 
But the protractive trials of great Jove 20 

To find persistive constancy in men : 
The fineness of which metal is not found 
In fortune's love ; for then the bold and coward, 
The wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
The hard and soft, seem all affined and kin ; 
But. in the wind and tempest of her frown, 
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
Puffing at all, winnows the light away; 
And what hath mass or matter, by itself 
Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. 30 

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, 
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men : the sea being smooth, 
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
Upon her patient breast, making their way 
With those of nobler balk ! 
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold 
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains 
cut, 40 

Bounding between the two moist elements, 
Like Perseus' horse : where 's then the saucy boat 
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled, 
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide 
In storms of fortune; for in her ray and bright- 
ness 
The herd hath more annoyance by the breese 
Than by the tiger ; but when the splitting wind 
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 50 

And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing 

of courage 
As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize, 
And with an accent tuned in selfsame key 
Retorts to chiding fortune. 

Ulyss. Agamemnon, 

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
Fleart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, 
In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks. 
Besides the applause and approbation 
The which, [ To Agamemnon] most mighty for 
thy place and sway, 60 

[To Nestor] And thou most reverend for thy 

stretch'd-out life 
I give to both your speeches, which were such 
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
Should hold up high in brass, and such again 
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, 
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axletree 
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears 
To his experienced tongue, yet let it please both, 
Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. 
Agam. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't of 
less expect 70 

That matter needless, of importless burden, 
Divide thy lips, than we are confident, 
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, 
We shall hear music, wit and oracle. 

Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, 
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, 
But for these instances. 
The specialty of rule hath been neglected : 
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 



Scene hi.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



627 



Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
I When that the general is not like the hive 81 

To whom the foragers shall all repair, 

What honey is expected? Degree being viz- 
arded, 

The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. 

The heavens themselves, the planets and this 
centre 

Observe degree, priority and place, 

Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 

Office and custom, in all line of order; 

And therefore is the glorious planet Sol 

In noble eminence enthroned and sphered 90 
J Amidst the other ; whose medicinable eye 

Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
j And posts, like the commandment of a king. 

Sans check to good and bad: but when the 
planets 

In evil mixture to disorder wander, 

What plagues and what portents ! what mutiny ! 

What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! 

Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, hor- 
rors, 

Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 

The unity and married calm of states 100 

-Quite from their nxure ! O, when degree is 

shaked, 
Which is the ladder to all high designs, 
Then enterprise is sick ! How could communities, 
Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities, 
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 
The primogenitive and due of birth, 
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
Take but degree away, untune that string, 
And, hark, what discord follows! each thing 
meets no 

In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters 
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores 
And make a sop of all this solid globe: 
Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
And the rude son should strike his father dead : 
Force should be right ; or rather, right and wrong, 
Between whose endless jar justice resides, 
Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 
Then every thing includes itself in power, 
Power into will, will into appetite; 120 

And appetite, an universal wolf, 
So doubly seconded with will and power, 
Must make perforce an universal prey, 
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
This chaos, when degree is suffocate, 
Follows the choking. 
And this neglection of degree it is 
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd 
By him one step below, he by the next, 130 

That next by him beneath ; so every step, 
Exampled by the first pace that is sick 
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 
Of pale and bloodless emulation: 
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 
Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here dis- 
cover'd 
The fever whereof all our power is sick. 

Again. The nature of the sickness found, 
Ulysses, 140 



What is the remedy? 

Ulyss. The great Achilles, whom opinion 

crowns 
The sinew and the forehand of our host, 
1 laving his ear full, of his airy fame, 
Grows dainty of his worth and in his tent 
j Lies mocking our designs: witli him Patroclus 
I Upon a lazy bed the livelong day 
I Ureaks scurril jests, 
And with ridiculous and awkward action, 
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, 150 

He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
Thy topless deputation he puts on, 
And, like a strutting player, whose conceit 
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage, — 
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming 
He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks 
"lis like a chime a-mending; with terms un- 

squared, 
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon 

dropp'd, 160 

Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff 
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, 
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ; 
Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just. 
Now play me Nestor ; hem, and stroke thy beard, 
As he being drest to some oration.' 
That's done, as near as the extremest ends 
Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife : 
Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent ! 
'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus. 
Arming to answer in a night alarm.' 171 

And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough and spit, 
And. with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, 
Shake in and out the rivet: and at this sport 
Sir Valour dies ; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus ; 
Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split all 
In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion, 
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
Severals and generals of grace exact, 180 

Achievements, pi,, is, orders, preventions, 
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, 
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves 
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 

Nest. And in the imitation of these twain — 
Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
With an imperial voice — many are infect. 
Ajax is grown self-will'd, and hears his head 
In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
As broad Achilles ; keeps his tent like him ; 190 
Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war. 
Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, 
A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, 
To match us in comparisons with dirt, 
To weaken and discredit our exposure, 
How rank soever rounded in with danger. 

Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cow- 
ardice, 
Count wisdom as no member of the war, 
Forestall prescience ami esteem no act 
But that of hand : the still and mental parts, 200 
That do contrive how many hands shall strike. 
When fitness calls them on, and know by measure 
Of their observant toil the enemies' weight, — 
Why. this hath not a finger's dignity: 
They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war ; 

40—2 



628 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



[Act 7. 



So that the ram that batters down the wall, 
For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, 
They place before his hand that made the engine, 
Or those that with the fineness of their souls 
By reason guide his execution. 210 

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
Makes many Thetis' sons. [A tucket. 

Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. 

Men. From Troy. 

Enter TEneas. 
Agam. What would you 'fore our tent? 
ALne. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray 

you ? 
A$;am. Even this. 

ALne. May one, that is a herald and a prince, 

Do a fair message to his kingly ears? 

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' 

arm 220 

'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice 

Call Agamemnon head and general. 

ALne. Fair leave and large security. How may 
A stranger to those most imperial looks 
Know them from eyes of other mortals? 
Again. How ! 

ALne. Ay ; 
I ask, that I might waken reverence, 
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
The youthful Phoebus : 230 

Which is that god in office, guiding men? 
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? 
Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of 
Troy 
Are ceremonious courtiers. 

ALne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, 
J As bending angels ; that's their fame in peace : 
But when they would seem soldiers, they have 

galls, 
Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and, Jove's 

accord, 
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ./Eneas, 
Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips ! 240 
The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 
If that the praised himself bring the praise forth : 
But what the repining enemy commends, 
That breath fame blows ; that praise, sole pure, 
transcends. 
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself 

^Eneas? 
ALne. Ay, Greek, that is m.y name. 
Agam. What's your affair, I pray you? 
ALne. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. 
Agam. He hears nought privately that comes 

from Troy. 
ALne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper 
him : 250 

I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, 
To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
And then to speak. 

Agam. Speak frankly as the wind ; 

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: 
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, 
He tells thee so himself. 

ALne. Trumpet, blow loud, 

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; 
And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. 

[ Trtimpet sounds. 



We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 260 
A prince calFd Hector, — Priam is his father, — 
Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
Is rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet, 
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords ! 
If theie be one among the fair'st of Greece 
That holds his honour higher than his ease, 
That seeks his praise more than he fears his 

peril, 
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear, 
That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
With truant vows to her own lips he loves, 270 
And dare avow her beauty and her worth 
In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge. 
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, 
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, 
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms, 
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call 
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy, 
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
If any come, Hector shall honour him ; 280 

If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires, 
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth 
The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, Lord 
./Eneas ; 
If none of them have soul in such a kind, 
We left them all at home : but we are soldiers ; 
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, 
That means not, hath not, or is not in love ! 
If then one is, or hath, or means to be, 289 

That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. 

Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now; 
But if there be not in our Grecian host 
One noble man that hath one spark of fire, 
To answer for his love, tell him from me 
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver 
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn, 
And meeting him will tell him that my lady 
Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste 
As may be in the world : his youth in flood, 300 
I '11 prove this truth with my three drops of blood. 

ALne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of 
youth ! 

Ulyss. Amen. 

Agam. Fair Lord ^Eneas, let me touch your 
hand ; 
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
Achilles shall have word of this intent ; 
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent : 
Yourself shall feast with us before you go 
And find the welcome of a noble foe. 

[Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor. 

Ulyss. Nestor! 310 

Nest. What says Ulysses? 

Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain : 
Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 

Nest. What is 't? 

Ulyss. This 'tis : 
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride 
That hath to this maturity blown up 
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd, 
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
To overbulk us all. 

Nest. Well, and how? 320 

Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector 
sends, 



Scene hi.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



629 



However it is spread in general name, 
Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 
Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub- 
stance, 
Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
And, in the publication, make no strain. 
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows. 
'Tis dry enough, — will, with great speed of judge- 
ment, 
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 330 

Pointing on him. 

Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think 

you? 
Nest. Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you 
else oppose, 
That can from Hector bring his honour off, 
If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat, 
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; 
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
With their finest palate : and trust to me, Ulysses, 
Our imputation shall be oddly poised 
In this wild action ; for the success, 340 

Although particular, shall give a scantling 
Of good or bad unto the general ; 
And in such indexes, although small pricks 
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
The baby figure of the giant mass 
Of things to come at large. It is supposed 
He that meets Hector issues from our choice ; 
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
Makes merit her election, and doth boil, 
As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd 350 
Out of our virtues ; who miscarrying, 
What heart receives from hence the conquering 

part, 
To steel a strong opinion to themselves? 
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments. 
In no less working than are swords and bows 
Directive by the limbs. 

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech : 
Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, 
And think, perchance, they'll sell ; if not, 360 
The lustre of the better yet to show, 
Shall show the better. Do not consent 
That ever Hector and Achilles meet ; 
For both our honour and our shame in this 
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 
Nest. I see them not with my old eyes : what 

are they? 
Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from 
Heaor, 
Were he not proud, wc all should share with 

him: 
But he already is too insolent ; 
And we were better parch in Afric sun 370 

Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes. 
Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd, 
Why then, we did our main opinion crush 
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; 
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
The sort to fight with Hector : among ourselves 
Give him allowance for the better man ; 
For that will physic the great Myrmidon 
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall 
His cre>t that prouder than blue Iris bends. 380 
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 
We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail, 



Yet go we under our opinion still 
That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 
( )ur project's Hie this shape of sense as^u 
Ajax employed plucks clown Achilles' plumes. 

Nest. Ulysses, 
Now I begin to relish thy advice ; 
And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 390 

Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone 
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. 

[ E .veil ni. 

ACT II. 

Sce.ne I. A part 0/ the Grecian ca»//>. 

Eater Ajax and Thkksites. 

Ajax. Thersites ! 

Titer. Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, 
all over, generally? 

Ajax. Thersites ! 

Ther. And those boils did run? say so : did 
not the general run then? were not that a botchy 
core? 

Ajax. Dog ! 

Ther. Then would come some matter from 
him ; I see none now. 10 

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not 
hear? [Beating hi»i] Feel, then. 

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou 
mongrel beef-witted lord ! 

Ajax. Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, 
speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness. 

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and 
holiness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner con 
an oration than thou learn a prayer without bonk. 
Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o' 
thy jade's tricks ! 21 

Ajax. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. 

Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou 
strikest me thus? 

Ajax. The proclamation ! 

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 

Ajax. Do not, porpentine, do not : my fingers 
itch. 

Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to 
foot and I had the scratching of thee; I would 
make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When 
thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as 
slow as another. 

Ajax. I say, the proclamation ! 

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour 
on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his 
greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, 
ay, that thou barkest at him. 

Ajax. Mistress Thersi 

Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. 40 

Ajax. Cobloaf ! 

_ Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with 
his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 
Ajax. [Beating kirn] You whoreson cur ! 

Ther. Do, do. 

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! 

Ther. Ay, do, do ; thou sodden-witted lord ! 
thou hast no more brain than 1 have in mine 
elbows; an assinego may tutor thee : thou scurvy- 
valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans; 
and thou art bought and sold among those of any 
wit, like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat I 



6 3 o 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act ii. 



me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou 
art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou ! 

Ajax. You dog ! 

Ther. You scurvy lord ! 

Ajax. [Beating him] You cur ! 

Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness ; do, camel ; 
do, do. 59 

Enter Achili.es and Patroclus. 

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do 
you thus? How now, Thersites ! what's the 
matter, man? 

Ther. You see him there, do you? 

Achil. Ay; what's the matter? 

Ther. Nay, look upon him. 

Achil. So I do: what's the matter? 

Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 

Achil. 'Well !' why, I do so. 

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him ; 
for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 70 

Achil. I know that, fool. 

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he 
utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have 
bobbed his brain more than he has beat my bones : 
I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia 
mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. 
This lord, Achilles, Ajax, who wears his wit in 
his belly and his guts in his head, I'll tell you 
what I say of him. 81 

Achil. What? 

Ther. I say, this Ajax — 

[Ajax offers to beat him. 

Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 

Ther. Has not so much wit — 

Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, 
for whom he comes to fight. 

Achil. Peace, fool ! 

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but 
the fool will not : he there : that he : look you 
there. 

Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall — 

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? 

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will 
shame it. 

Pair. Good words, Thersites. 

Achil. What's the quarrel? 

Ajax. I bade the vile owl go iearn me the 
tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 

Ther. I serve thee not. 101 

Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 

Ther. I serve here voluntary. 

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas 
not voluntary: no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax 
was here the voluntary, and you as under an 
impress. 

Ther. E'en so; a great deal of your wit, too, 
lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector 
shall have a great catch, if he knock out either 
of your brains : a' were as good crack a fusty nut 
with no kernel. 

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites? 

Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose 
wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on 
their toes, yoke you like draught-oxen and make 
you plough up the wars. 

Achil. What, what? 



Ther. Yes, good sooth : to, Achilles ! to, 
Ajax ! to ! 120 

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 

Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much 
as thou afterwards. 

Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace ! 

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' 
brach bids me, shall I ? 

Achil. There 's for you, Patroclus. 

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, 
ere I come any more to your tents :. I will keep 
where there is wit stirring and leave the faction 
of fools. [Exit. 

Patr. A good riddance. 

Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through 
all our host : 
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, 
Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy 
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms 
j That hath a stomach ; and such a one that dare 
Maintain — I know not what : 'tis trash. Farewell. 

Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him? 

Achil. I know not: 'tis put to lottery; other- 
wise 140 
He knew his man. 

Ajax. O, meaning you. I will go learn more 
of it. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Troy. A room in Priam's palace. 

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, a?id 
Helenus. 

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, 
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks : 
'Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, 
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- 
sumed 
In hot digestion of this cormorant war — 
Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't? 

Heel. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks 
than I 
As far as toucheth my particular, 
Yet, dread Priam, 10 

There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, 
More ready to cry out ' Who knows what follows ?' 
Than Hector is : the wound of peace is surety, 
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
Since the first sword was drawn about this question, 
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes. 
Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean, of ours : 20 
If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 
To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us, 
Had it our name, the value of one ten, 
What merit's in that reason which denies 
The yielding of her up? 

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother ! 

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king 
So great as our dread father in a scale 
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum 
The past proportion of his infinite? 
And buckle in a waist most fathomless 30 

With spans and inches so diminutive 
As fears and reasons ? fie, for godly shame ! 

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at 
reasons, 



Scene ii.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



631 



You are so empty of them. Should not our father 
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
Because your speech hath none that tells him so? 
Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother 

priest ; 
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 

reasons : 
You know an enemy intends you harm ; 
You know a sword employ'd is perilous, 40 

And reason llies the object of all harm : 
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
The very wings of reason to his heels 
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason, 
Let's shut our gates and sleep: manhood and 

honour 
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their 

thoughts 
With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect 
Make livers pale and lustihood deject. 50 

Heel. Brother, she is not worth what she doth 

cost 
The holding. 

Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued? 

1 Icil. But value dwells not in particular will ; 
It holds his estimate and dignity 
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry 
To make the service greater than the god ; 
And the will dotes that is attributive 
To what infectiously itself affects, 
Without some image of the affected merit. 60 

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
Is led on in the conduct of my will ; 
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears. 
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
Of will and judgement : how may I avoid, 
Although my will distaste what it elected, 
The wife I chose? there can be no evasion 
To blench from this and to stand firm by honour : 
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, 
When we have soil'd them, nor the remainder 

viands 70 

We do not throw in unrespective sieve, 
Because we now are full. It was thought meet 
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks : 
Your breath of full consent bellied his sail- : 
The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce 
And did him service : he touch'd the ports desired, 
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive, 
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and 

freshness 
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning. 
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt : 
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl, 81 
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went — 
As you must needs, for you all cried ' Go, go,'— 
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize — 
As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands. 
And cried ' Inestimable !' — why do you now 
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, 
And do a deed that fortune never did, 90 

Beggar the estimation which you prized 
Richer than sea and land? O, theft most base, 
That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep ! 
I!: it, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n. 



That in their country did them that disgrace, 
We fear to warrant in our native place ! 

Cas. \_lVithbi\ Cry, Trojans, cry ! 

Pri. What noise? what shriek is this? 

Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. 

Cas. [IVit/u'n] Cry, Trojans ! 

Heft. It is Cassandra. 100 

Enter Cassandra, raving. 
Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand 

eye-, 
And I will fill them with prophetic tears. 

//<V7. Peace, sister, peace! 

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled 
eld, 
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes 
A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears! 
Troy must not be, nor goodly I lion stand ; 
Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. no 
Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen and a woe: 
Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. 

lh\l. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these 
high strains 
Of divination in our sister work 
Some touches of remorse? or is your blood 
So madly hot that no discourse of reason, 
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, 
Can qualify the same ? 

Tro. Why, brother Hector, 

We may not think the justness of each act 
Such and no other than event doth form it, 120 
Nor once deject the courage of our minds, 
Because Cassandra's mad : her brain-sick raptures 
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel 
Which hath our several honours all engaged 
To make it gracious. For my private part, 
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons: 
And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us 
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
To fight for and maintain ! 

Par. Else might the world convince of levity 
As well my undertakings as your counsels : 131 
But I attest the gods, your full consent 
Gave wings to my propension and cut off 
All fears attending on so dire a project. 
For what, alas, can these my single arms? 
What propugnation is in one man's valom, 
To stand the push and enmity of those 
This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, 
Were I alone to pass the difficulties 
And had as ample power as I have will, 140 

Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, 
Nor faint in the pursuit. 

Pri. Paris, you speak 

Like one besotted on your sweet delights: 
You have the honey still, but these the gad ; 
So to be valiant is no praise at all. 

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; 
But 1 would have the soil of her fair rape 
Wiped off, in honourable keeping her. 
What treason were it to the ransack VI queen, 150 
Disgrace to your great worths and shame to me, 
Now to deliver her possession up 
( )d terms of base compulsion ! Can it be 
I'h.it so degenerate a strain as this 
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? 



6 3 2 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act ii. 



There's not the meanest spirit on our party 
Without a heart to dare or sword to draw 
When Helen is defended, nor none so noble 
Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfamed 
Where Helen is the subject; then, I say, 160 
Well may we fight for her whom, we know well, 
The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 

Heel. Paris and Troilus, you have both said 
well, 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have glozed, but superficially : not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy : 
The reasons you allege do more conduce 
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood 
Than to make up a free determination 170 

'Twixt right and wrong, for pleasure and revenge 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
Of any true decision. Nature craves 
All dues be render'd to their owners : now, 
What nearer debt in all humanity 
Than wife is to the husband? If this law 
Of nature be corrupted through affection, 
And that great minds, of partial indulgence 
To their benumbed wills, resist the same, 
There is a law in each well-order'd nation 180 
To curb those raging appetites that are 
Most disobedient and refractory. 
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, 
As it is known she is, these moral laws 
Of nature and of nations speak aloud 
To have her back return'd : thus to persist 
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, 
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion 
Is this in way of truth; yet ne'ertheless, 
My spritely brethren, I propend to you 190 

In resolution to keep Helen still, 
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance 
Upon our joint and several dignities. 

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our 
design : 
Were it not glory that we more affected 
Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
She is a theme of honour and renown, 
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, 200 
Whose present courage may beat down our foes, 
And fame in time to come canonize us ; 
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
So rich advantage of a promised glory 
As smiles upon the forehead of this action 
For the wide world's revenue. 

HeSl. I am yours, 

You valiant offspring of great Priamus. 
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks 
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits : 210 
I was advertised their great general slept, 
Whilst emulation in the army crept : 
This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The Grecian camp, Before 
Achilles' tent. 

Enter Thersites, solus. 
Ther. How now, Thersites ! what, lost in the 
labyrinth of thy fury ! Shall the elephant Ajax 
carry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him : 



O, worthy satisfaction ! would it were otherwise ; 
that 1 could beat him, whilst he railed at me. 
'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but 
I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. 
Then there's Achilles, a rare enginer ! If Troy 
be not taken till these two undermine it, the 
walls will "stand till they fall of themselves. O 
thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget 
that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, 
Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy 
caduceus, if ye take not that little little less than 
little wit from them that they have ! which short- 
armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant 
scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly 
from a spider, without drawing their massy irons 
and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance 
on the whole camp ! or rather, the bone-ache ! 
for that, methinks, is the curse dependant on 
those that war for a placket. I have said my 
prayers and devil Envy say Amen. What ho ! 
my Lord Achilles ! 

Enter Patroclus. 

Pair. Who's there? Thersites! Good Ther- 
sites, come in and rad. 

Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt 
counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out of 
my contemplation : but it is no matter ; thyself 
upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, 
folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue ! 
heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline 
come not near thee ! Let thy blood be thy direc- 
tion till thy death"! then if she that lays thee out 
says thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and 
sworn upon 't she never shrouded any but lazars. 
Amen. Where's Achilles? 

Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in 
prayer ? 

Titer. Ay : the heavens hear me ! 40 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Who's there? 

Patr. Thersites, my lord. 

Achil. Where, where? Art thou come? why, 
my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not 
served thyself in to my table so many meals? 
Come, what's Agamemnon? 

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell 
me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? 

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites : then tell me, I 
pray thee, what's thyself? 50 

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus : then tell me, 
Patroclus, what art thou? 

Patr. Thou mayst tell that knowest. 

Achil. O, tell, tell. 

Ther. I '11 decline the whole question. Aga- 
memnon commands Achilles ; Achilles is my 
lord ; I am Patroclus' knower, and Patroclus 
is a fool. 

Patr. You rascal ! 

Ther. Peace, fool ! I have not done. 60 

Achil. He is a privileged man. Proceed, 
Thersites. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a 
fool ; Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Pa- 
troclus is a fool. 

Achil. Derive this; come. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to com- 
mand Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be com- 



Scene hi. J 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



633 



manded of Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to 
serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool positive. 

Pair. Why am I a fool? 71 

Ther. Make that demand of the proven It 
suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes 
here? 

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. 
Come in with me, Thersites. [Exit. 

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling 
and such knavery ! all the argument is a cuckold 
and a whore ; a good quarrel to draw emulous 
factions and bleed to death upon. Now, the dry 
serpigo on the subject ! and war and lechery 
confound all! {Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, 
DlOMEDES, and AjAX. 
A gam. Where is Achilles? 
Pair. Within his tent ; but ill disposed, my 

lord. 
Agam. Let it be known to him that we are 
here. 
He shent our messengers ; and we lay by 
Our appertainments, visiting of him : 
Let him be told so ; lest perchance he think 
We dare not move the question of our place, 89 
Or know not what we are. 

Pair. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 

Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent : 
He is not sick. 

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : 
you may call it melancholy, if you will favour 
the man ; but, by my head, 'tis pride : but why, 
why? let him show us the cause. A word, my 
lord. [ Takes Agamemnon aside. 

Xest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him'.' 
Achilles hath inveigled his fool from 



Ulyss. 
him. 
Nest. 

Ulyss. 
Xest. 



Who, Thersites? 
He. 
Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have 
lost his argument. 

Ulyss. No, you see, he is his argument that 
has his argument, Achilles. 

Nest. All the better; their fraction is more 
our wish than their faction : but it was a strong 
composure a fool could disunite. 

Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly 
may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. in 

Re-enter Patroclus. 

Nest. No Achilles with him. 

Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none 
for courtesy : his legs are legs for necessity, noi 
for flexure. 

Patr. Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry, 
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure 
Did move your greatness and this noble state 
To call upon him ; he hopes it is no other 
But for your health and your digestion sake, 120 
An after-dinner's breath. 

Agam. Hear you, Patroclus : 

We are too well acquainted with these answers: 
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason 
Why we ascribe it to him ; yet all his virtues, 
Not virtuously on his own part beheld, 
Do in our eyes begin to lose their :■ 



Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 

Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, 130 

We come to speak with him ; and you shall 

not sin, 
If you do say we think him over-proud 
And under-honest, in self-assumption greater 
Than in the note of judgement ; and worthier than 

himself 
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, 
Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
And underwrite in an observing kind 
His humorous predominance; yea, watch 
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 
The passage and whole carriage of thisaction 140 
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add, 
That if he overhold his price so much, 
We 11 none of him ; but let him, like an engine 
Not portable, lie under this report : 
' Bring action hither, this cannot go to war: 
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
Before a sleeping giant.' Tell him so. 

Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. 

[Exit. 

Agam. In second voice, we'll not be satisfied ; 

We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. 

[Exit Ulysses. 

A/ax. What is he more than another? 151 

Again. No more than what he thinks he is. 

Ajax. Is he so much? Do you not think he 
thinks himself a better man than I am? 

Agam. No question. 

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and 
say he is ? 

Again. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, 
as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more 
gentle, and altogether more tractable. 160 

Ajax. Why should a man be proud? How 
doth pride grow? I know not what pride is. 

Agam. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and 
your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats 
up himself: pride is his own glass, his own 
trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever praises 
itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the 
praise. 

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the 
engendering of toads. 170 

Nest. Yet he loves himself : is't not strange? 

[Aside. 

Re-enter Ulysses. 

Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to- 
morrow. 

Agam. What 's his excuse ? 

Ulyss. He doth rely on none, 

But carries on the stream of his dispose 
Without observance or respect of any, 
In will peculiar and in self-admission. 

Again. Why will he not upon our fair request 
Untent his person and share the air with ih': 

Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's 
sake only, 
He makes important : possess'd he is with great- 
ness, 100 
And speaks not to himself but with a pride 
That quarrels at self-breath : imagined worth 
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse 
That 'twixt his mental and his active parts 
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages 
And batters down himself: what should I sav? 



634 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act ii. 



He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it 
Cry ' No recovery.' 

Again. Let Ajax go to him. 

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent : 
'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led 190 
At your request a little from himself. 

Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
We '11 consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
When they go from Achilles: shall the proud 

lord 
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam 
And never suffers matter of the world 
Enter his thoughts, save such as do revolve 
And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd 
Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 200 
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquired; 
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, 
As amply titled as Achilles is, 
By going to Achilles : 
That were to enlard his fat already pride 
And add more coals to Cancer when he burns 
With entertaining great Hyperion. 
This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid, 
And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.' 

Nest. [Aside to Dio.] O, this is well; he 
rubs the vein of him. 210 

Dio. [Aside to Nest.] And how his silence 
drinks up this applause ! 

Ajax. If I go to him, with my armed fist 
I '11 pash him o'er the face. 

Agam. O, no, you shall not go. 

Ajax. An a' be proud with me, I '11 pheeze 
his pride : 
Let me go to him. 

Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon 
our quarrel. 

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow ! 

Nest. How he describes himself ! 

Ajax. Can he not be sociable? 220 

Ulyss. The raven chides blackness. 

Ajax. I '11 let his humours blood. 

Agam. He will be the physician that should 
be the patient. 

Ajax. An all men were o' my mind, — 

Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. 

Ajax. A' should not bear it so, a' should eat 
swords first : shall pride carry it? 

Nest. An 'twould, you'ld carry half. 

Ulyss. A' would have ten shares. 230 

Ajax. I will knead him ; I '11 make him supple. 

Nest. He's not yet through warm : force him 
with praises: pour in, pour in; his ambition is 
dry. 

Ulyss. [To Agam. .] My lord, you feed too 
much on this dislike. 

Nest. Our noble general, do not do so. 

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 

Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him 
harm. 
Here is a man — but 'tis before his face ; 240 

I will be silent. 

Nest. Wherefore should you so? 

He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus 
with us ! 
Would he were a Trojan ! 

Nest. What a vice were it in Ajax now,— 



Ulyss. If he were proud, — 

Dio. Or covetous of praise, — 

Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne,— 

Dio. Or strange, or self- affected ! 250 

Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of 
sweet composure ; 
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee 

suck: 
Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
Thrice famed, beyond all erudition : 
But he that disciplined thy arms to fight, 
Let Mars divide eternity in twain, 
And give him half: and, for thy vigour, 
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
Which, like a bourn, a pale, ashore, confines 260 
Thy spacious and dilated parts: here's Nestor; 
Instructed by the antiquary times, 
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise : 
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper' d, 
You should not have the eminence of him, 
But be as Ajax. 

Ajax. Shall I call you father? 

Nest. Ay, my good son. 

Dio. Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax. 

Ulyss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart 
Achilles 
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 270 
To call together all his state of war ; 
Fresh kings are come to Troy : to-morrow 
We must with all our main of power stand fast : 
And here's a lord, — come knights from east to 

west, 
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 

Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep : 

Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 

deep. [Exetmt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Troy. Priam's palace. 
Enter a Servant and Pandarus. 

Pan. Friend, you ! pray you, a word : do 
not you follow the young Lord Paris? 

Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 

Pan. You depend upon him, I mean ? 

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 

Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman ; I 
must needs praise him. 

Serv. The lord be praised ! 

Pan. You know me, do you not ? 

Serv. Faith, sir, superficially. 10 

Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the Lord 
Pandarus. 

Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better. 

Pan. I do desire it. 

Serv. You are in the state of grace. 

Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; honour and lord- 
ship are my titles. [Music within.] What music 
is this? 

Serv. I do but partly know, sir : it is music in 
parts. 20 

Pan. Know you the musicians? 

Serv. Wholly, sir. 

Pan. Who play they to ? 

Serv. To the hearers, sir. 

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend? 



Scene i.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



635 



Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 

Pan. Command, I mean, friend. 

Sen/. Who shall I command, sir? 

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another : 
I am too courtly and thou art too cunning. At 
whose request do these men play? 31 

Serv. That's to't indeed, sir: marry, sir, at 
the request of Paris my lord, who's there in per- 
son; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood 
of beauty, love's invisible soul, — 

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida? 

Sen/. No, sir, Helen : could you not find out 
that by her attributes'.' 

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast 
not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak 
with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make 
a complimental assault upon him, for my business 
seethes. 

Sen<. Sodden business! there's a stewed 
phrase indeed ! 

Enter Paris and Helex, attended. 

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this 
fair company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, 
fairly guide them ! especially to you, fair queen ! 
fair thoughts be your fair pillow ! 49 

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet 
queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music. 

Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my 
life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall 
piece it out with a piece of your performance. 
Nell, he is full of harmony. 

Pan. Truly, lady, no. 

Helen. O, sir,— 

Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very 
rude. 60 

Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so 
in fits. 

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen. 
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word? 

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we '11 
hear you sing, certainly. 

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant 
with me. But, marry, thus, my lord : my dear 
lord and most esteemed friend, your brother 
Troilus, — 70 

Helen. My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet 
lord,— 

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends 
himself most affectionately to you, — 

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our me- 
lody: if you do, our melancholy upon your head ! 

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ! that's a 
sweet queen, i' faith. 

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a 
sour offence. 30 

Part, Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; 
that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, 1 care not 
for such words ; no, no. And, my lord, he de- 
sires you, that if the king call for him at supper, 
you will make his excuse. 

Helen. My Lord Pandarus, — 

Pan. What says my sweet queen, my very 
very sweet queen? 

Par. Wiiat exploit's in hand? where sups he 
to-night? 90 

Helen. Nay, but, my lord, — 

Pan. What says my sweet queen? My cou- 



sin will fall out with you. You must not know 
where he 3ups. 

Par. I '11 lay my life, with my disposer Cres- 
sida. 

Pan. No, no, no such matter; you are wide : 
come, your disposer is sick. 

Par. Well, 1 '11 make excuse. 

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you 
say Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick. 1 ji 

Par. I spy. 

Pan. You spy! what do you spy? Come, 
give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen. 

Helen. Why, this is kindly done. 

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing 
you have, sweet queen. 

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not 
my lord Paris. 

Pan. He ! no, she'll none of him; they two 
are twain. 111 

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may m.ike 
them three. 

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; 
I '11 sing you a song now. 

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, 
sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 

Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 

Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will 
undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid! 120 

Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith. 

Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but 
love. 

Pan. In good troth, it begins so. [Sings. 

Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! 
For, O, love's bow 
Shoots buck and doe : 
The shaft confounds, 
Not that it wounds, 
But tickles still the sore. 130 

These lovers cry Oh ! oh ! they die ! 

Yet that which seems trie wound to kill, 
Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha .' ha ! he I 

So dying love lives still : 
Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha ! ha I 
Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha 1 
Heigh-ho ! 

Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the 
nose. 139 

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love, and 
that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot 
thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, ani 
hot deeds is Love. 

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot 
blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they 
are vipers: is love a generation of viper.-*. 
lord, who's a-field to day? 

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, 
and all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have 
armed to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. 
How chance my brother Tr lilus went not? 151 

Helen. He hangs the lip at somethir. _ 
know all, Lord Pandarus. 

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to 
hear how they sped to day. You'll remember 
your brother';- excuse '.' 

Par. To a hair. 

Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 

Helen. Commend me to your niece. 

Pan. I will, sweet queen! [Exit. 160 

\A retreat sounded. 



6 3 6 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act hi. j 



Par. They're come from field: let us to 
Priam's hall, 
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must 

woo you 
To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles, 
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
Shall more obey than to the edge of steel 
Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more 
Than all the island kings, — disarm great Hector. 
Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, 
Paris ; 
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty 
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have, 170 
Yea, overshines aurself. 
Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. TJie same. Pandarus' orchard. 
Enter Pandarus and Troilus' Boy, meeting. 

Pan. How now! where 's thy master? at my 
cousin Cressida's? 

Boy. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him 
thither. 

Pan. O, here he comes. 

Enter Troilus. 
How now, how now ! 

Tro. Sirrah, walk off. {Exit Boy. 

Pan. Have you seen my cousin? 

Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door, 
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 10 
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, 
And give me swift transportance to those fields 
Where I may wallow in the lily-beds 
Proposed for the deserver ! O gentle Pandarus, 
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
And fly with me to Cressid ! 

Pan. Walk here i' the orchard, I '11 bring her 
straight. [Exit. 

Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round. 
The imaginary relish is so sweet 20 

That it enchants my sense : what will it be, 
When that the watery palate tastes indeed 
Love's thrice repured nectar? death, I fear me, 
Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine, 
Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness, 
For the capacity of my ruder powers : 
I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, 
That I shall lose distinction in my joys ; 
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
The enemy flying. 30 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come 
straight: you must be witty now. She does so 
blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she 
were frayed with a sprite : I'll fetch her. It is 
the prettiest villain: she fetches her breath as 
short as a new-ta'en sparrow. [Exit. 

Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my 
bosom : 
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
And all my powers do their bestowing lose, 
Like vassalage at unawares encountering 40 

The eye of majesty. 

Re-enter Pandarus with Cressida. 
Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? 



shame's a baby. Here she is now: swear the 
oaths now to her that you have sworn to me. 
What, are you gone again? you must be watched 
ere you be made tame, must you? Come your 
ways, come your ways; an you draw backward, 
we'll put you i' the fills. Why do you not speak 
to her? Come, draw this curtain, and let's see 
your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are 
to offend daylight ! an 'twere dark, you'ld close 
sooner. So, so ; rub on, and kiss the mistress. 
How now ! a kiss in fee-farm ! build there, car- 
penter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight 
your hearts out ere I part you. The falcon as the 
tercel, for all the ducks i' the river: go to, go to. 
Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 
Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: 
but she'll bereave you o' the deeds too, if she 
call your activity in question. What, billing 
again? Here's 'In witness whereof the parties 
interchangeably' — Come in, come in : I'll go get 
a fire.' [Exit. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord? 
Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished 
me thus ! 

Cres. Wished, my lord! The gods grant, — 
O my lord ! 

Tro. What should they grant? what makes 

this pretty abruption? What too curious dreg 

espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 

Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have 

eyes. 

Tro. Fears make devils of cherubins ; they 
never see truly. 

Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, 
finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling 
without fear: to fear the worst oft cures the 
worse. 79 

Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all 
Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. 
Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither? 
Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when 
we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame 
tigers ; thinking it harder for our mistress to de- 
vise imposition enough than for us to undergo 
any difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity 
in love, lady, that the will is infinite and the 
execution confined, that the desire is boundless 
and the act a slave to limit. go 

Cres. They say all lovers swear more perform- 
ance than they are able and yet reserve an ability 
that they never perform, vowing more than the 
perfection of ten and discharging less than the 
tenth part of one. They that have the voice of 
lions and the act of hares, are they not monsters? 
Tro. Are there such? such are not we : praise 
us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our 
head shall go bare till merit crown it: no perfec- 
tion in reversion shall have a praise in present: 
we will not name desert before his birth, and, 
being born, his addition shall be humble. Few 
words to fair faith : Troilus shall be such to Cres- 
sid as what envy can say worst shall be a mock 
for his truth, and what truth can speak truest not 
truer than Troilus. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord? 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. What, blushing still? have you not done 

talking yet? 109 



Scene ii.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



637 



Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I de- 
dicate to you. 

Pan. I thank you for that : if my lord get a 
boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to my 
lord : if he flinch, chide me for it. 

Tro. You know now your hostages; your 
uncle's word and my firm faith. 

Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too : our 
kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, 
they are constant being won : they are burs, I can 
tell you; they'll stick where they are thrown. 

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings 
me heart. 121 

Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day 
For many weary months. 

Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win ? 

Cres. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my 
lord, 
With the first glance that ever — pardon me— 
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
But I might master it : in faith, I lie ; 129 

My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools ! 
Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us, 
When we are so unsecret to ourselves? 
But, though I loved you well, I woo'd you not; 
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man, 
Or that we women had men's privilege 
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue, 
for in this rapture I shall surely speak 
The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence. 
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
My very soul of counsel ! stop my mouth. 141 

Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues 
thence. 

Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me ; 
'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss : 
T am ashamed. O heavens ! what have 1 done? 
For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ! 

Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrow 
morning, — 150 

Cres. Pray you, content you. 

Tro. What offends you, lady? 

Cres. Sir, mine own company. 

Tro. You cannot shun 

Yourself. 

Cres. Let me go and try : 
I have a kind of self resides with you ; 
But an unkind self, that itself will leave, 
To be another's fool. I would be gone : 
Where is my wit? I know not what I speak. 

Tro. Well know they what they speak that 
speak so wisely. 

Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft 
than love ; 160 

And fell so roundly to a large confession, 
To angle for your thoughts : but you are wise, 
Or else you love not, for to be wise and love 
Exceeds mans might; that dwells with gods 
above. 

Tro. O that I thought it could be in a woman — 
As, if it can, I will presume in you — 
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love; 
To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
That doth renew swifter than blood decays! 170 



Or that persuasion could but thus convince me. 

That my integrity and truth to you 

Might be affronted with the match and weight 

Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 

How were 1 then uplifted ! but, alas ! 

I am as true as truth's simplicity 

And simpler than the infancy of truth. 

Cres. In that I'll war with you. 

Tro. O virtuous fight, 

When right with right wars who shall be most 

right! 179 

True swains in love shall in the world to come 

Approve their truths by Troilus : when their 

rhymes, 
Full of protest, of oath and big compare, 
Want similes, truth tired with iteration, 
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, 
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, 
Yet, after all comparisons of truth, 
As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
' As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse. 
And sanctify the numbers. 

Cres. Prophet may you be ! 190 

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, 
When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up. 
And mighty states characterless are grated 
To dusty nothing, yet let memory, 
From false to false, among false maids in love. 
Upbraid my falsehood ! when they've said ' as 

false 
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 200 

Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son,' 
' Yea,' let them say, to stick the heart of false- 
hood, 
' As false as Cressid. ' 

Pan. Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; 
I '11 be the witness. Here I hold your hand, here 
my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to ano- 
ther, since I have taken such pains to bring you 
together, let all pitiful goers-between be called to 
the world's end after my name ; call them all 
Pandars; let all constant men be Troiln 
false women Cressids, and all brokers-between 
Pandars! say, amen. 

Tro. Amen. 

Cres. Amen. 

Pan. Amen. Whereupon T will show you a 
chamber with a bed ; which bed, because it shall 
not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to 
death : away ! 

And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here 
Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear ! 220 

\Exetmt. 

Scene III. The Grecian camp. Be/ore Achilles' 

trut. 

£«frrAt;AMF.MxoN', Ulysses, Diomedes. Nes- 
tor, AjAX, MeNELAIS, a>;d CA1 'HAS. 
Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done 
you, 
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind 
tThat, through the sight I bear in things to love, 
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 



6 3 3 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act n 



Incurr'd a traitor's name ; exposed myself, 

From certain and possess'd conveniences, 

To doubtful fortunes ; sequestering from me all 

That time, acquaintance, custom and condition 

Made tame and most familiar to my nature, 10 

And here, to do you service, am become _ 

As new into the world, strange, unacquainted : 

I do beseech you, as in way of taste, 

To give me now a little benefit, 

Out of those many register'd in promise, 

Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 

A gam. What wouldst thou of us. Trojan? 
make demand. 

Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd An- 
tenor, 
Yesterday took : Troy holds him very dear. 
Oft have you — often have you thanks therefore — 
Desired my Cressid in right great exchange, 21 
Whom Troy hath still denied : but this Antenor, 
I know, is such a wrest in their affairs 
That their negotiations all must slack, 
Wanting his manage ; and they will almost 
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
In change of him : let him be sent, great princes, 
And he shall buy my daughter ; and her presence 
Shall quite strike off all service I have done, 
In most accepted pain. 

Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, 30 

And bring us Cressid hither : Calchas shall have 
What he requests of us. Good Diomed, 
Furnish you fairly for this interchange : 
Withal bring word if Hector will to-morrow 
Be answer' d in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 

Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden 
Which I am proutl to bear. 

{Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their 
tent. 
Ulyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his 
tent: 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him, 
As if he were forgot ; and, princes all, 40 

Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me 
Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him : 
If so, I have derision medicinable, 
To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
Which his own will shall have desire to drink : 
It may do good : pride hath no other glass 
To show itself but pride, for supple knees 
Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees. 

Agam. We '11 execute your purpose, and put on 
A form of strangeness as we pass along : 51 

So do each lord, and either greet him not, 
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more 
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 
Achil. What, comes the general to speak 
with me? 
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst 
Troy. 
Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught 

with us? 
Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with- the 

general ? 
Achil. No. 

Nest. Nothing, my lord. 60 

Agam. The better. 

[Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor. 



Achil. Good da} r , good day. 

Me?i. How do you? how do you? [Exit. 

Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? 

Ajax. How now, Patroclus ! 

Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. 

Ajax. Ha? 

Achil. Good morrow. 

Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit. 

Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they 
not Achilles? 70 

Pair. They pass by strangely: they were 
used to bend, 
To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; 
To come as humbly as they used to creep 
To holy altars. 

Achil. What, am I poor of late? 

'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with for- 
tune, 
Must fall out with men too: what the declined is 
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others 
As feel in his own fall ; for men, like butterflies, 
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer, 
And not a man, for being simply man, 80 

Hath any honour, but honour for those honours 
That are without him, as place, riches, favour, 
Prizes of accident as oft as merit: 
Which when the}' fall, as being slippery standers, 
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
Do one pluck down another and together 
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
Fortune and I are friends : I do enjoy 
At ample point all that I did possess, 
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find 
out 90 

Something not worth in me such rich beholding 
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses : 
I'll interrupt his reading. 
How now, Ulysses ! 

Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ! 

Achil. What are you reading? 
Ulyss. A strange fellow here 

Writes me : ' That man, how dearly ever parted, 
How much in having, or without or in, 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 100 

Heat them and they retort that heat again 
To the first giver.' 

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here in the face 
The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
To others' eyes ; nor doth the eye itself, 
That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself, 
Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed 
Salutes each other with each other's form ; 
For speculation turns not to itself. 
Till it hath travell'd and is mirror'd there no 

Where it may see itself. This is not strange at 
all. 
Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, — 
It is familiar, — but at the author's drift; 
Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves 
That no man is the lord of any thing, 
Though in and of him there be much consisting, 
Till he communicate his parts to others; 
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
Where they're extended; who, like an arch, 
reverberates 120 



Scene hi.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



639 



The voice again, or, like a gate of steel 
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in 

this ; 
And apprehended here immediately 
The unknown Ajax. 

Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse. 
That has he knows not what. Nature, what 

things there are 
Most abject in regard and dear in use ! 
What things again most dear in the esteem 
And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to-mor- 
row — 130 
An act that very chance doth throw upon him — 
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, 
While some men leave to do! 
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, 
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! 
How one man eats into another's pride, 
While pride is fasting in his wantonness! 
To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even already 
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder, 
As it" his foot were on brave Hector's breast 140 
And great Troy shrieking. 

Ac Ail. I do believe it ; for they pass'd by me 
As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me 
Good word nor look : what, are my deeds forgot? 
Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his 

back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: 
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are 

devour'<i 
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
As done : perseverance, dear my lord, 150 

Keeps honour bright : to have done is to hang 
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; 
For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 
Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; 
For emulation hath a thousand sons 
That one by one pursue : if you give way, 
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by 
And leave you hindmost ; 160 

Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, 
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
O'er-run and trampled on : then what they do in 

present, 
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop 

yours ; 
For time is like a fashionable host 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, 
And with his arms outstretch'!!, as he would fly, 
Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, 
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue 

seek 
Remuneration for the thing it was ; 170 

For beauty, wit, 

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 
Love, friendship, charity, arc subjects all 
To envious and calumniating time. 
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. 
That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, 
Though they are made and moulded of things 

past, 
And give to dust that is a little gilt 
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. 
The present eye praises the present object : 180 



Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, 
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye 
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, 
And still it might, and yet it may again, 
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive 
And case thy reputation in thy tent ; 
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods them- 
selves 
And drave great Mars to faction. 

Achil. Of this my privacy igo 

I have strong reasons. 

Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy 

The reasons are more potent and heroical : 
Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love 
With one of Priam's daughters. 

Achil. Ha! known! 

Ulyss. Is that a wonder? 
The providence that's in a watchful state 
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold, 
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps, 
Keeps place with thought and almost, like the 

gods, 
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 200 
There is a mystery — with whom relation 
Durst never meddle — in the soul of state; 
Which hath an operation more divine 
Than breath or pen can give expressure to : 
All the commerce that you have had with Troy 
As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord; 
And better would it fit Achilles much 
To throw down Hector than Polyxena: 
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, 
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump, 
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, 211 
'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win. 
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.' 
Farewell, my lord : I as your lover speak : 
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break-. 

[Exit. 

Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved 
3 U1 : 
A woman impudent and mannish grown 
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man 
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this; 
They think my little stomach to the war 220 

And your great love to me restrains you thus : 
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton 

Cupid 
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, 
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, 
Be shook to air. 

Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector? 

Pair. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour 
by him. 

Achil. I see my reputation is at stake; 
My fame is shrewdly gored. 

Pair. O, then, beware ; 

Those wounds heal ill that men do give them- 
selves : 
Omission to do what is necessary 230 

Seals a commission to a blank of danger; 
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
Even' then when we sit idly in the sun. 

Achil. Go tall Thersites hither, sweet Patro- 

cfos: 

I'll send the fool to Ajax and desire him 
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat 



640 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



[Act in. 



To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's longing, 

An appetite that I am sick withal, 

To see great Hector in his weeds of peace, 

To talk with him and to behold his visage, 240 

Even to my full of view. 

Enter Thersites. 

A labour saved ! 

Ther. A wonder ! 

Achil. What? 

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking 
for himself. 

Achil. How so? 

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with 
Hector, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical 
cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing. 

Achil. How can that be? 250 

Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a 
peacock, — a stride and a stand: ruminates like 
an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to 
set down her reckoning : bites his lip with a politic 
regard, as who should say 'There were wit in this 
head, an 'twould out ;' and so there is, but it lies 
as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not 
show without knocking. The man 's undone for 
ever ; for if Hector break not his neck i' the com- 
bat, he'll break 't himself in vain-glory. He 
knows not me: I said 'Good morrow, Ajax;' 
and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What 
think you of this man that takes me for the gene- 
ral? He's grown a very land-fish, languageless, 
a monster. A plague of opinion ! a man may 
wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. 

A chil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, 
Thersites. 

Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; 
he professes not answering: speaking is for 
beggars; he wears his tongue in's arms. I will 
put on his presence : let Patroclus make demands 
to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. 

Achil. To him, Patroclus : tell him I humbly 
desire the valiant Ajax to invite the mostvalorous 
Hector to come unarmed to my tent, and to pro- 
cure safe-conduct for his person of the magnani- 
mous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times- 
honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, 
Agamemnon, et cetera. Do this. 280 

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax ! 

Ther. Hum ! 

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, — 

Ther. Ha ! 

Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite 
Hector to his tent, — 

Ther. Hum ! 

Patr. And to procure safe-conduct from 
Agamemnon. 

Titer. Agamemnon ! 290 

Patr. Ay, my lord. 

Ther. Ha ! 

Patr. What say you to 't ? 

Ther. God b' wi' you, with all my heart. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven 
o'clock it will go one way or other: howsoever, 
he shall pay for me ere he has me. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. 300 

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ? 

Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What 



music will be in him when Hector has knocked 
out his brains, I know not ; but, I am sure, none, 
unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make 
catlings on. 

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him 
straight. 

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for 
that's the more capable creature. 310 

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain 
stirr'd ; 
And I myself see not the bottom of it. 

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were 
clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I 
had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant 
ignorance. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. Troy. A street. 

Enter, f7'om one side, vEneas, and Servant with 

a torch; from the other, Paris, Deiphobus, 

Antenor, Diomedes, and others, with 

torches. 

Par. See, ho ! who is that there ? 

Dei. It is the Lord yEneas. 

sEne. Is the prince there in person? 
Had I so good occasion to lie long 
As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly busi- 
ness 
Should rob my bed-mate of my company. 

Dio. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord 
^Eneas. 

Par. A valiant Greek, ./Eneas, — take his 
hand, — 
Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
Did haunt you in the field. 

yEne. Health to you, valiant sir, 10 

During all question of the gentle truce ; 
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance 
As heart can think or courage execute. 

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health ! 
But when contention and occasion meet, 
By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life 
With all my force, pursuit and policy. 

AEne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly 
With his face backward. In humane gentleness, j 
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life, 21 
Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear, 
No man alive can love in such a sort 
The thing he means to kill more excellently. 

Dio. We sympathise : Jove, let VEneas live, 
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, 
With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow ! 

yEne. We know each other well. 30 

Dio. Wedo; andlongto know each otherworse. 

Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greet- 
ing. 
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. 
What business, lord, so early? 

yEne. I was sent for to the king ; but why, I 
know not. 

Par. His purpose meets you : 'twas to bring 
this Greek 



Scene i.J 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



64 r 



To Calchas' house, and there to render him, 
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : 
Let's have your company, or, if you please, 
Haste there before us: 1 constantly do think — 40 
Or rather, call my thought a certain knowledge — 
Ma$ other Troilus lodges there to-night : 
Rnjufe him and give him note of our approach, 
VJra»i the whole quality wherefore : I fear 
^Asj shall be much unwelcome. 
y\Mne. That I assure you : 

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece 
Than Cressid borne from Troy. 

Par. There is no help ; 

The bitter disposition of the time 
Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you. 

.■Kite. Good morrow, all. [ExitiuithServant. 

Pat: And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell 
me true, 51 

Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, 
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best, 
Myself or Menelaus? 

Dio. Both alike : 

He merits well to have her, that doth seek her, 
X<>t making any scruple of her soilurc, 
With such a hell of pain and world of charge, 
And you as well to keep her, that defend her, 
Not palating the taste of her dishonour, 
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends: 60 
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
You. like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
Are pleased to breed out your inheritors : 
Both merits poised, each weighs nor less nor more ; 
But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 

Dio. She's bitter to her country: hear me, 
Paris : 
For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 70 
Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
A Trojan hath been slain : since she could speak, 
She hath not given so many good words breath 
As for her Greeks and Trojans suft'er'd death. 

Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
But v.e in silence hold this virtue well, 
We'll but commend what we intend to sell. 
Here lies our way. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. Court of Panda rus 
house. 

Enter TROILUS and Cressida. 

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is 
cold. 

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine 
uncle down : 
He shall unbolt the gates. 

'Pro. Trouble him not ; 

To bed, to bed : sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
And give as soft attachment to thy senses 
As infants' empty of all thought ! 

Cres. Good morrow, then. 

Tro. I prithee now, to bed. 

Cres. Are you a-weary of me ? 

Tro. O Cressida ! but that the busy day, 
Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows, 
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
I would not from thee. 



Cres. Night hath been too brief. 

Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomou 
she stays 
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of 
With wings more momentary-swift than thought. 
You will catch cold, and curse me. 

Cres. Prithee, tarry : 

You men will never tarry. 

foolish Cressid ! I might have still held off, 
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! 

one up. 
Pan. { Within'] What, 's all the doors open here ? 
Tro. It is your uncle. 20 

Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he bo 

mocking : 

1 shall have such a life ! 

Enter Pwdarus. 

Pan. How now, how now! how go maiden- 
heads? Here, you maid! where 's my cousin 
Cressid? 

Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
uncle ! 
You bring me to do, and then you fl.iut me too. 

Pan. To do what? to do what? let her say 
what : what have I brought you to do? 

Cres. Come, come, beshrew yuur heart ! you'll 
ne'er be good, 30 

Nor suffer others. 

J\ru. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! ah, poor 
capocchia! hast not slept to-night? would he not, 
a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him ! 

Cres. Did not I tell you? Would he were 
knock'd i' the head ! [Knocking -within. 

Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see. 
My lord, come you again into my chamber: 
You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 

Tro. Ha, ha ! 39 

Cres. Come, you are deceived, I think of no 
such thing. [Knocking within. 

How earnestly they knock ! Pray you, come in : 
I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 

{Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. 

Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will 
you beat down the door? How now ! what's the 
matter? 

Enter ^n'eas. 
.Erie. Good mor, A morrow. 

Pan. Who's there? my Lord yEneas ! By my 
troth, 
I knew yon not : what news with you so early? 
•. Is not Prince Troilus here? 
Pan. Here ! what should he do here ? 50 j 

Come, he is here, my lord ; do not ' 
deny him : 
It doth import him much to speak with me. 

Pan. Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I 
know, I '11 be sworn : for my own part, I came in 
late. What should he do here? 

/Ene. Who! — nay, then: come, come, you'll 
do him wrong ere you're ware: you'll be so 
true to him, to be false to him : do not you know 
of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go. 

Re-enter Troilus. 
Tro. How now! what's the matter? 60 



4: 



642 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act iv. 



AUne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to 
salute you, 
My matter is so rash : there is at hand 
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
Deliver d to us ; and for him forthwith, 
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, 
We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
The Lady Cressida. 

Tro. Is it so concluded? 

ALne. By Priam and the general state of 
Troy : 
They are at hand and ready to effect it. 70 

Tro. How my achievements mock me ! 
I will go meet them : and, my Lord yEneas, 
We met by chance ; you did not find me here. 

ALne. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of 
nature 
Have not more gift in taciturnity. 

[Exeunt Troilus and sEneas. 

Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got but lost? 
The devil take Antenor ! the young prince will 
go mad : a plague upon Antenor ! I would they 
had broke 's neck ! 

Re-enter Cressida. 

Cres. How now! what's the matter? who 
was here? Si 

Pan. Ah, ah ! 

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where 's 
my lord? gone ! Tell me, sweet uncle, what's 
the matter? 

Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth 
as I am above ! 

Cres. O the gods ! what's the matter? 

Pan. Prithee, get thee in : would thou hadst 
ne'er been born ! I knew thou wouldst be his 
death. O, poor gentleman ! A plague upon 
Antenor ! 

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my 
knees I beseech you, what's the matter? 

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must 
be gone ; thou art changed for Antenor : thou 
must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus: 
'twill be his death ; 'twill be his bane ; he cannot 
bear it. 

Cres. O you immortal gods ! I will not go. 

Pan. Thou must. 101 

Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my 
father ; 
I know no touch of consanguinity ; 
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me 
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine ! 
Make Cressid's name the very crown of false- 
hood, 
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and 

death, 
Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very centre of the earth, no 

Drawing all things to it. I '11 go in and weep, — 

Pan. Do, do. 

Cres. Tear my bright hair and scratch my 
praised cheeks, 
Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my 

heart 
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene III. The same. Street before Pan- 
darns' ho rise. 

Enter Paris, Troilus, ^Eneas, Deiphobus, 
Antenor, and Diomedes. 

Par. It is great morning, and the' lor U r 
prefix'd ?io 

Of her delivery to this valiant Greek ''n 

Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, 
Tell you the lady what she is to do, 
And haste her to the purpose. 

Tro. Walk into her house ; 

I'll bring her to the Grecian presently: 
And to his hand when I deliver her, 
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus 
A priest there offering to it his own heart. 

{.Exit. 

Par. I know what 'tis to love ; 10 

And would, as I shall pity, I could help ! 
Please you walk in, my lords. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The sajne. Panda-rus" house. 
Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 

Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 

Cres. Why tell you me of moderation? 
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
And violenteth in a sense as strong 
As that which causeth it : how can I moder- 
ate it? 
If I could temporise with my affection, 
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, 
The like allayment could I give my grief: 
My love admits no qualifying dross ; 
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 10 

Pan. Here, here, here he comes. 

Enter Troilus. 
Ah, sweet ducks ! 

Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him. 
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let 
me embrace too. ' O heart,' as the goodly say- 
ing is, 

' O heart, heavy heart, 

Why sigh'st thou without breaking?' 
where he answers again, 

' Because thou canst not ease thy smart 20 i 
By friendship nor by speaking.' 
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast I 
away nothing, for we may live to have need of j 
such a verse : we see it, we see it. How now, 
lambs? 

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a i 
purity, 
That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy, 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me. 
Cres. Have the gods envy? 30 

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 
Cres. And is it true that I must go from 

Troy? 
Tro. A hateful truth. 

Cres. What, and from Troilus too? j 

Tro. From Troy and Troilus. 
Cres. Is it possible? 

Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance ; 
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 



Scene iv.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



643 



Of all rcjoindure, forcibly prevents 

Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 

Even in the birth of our own labouring breath : 40 

We two, that with so many thousand >ighs 

Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 

With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 

Injurious time now with a robber's haste 

Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how : 

As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 

With distinct breath and consigned kisses to 

them, 
He fumbles up into a loose adieu, 
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 50 

/Ene. \Witkin\ My lord, is the lady ready? 
Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : some say the 
Genius so 
Cries 'come' to him that instantly must die. 
Bid them have patience ; she shall come anon. 

Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this 
wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root. 

{Exit. 
Cres. I must then to the Grecians? 
Tro. No remedy. 

Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry 
Greeks ! 
When shall we see again? 

Tro. Hear me, my love: be thou but true 

of heart, — 60 

Cres. I true ! how now ! what wicked deem 

is this? 
Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly. 
For it is parting from us : 
I speak not ' be thou true,' as fearing thee. 
For I will throw my glove to Death himself, 
That there's no maculation in thy heart : 
But 'be thou true,' say I, to fashion in 
My sequent protestation ; be thou true, 
And I will see thee. 

Cres. O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to 
dangers 70 

As infinite as imminent! but I'll be true. 

Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. Wear 

this sleeve. 
Cres. And you this glove- When shall I 

see you? 
Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
To give thee nightly visitation. 
But yet be true. 

Cres. O heavens ! ' be true ' again ! 

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love : 
The Grecian youths are full of quality: 
They're loving, well composed with gifts of 

nature, 
Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and ex- 
ercise : So 
How novelty may move, and parts with person, 
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy — 
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin — 
Makes me afeard. 

Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 

Tro. Die I a villain, then ! 
In this I do not call your faith in question 
So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing, 
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, 
Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all. 
To which the Grecians are most prompt and 
pregnant: 90 

But I can tell that in each grace of these 



There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil 
That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted. 

Cres. Do you think I will? 

Tro. No. 
But something may be done that we will not: 
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
Presuming on their changeful potency. 

.Eur. [Within] Nay, good my lord, — 

Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 100 

Par. [ Wiihin] Brother Troilus ! 

Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; 

And bring ^Lneas and the Grecian with you. 

Cres. My lord, will you be true? 

Tro. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault: 
Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, 
I with great truth catch mere simplicity; 
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper 

crowns. 
With truth and plainness I d> wear mine bare. 
Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit 
Is ' plain and true ;' there's all the reach of it. no 

Enter vEneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, I 
and Diomedes. 

Welcome, Sir Diomcd ! here is the lady 
Which for Antenor we deliver you : 
At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand ; 
And by the way possess thee what she is. 
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
If e"er thou stand at mercy of my sword, 
Name Cressid, and thy lite shall be as safe 
As Priam is in I lion. 

Dio. Fair Lady Cressid, 

So please you, save the thanks this prince 

experts : 
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, 120 
Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. 

Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me cour- 
teously. 
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee 
In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises 
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. 
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge ; 
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. 
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 130 
I '11 cut thy throat. 

Dio. O, be not moved, Prince Troilus : 

Let me be privileged by my place and message, 
To be a speaker free ; when I am hence, 
I'll answer to my lust : and know you, lord, 
I '11 nothing do on charge : to her own worth 
She shall be prized; but that you say 'be't so,' 
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, 'no.' 

Tro. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed, 
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. 
Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk, 140 
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 

[Exeunt Troilus, Cressida. and Diomedes. 
f Trumpet ivitkin. 

Par. Hark ! Hecftor's trumpet. 

-'Eiic. Mow have we spent this morning ! 

The prince must think me tardy and remi 
That swore to ride before him to the field. 

Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault : come, come, to field 
with him. 

41 — 2 



644 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



[Act 



Dei. Let us make ready straight. 

jEne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie 149 

On his fair worth and single chivalry. [Exeunt. 

i Scene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out. 

, Enter Ajax, a nu^d; Agamemnon, Achilles, 
Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, 
and others. 

Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh 
and fair, 
Anticipating time with starting courage. 
\ Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
! Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
J May pierce the head of the great combatant 
I And hale him hither. 

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. 

; Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe : 

Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
! Outswell the colic of puff 'd Aquilon: 
1 Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout 
blood ; 10 

Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds. 

Ulyss. No trumpet answers. 
Achil. 'Tis but early days. 

Agam. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' 

daughter? 
Ulyss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait ; 
Lie rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 

Enter Diomedes, with Cressida. 

Agam. Is this the Lady Cressid? 

Dio. Even she. 

Again. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, 
sweet lady. 

Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kLs. 

Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ; 20 
'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. 

Nest. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. 
So much for Nestor. 

Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, 
fair lady : 
Achilles bids you welcome. 

Me7i. I had good argument for kissing once. 

Patr. But that's no argument for kissing now ; 
For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment, 
And parted thus you and your argument. 

Ulyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our 
scorns ! 30 

For which we lose our heads to gild his horns. 

Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, 
mine : 
Patroclus kisses you. 

Men. O, this is trim ! 

Patr. Paris and I kiss evermore for him. 

Men. I '11 have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your 
leave. 

Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive? 

Patr. Both take and give. 

Cres. I '11 make my match to live, 

The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
Therefore no kiss. 

Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three 
for one. 40 



Cres. You're an odd man ; give even, or give 
none. 

Men. An odd man, lady ! every man is odd. 

Cres. No, Paris is not ; for you know 'tis 
true, 
That you are odd, and he is even with you. 

Men. You fillip me o' the head. 

Cres. No, I'll be sworn. 

Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against 
his horn. 
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you? 

Cres. You may. 

Ulyss. I do desire it. 

Cres. Why, beg, then. 

Ulyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me 
a kiss, 
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 50 

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. 

Ulyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of you. 

Dio. Lady, a word : I '11 bring you to your 
father. [Exit with Cressida. 

Nest. A woman of quick sense. 

Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her ! 

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, 
Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out 
At every joint and motive of her body. 
O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, 
That give accosting welcome ere it comes, 
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 60 
To every ticklish reader ! set them down 
For sluttish spoils of opportunity 
And daughters of the game. [T?'umj>et within. 

All. The Trojans' trumpet. 

Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 

Enter Hector, armed; ^Eneas, Troilus, and 
other Trojans, with Attendants. 

SEne. Hail, all you state of Greece ! what 
shall be done 
To him that victory commands? or do you pur- 
pose 
A victor shall be known? will you the knights 
Shall to the edge of all extremity 
Pursue each other, or shall be divided 
By any voice or order of the field ? 70 

Hector bade ask. 

Again. Which way would Hector have it? 

JEiie. He cares not; he'll obey conditions. 

Achil. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely 
done, 
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
The knight opposed. 

ALne. If not Achilles, sir, 

What is your name ? 

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 

JEiie. Therefore Achilles : but, whate'er, know 
this: 
In the extremity of great and little, 
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector ; 
The one almost as infinite as all, So 

The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
And that which looks like pride is courtesy. 
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood: 
In love whereof, half Hector stays at home; 
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek 
This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek. 

Achil. A maiden battle, then? O, I perceive 
you. 



Scene v.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



645 



Re-enter Diomedes. 

Again. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle 
knight, 
Stand by our Ajax : as you and Lord ./Eneas 
Consent upon the order of their fight, 90 

So be it; either to the uttermost, 
Or else a breath : the combatants being kin 
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
[Ajax and Heclor enter tlie lists. 

Ulyss. They are opposed already. 

Agum. What Trojan is that same that looks 
so heavy? 

Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true 
knight. 
Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of word, 
Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue ; 
Not soon provoked nor being provoked soon 

calm'd ; 
His heart and hand both open and both free ; 100 
For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows; 
Yet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty, 
Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath; 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes 
To tender objects, but he in heat of action 
Is more vindicative than jealous love : 
They call him Troilus, and on him erect 
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
Thus says ^Eneas; one that knows the youth no 
Even to his inches, and with private soul 
Did in great I lion thus translate him to me. 

[A laricm. Hector and Ajax fight. 

Agam. They are in action. 

Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 

Tro. Hector, thou slecp'st; 

Awake thee ! 

Agam. His blows are well disposed : there. 
Ajax ! 

Die You must no more. [Trumpets cease. 

AQne. Princes, enough, so please you. 

Ajax. I am not warm yet ; let us fight again. 

Dio. As Hector pleases. 

Heel. Why, then will I no more : 

Thou art, great lord, my father's sisters son, 120 
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ; 
The obligation of our blood forbids 
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain : 
Were thy com mixtion Greek and Trojan so 
That thou couldst say 'This hand is Grecian all, 
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg 
All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother's blood 
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister 
Bounds in my father's ;' by Jove multipotent, 
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish 
member 130 

I Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
Of our rank feud : but the just gods gainsay 
\ That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, 
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
lie drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : 
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ; 
Hector would have them fall upon him thus: 
Cousin, all honour to thee ! 

Ajax. I thank thee, Hector : 

Thou art too gentle and too free a man : 
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 140 
A great addition earned in thy death. 

I left. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, 



On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st 

Oyes 
Cries 'This is he,' could promise to himself 
A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 
A*Lne. There is expectance here from both the 
sides, 
What further you will do. 

Heft. We'll answer it; 

The issue is embracement : Ajax, farewell. 

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success — 
As seld I have the chance — I would desire 150 
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 
Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great 
Achilles 
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 

Heft. iEneas, call my brother Troilus to me, 
And signify this loving interview 
To the expecters of our Trojan part ; 
Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my 

cousin ; 
I will go eat with thee and see your knights. 
Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us 

here. 
Heel. The worthiest of them tell me name by 
name ; 160 

But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes 
Shall find him by his large and portly size. 

Again. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to one 
That would be rid of such an enemy ; 
But that's no welcome : understand more clear. 
What's past and what's to come is strew'd with 

husks 
And formless ruin of oblivion ; 
But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, 
Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 170 

From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 
Heel. I thank thee, most imperious Aga- 
memnon. 
Agam. [To Troilus] My well-famed lord of , 

Troy, no less to you. 
Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's 
greeting: 
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 
Heft. Who must we answer? 
.Eh,'. The noble Menelaus. 

Heel. O, you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, 
thanks ! 
Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath ; 
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove: 
She's well, but bade me not commend her I 
Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly 
theme. 181 

Heel. O, pardon ; I off 

Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft 
Labouring for destiny make cruel way 
Through ranks of Greekish youth, and I have 

seen thee, 
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, 
Despising many forfeits and subduements. 
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the 

air. 
Not letting it decline on the declined. 
That I have said to some my standers by 190 
' Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life ! ' 
And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, 
When that a ring ofGreeks have hemm'd thee in. 
Like an Olympian wrestling: this have I seen; 
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 



6 4 6 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



[Act iv. 



I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, 
And once fought with him : he was a soldier good ; 
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, 
Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee ; 
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 200 
ALne. 'Tis the old Nestor. 
Hen. Let me embrace thee, good old chro- 
nicle, 
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time : 
Most reverend Nestor, 1 am glad to clasp thee. 
Nest. I would my arms could match thee in 
contention, 
As they contend with thee in courtesy. 
Hen. I would they could. 
Nest. Ha ! 
By this white beard, I 'Id fight with thee to- 
morrow. 209 
Well, welcome, welcome ! — I have seen the time. 
Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands 
When we have here her base and pillar by us. 

He£l. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.' 
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, 
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed 
In I lion, on your Greekish embassy. 

Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would 
ensue : 
My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; 
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
I Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the 
clouds, 220 

Must kiss their own feet. 

Hefl. I must not believe you : 

There they stand yet, and modestly I think, 
; The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
j A drop of Grecian blood : the end crowns all, 
And that old common arbitrator, Time, 
Will one day end it. 

Ulyss. So to him we leave it. 

Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome : 
After the general, 1 beseech you next 
To feast with me and see me at my tent. 

Achil. I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses. 
thou ! 230 

Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ; 
I have with exact view perused thee, Hector, 
And quoted joint by joint. 

Hell. Is this Achilles? 

Achil. I am Achilles. 

Hen. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on 

thee. 
Achil. Behold thy fill. 

Hen. Nay, I have done already. 

Achil. Thou art too brief: I will the second 
time, 
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
Hen. O, like a book of sport thou 'It read 
me o'er ; 239 

But there's more in me than thou understand'st. 
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? 
Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part 
of his body 
Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there, or 

there? 
That I may give the local wound a name 
And make distinct the very breach whereout 
Hector's great spirit flew : answer me, heavens ! 
Hen. It would discredit the blest gods, 
proud man, 
To answer such a question : stand again : 



Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly 
As to prenominate in nice conjecture 250 

Where thou wilt hit me dead ? 
Achil. I tell thee, yea. 

Hen. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
I 'Id not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee | 

well ; 
For I '11 not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; | 
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, 
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. 
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag ; 
His insolence draws folly from my lips ; 
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, 
Or may I never — 

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin : 260 

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, 
Till accident or purpose bring you to't: 
You may have every day enough of Hector, 
If you have stomach; the general state, I fear, 
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 

Hen. I pray you, let us see you in the field : 
We have had pelting wars, since you refused 
The Grecians' cause. 

Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? 

To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death ; 
To-night all friends. 

}lei~l. Thy hand upon that match. 270 

Again. First, all you peers of Greece, go to 
my tent; 
There in the full convive we : afterwards, 
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
Concur together, severally entreat him. 
Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow, 
That this great soldier may his welcome know. 
[Exeunt all except Troilus and Ulysses. 
Tro. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech 
you, 
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? 
Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely 
Troilus : 
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ; 280 
Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, 
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
On the fair Cressid. 

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so 
much, 
After we part from Agamemnon's tent, 
To bring me thither? 

Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. 

As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there 
That wails her absence? 

Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their 
scars 290 

A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? 
She was beloved, she loved ; she is, and doth : 
But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. TJie Grecian camp. Before Achillea 
tent. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 
Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine 
to-ni£;ht, 
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. 
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 



Scene i.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



647 



Pair. Here comes Thersites. 
Enter Thersites. 

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ! 

Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? 

Ther. Why, thou picture of whal 
and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for 
thee. 

Achil. From whence, fragment? 

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 

Patr. Who keeps the tent now? 11 

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's 
wound. 

Pair. Well said, adversity ! and what need 
these tricks? 

Ther. Prithee, be silent, boy ; I profit not by 
thy talk : thou art thought to be Achilles' male 
varlet. 

Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what's that? 

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the 
rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, 
(ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' th 
lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten 
livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of impost- 
hume, sciaticas, limekilns i' the palm, incurable 
bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of th'; 
tetter, take and take again such preposterous 
discoveries ! 

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, 
what meanest thou to curse thus? 30 

Titer. Do I curse thee? 

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whore- 
son indistinguishable cur, no. 

Ther. No ! why art thou then exasperate, 
thou idle immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou 
green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tas?el of 
a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor 
world is pestered with such waterflies, diminu- 
tives of nature ! 

Patr. Out, gall ! 40 

Ther. Finch-egg ! 

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted 
quite 
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
Here is a letter from Queen Hecu 
A token from her daughter, my fair love, 
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep 
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it : 
Fall Greeks ; fail fame ; honour or go or stay ; 
My major vow lies here, this I '11 obey. 
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent: 50 
This night in banqueting must all be spent. 
Away, Patroclus ! 

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. With too much blood and too little 
brain, these two may run mad; but, if with too much 
brain and too little blood they do, I'll be a curer 
of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honest 
fellow enough, ami one that loves quails ; but he 
has not so much brain as ear-wax : and the 
goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his bro- 
ther, the bull, — the primitive statue, and oblique 
memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty shoeing-horn in 
a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, — to what 
form but that he is, should wit larded with malice 
and malice forced with wit turn him to? To an 
ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to an 
ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be 
a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, 



an owl, a puttoi k, or a herring without a roe, I 
would not care ; but to be Menclaus ! I would 
conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I 
would lie, if I w<-re not Thersites ; for 1 care not 
to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. 
Hoy-day ! spirits and fires! 

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, ' 

Ulys [enelaus, and Dio- 

, with lights. 

We go wrong, we go wrong. 
. tj'ax. No, yonder 'ti., ; 

where we see the lights. 

I trouble J 
Ajax. No, not a whit. 
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 

Re-enter ACHILLES. 
Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, 

princes all. 
A gam. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid 
good night. 

ird to tend 
Hell. Thanks and good night to the Greek »' 
general. 80 

Men. Good night, my lord. 
Heel. weet I. ord Menelaus. 

Ther. Sweet draught: 'sweet' quoth 'a ! sweet 
sink, sweet sewer. 

Achil. Good night and welcome, both at 
once, to those 
That go or tarry. 

Agam. Good night. 

[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. 
Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, 
ucd, 
Keep Hector company an hour or two. 

/>:'/>. I cannot, lord; I have important busi- 
ness, 
The tide whereof is now. Good night, great 
Hector. 90 

Heel. Give me your hand. 
Ulyss. \.lsidc to Troilus] Follow his torch ; 
he goes to Calchas' tent: 
I'll keep you company. 

Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 

Hell. And so, good night. 

I Exit J >i >>;;■ ' les ; I r lysses and 

Troilus following. 

Achil. Come, come, enter my t 

[Exeunt Achilles, Heclor, Ajax, and Nestor. 

'Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted 

rogue, a most unjust knave ; I will no more trust 

him when he leers than I will a serpent when he 

hisses: he will spend his mouth, and promise, 

like Brabbler the hound; but when he pi 

astronomers foretell it; it is prodigious, there 

will come some change; the sun borrows of t! e 

moon, when Diomed keeps his word. I will 

rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him : 

they say he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the 

traitor Calchas' tent: I'll after. Nothing but 

lechery! all incontinent varl [Exit. 

I 1. The same. Before Calchas' tent. 
Enter DlOMl 
/'/>. What, are jrou up here, ho? speak. 
. [IVithin] Who calls? 



64S 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



[Ac-] 



Dio. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's 

your daughter? 
Cal. [ Withiit\ She comes to you. 

Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; 
after them, Thersites. 
Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not dis- 
cover us. 

Enter Cressida. 

Tro. Cressid comes forth to him. 

Dio. How now, my charge ! 

Cres. Now, my sweet guardian ! Hark, a 
word with you. \_Whispers. 

Tro. Yea, so familiar ! 

Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 

Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can 
take her cliff; she's noted. 11 

Dio. Will you remember? 

Cres. Remember! yes. 

Dio. Nay, but do, then ; 
And let your mind be coupled with your words. 

Tro. What should she remember? 

Ulyss. List. 

Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more 
to folly. 

Ther. Roguery ! 

Dio. Nay, then, — 20 

Cres. I '11 tell you what, — 

Dio. Foh, foh ! come, tell a pin : you are for- 
sworn. 

Cres. In faith, I cannot : what would you 
have me do? 

Ther. A juggling trick, — to be secretly open. 

Dio. What did you swear you would bestow 
on me? 

Cres. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 

Dio. Good night. 

Tro. Hold, patience ! 

Ulyss. How now, Trojan ! 30 

Cres. Diomed, — 

Dio. No, no, good night - . I'll be your fool 
no more. 

Tro. Thy better must. 

Cres. Hark, one word in your ear. 

Tro. O plague and madness ! 

Ulyss. You are moved, prince; let us depart, 
I pray you, 
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself 
To wrathful terms : this place is dangerous ; 
The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go. 

Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 

Ulyss. Nay, good my lord, go off: 

You flow to great distraction ; come, my lord. 41 

Tro. I pray thee, stay. 

Ulyss. You have not patience ; come. 

Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell and all hell's 
torments, 
I will not speak a word ! 

Dio. And so, good night. 

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 

Tro. Doth that grieve thee? 

wither'd truth ! 

Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ! 

Tro. By Jove, 

1 will be patient. 

Cres. Guardian ! — why, Greek ! 

Dio. Foh, foh ! adieu ; you palter. 



Cres. In faith, I do not: come hither once 
again. 

Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something: 
will you go ? 50 

You will break out. 

Tro. She strokes his cheek ! 

Ulyss. Come, come. 

Tro. Nay, stay ; by Jove, I will not speak a 
word : 
There is between my will and all offences 
A guard of patience : stay a little while. 

Ther. How the devil Luxury, with his fat 
rump and potato-finger, tickles these together ! 
Fry, lechery, fry ! 

Dio. But will you, then ? 

Cres. In faith, I will, la; never trust me else. 
Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 60 

Cres. I'll fetch you one. [Exit. 

Ulyss. You have sworn patience. 

Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord : 

I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
Of what I feel : I am all patience. 

Re-enter Cressida. 

Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! 

Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 

Tro. O beauty ! where is thy faith? 

Ulyss. My lord, — 

Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. 

Cres. You look upon that sleeve ; behold it 
well. 
He loved me — O false wench ! — Give't me again. 

Dio. Whose was't? 71 

Cres. It is no matter, now I have't again. 
I will not meet with you to-morrow night : 
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more. 

Ther. Now she sharpens: well said, whet- 
stone ! 

Dio. I shall have it. 

Cres. What, this? 

Dio. . Ay, that. 

Cres. O, all you gods ! O pretty, pretty 
pledge ! 
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove, 
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 80 

As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
He that takes that doth take my heart withal. 

Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 

Tro. I did swear pat'ence. 

Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, 
you shall not ; 
I '11 give you something else. 

Dio. I will have this: whose was it? 

Cres. It is no matter. 

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 

Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than 
you will. 
But, now you have it, take it. 

Dio. Whose was it? 90 

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yond, 
And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 

Dio. _ To-morrow will I wear it on my helm, 
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 

Tro. Wert thou the devil, and worest it on 
thy horn, 
It should be challenged. 

Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past: and yet 
it is not ; 



: Scene n.l 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



649 



I will not keep my word. 

Die?. Why, then, farewell ; 

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 

Cres. You shall not go: one cannot 

word, 100 

But it straight starts you. 

Dio. I do not like this fooling. 

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes 
not you pleases me best. 

Dio. What, shall I come? the hour? 

Cres. Ay, come:— O Jove! — do come: — I 
shall be plagued. 

Dio. Farewell till then. 

Cres. Good night : I prithee, come. 

[Exit Diomedes. 
Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; 
But with my heart the other eye doth see. 
Ah, poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, 
The error of our eye directs our mind : no 

What error leads must err ; O, then conclude 
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. [Exit. 

Ther. A proof of strength she could not pub- 
lish more, 
Unless she said ' My mind is now turn'd whore.' 

Ulyss. All's done, my lord. 

Tro. It is. 

Ulyss. Why stay we, then ? 

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
But if I tell how these two did co-act, 
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? 
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, 120 

An esperance so obstinately strong, 
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears, 
As if those organs had deceptious functions, 
Created only to calumniate. 
Was Cressid here ? 

Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 

Tro. She was not, sure. 

Ulyss. Most sure she was. 

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of 
madness. 

Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here 
but now. 

Tro. Let it not be believed for womanhood ! 
Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage 
To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, 131 
For depravation, to square the general sex 
By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid. 

Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can 
soil our mothers? 

Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. [ 

Thcr. Will he swagger himself out on 's own 
eyes? 

Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida : 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 140 j 

If there be rule in unity itself, 
This is not she. O madness of discourse, 
That cause sets up with and against itself! 
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt : this is, and is not, Cressid. 
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight 
Of this strange nature that a thing inseparate 
Divides more wider than the sky and earth, 
And yet the spacious breadth of this division 150 | 
Admits no orifex for a point as subtle 



As Ariachne's broken woof to enter. 
Instance, O instance ! strong as Pluto's gates; 
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of he 
Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself; 
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved, and 

loosed ; 
And with another knot, five-finger-tied, 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relics 
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. 163 

Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach' d 
With that which here his passion doth express? 

Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged 
well 
In characters as red as Mars his heart 
Inflamed with Venus : never did young m; 
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
Hark, Greek : as much as I do Cressid love, 
So much by weight hate I her Diomed : 
That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm ; 
Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill, 170 
My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout 
Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
Constringed in mass by the almighty sun. 
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear 
In his descent than shall my prompted sword 
Falling on Diomed. 

Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy. 

Tro. O Cressid ! O false Cressid! false, false, 
false ! 
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, 
And they'll seem glorious. 

Ulyss. O, contain yourself; 180 

Your passion draws ears hither. 

Enter tEneas. 

JEne. I have been seeking you this hour, my 
lord: 
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; 
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 

Tro. Have with you, prince. My courteous 
lord, adieu. 
Farewell, revolted fair! and, Diomed, 
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head! 

Ulyss. I '11 bring you to the gates. 

Tro. Accept distracted thank-,. 

[Exeunt Troilus, sEncas, and Ulysses. 

TJier. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed ! 
I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I 
would bode. Patroclus will give me any thing 
for the intelligence of this whore : the parrot will 
not do more for an almond than he for a commo- 
dious drab. Lechery, lechery; still, v.. 
lechery; nothing else holds fashion: a 1 
devil take them ! 

Scene III. Troy. Before Priam s palace. 
Enter Hector and Andromache. 

And. When was my lord so much ungently . 
temper'd, 
To stop his ears against admonishment? 
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 

Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you in : 1 
By all the everlasting gods, I '11 go ! 
And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous 
to the day. 

No more, I say. 



6 5 o 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



[Act v. 



Enter Cassandra. 

Cas. Where is my brother Hector? 

And. Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in 
intent. 
Consort with me in loud and dear petition, 
Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 10 
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of 
slaughter. 

Cas. 0, 'tis true. 

He£l. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! 

Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet 
brother. 

Heel. Be gone, I say : the gods have heard 
me swear. 

Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish 
vows : 
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 

And. O, be persuaded ! do not count it holy 
To hurt by being just : it is as lawful, 20 

For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
And rob in the behalf of charity. 

Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the 
vow; 
But vows to every purpose must not hold : 
Unarm, sweet Hector. 

Heft. Hold you still, I say ; 

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate : 
Life every man holds dear ; but the brave man 
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. 

Enter Troilus. 
How now, young man ! mean'st thou to fight to- 
day? 
A nd. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 30 
[Exit Cassandra. 
Heel. No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy har- 
ness, youth ; 
I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : 
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
Unarm thee, go, and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
I '11 stand to-day for thee and me and Troy. 
Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in 
you, 
Which better fits a lion than a man. 
Heel. What vice is that, good Troilus? chide 

me for it. 
Tro. When many times the captive Grecian 
falls, 40 

Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
You bid them rise, and live. 
Heel. O, 'tis fair play. 

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. 

Heel. How now ! how now ! 
Tro. For the love of all the gods, 

Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers, 
And when we have our armours buckled on, 
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords, 
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. 
Heel. Fie, savage, fie ! 

Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 

Hefl. Troilus, I would not have you fight 
to-day. 50 

Tro. Who should withhold me? 
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 



Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
Opposed to hinder me, should stop my way, 
But by my ruin. 

Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. 

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast : 
He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, 60 
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, 
Fall all together. 

Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : 

Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had 

visions; 
Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself 
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt 
To tell thee that this day is ominous : 
Therefore, come back. 

Heel. ./Eneas is a-field ; 

And I do stand engaged to many Greeks, 
Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
This morning to them. 

Pri. Ay, but thou shalt not go. 

Heel. I must not break my faith. 71 

You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir, 
Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave 
To take that course by your consent and voice, 
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 

Cas. O Priam, yield not to him ! 

And. Do not, dear father. 

Heel. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 

[Exit A ndromache. 

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
Makes all these bodements. 

Cas. O, farewell, dear Hector ! 

Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns 
pale ! 81 

Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents ! 
Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out ! 
How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth ! 
Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement, 
Like witless antics, one another meet, 
And all cry, Hector ! Hector's dead ! O Heftor ! 

Tro. Away ! away ! 

Cas. Farewell : yet, soft ! Hector, I take my 
leave : 
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. 

Heel. You are amazed, my liege, at her ex- 
claim : 91 
Go in and cheer the town: we'll forth and fight, 
Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night. 

Pri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand 
about thee ! 
[Exeunt severally Priam and Heclor, A lanents. 

Tro. They are at it, hark ! Proud Diomed, 
believe, 
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? 

Tro. What now? 

Pan. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl. 

Tro. Let me read. 100 

Pan. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally 
tisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of 
this girl : and what one thing, what another, that 
I shall leave you one o' these days : and I have a 
rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my 



Scene hi. 



T ROIL US AND CRESSIDA. 



651 



bones that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot 
tell what to think on't. What says she there? 
Tro. Words, words, mere words, no mattar 
from the heart ; 
The effect doth operate another way. ioq 

[Tearing the letter. 
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. 
My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
But edifies another with her deeds. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene IV. Plains between Trey and the Grecian 

camp. 

Alarums: excursio?is. Enter Theksites. 

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one 
another ; I '11 go look on. That dissembling 
abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same 
scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of 
Troy there in his helm: I would fain see them 
meet: that that same young Trojan ass, that loves 
the whore there, might send that Greekish whore- 
masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dis- 
sembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless errand. 
O' the t'other side, the policy of those crafty 
swearing rascals, that stale old mouse-eaten dry 
cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, 
is not proved worth a blackberry : they set me up, 
in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that 
dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is the 
cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will 
not arm to-day: whereupon the Grecians begin 
to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an 
ill opinion. Soft ! here comes sleeve, and t'other. 

Enter Diomedes, Troilus following. 
Tro. Fly not ; for shouldst thou take the river 
Styx, 20 

I would swim after. 

Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : 

I do not fly, but advantageous care 
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
Have at thee ! 

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for 
thy whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the 
sleeve ! 

[Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting. 

Enter Hector. 

He€i. What art thou, Greek? art thou for 
Hector's match? 
Art thou of blood and honour? 

Ther. No, no, I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
knave : a very filthy rogue. 31 

Neil. I do believe thee: live. [Exit. 

Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe 
me : but a plague break thy neck for frighting 
me ! What's become of the wenching rogues? I 
think they have swallowed one another : I would 
laugh at that miracle : yet, in a sort, lechery eats 
itself. I'll seek them. [Exit. 

Scene V. AnotJter part of the plains. 
Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 
Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' 
horse ; 
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : 
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty : 



Tell her I have chastised the amorous Trojan, 
And am her knight by proof. 

Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon-. 

Agam. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamas 
Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon 
Hath Doreus prisoner, 

And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, 
Upon the pashed corses of the kings 10 

Epistrophus and Cedius: Polyxenes is slain, 
Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt, 
Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes 
Sore hurt and bruised: the dreadful Sagittary 

iir numbers: haste we, Diomed, 
To reinforcement, or we perish all. 

Enter Nestor. 
Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; 
And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame. 
There is a thousand Hectors in the field: 
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, 20 

And. there lacks work; anon he's there afoot, 
And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls 
Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder, 
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, 
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath : 
Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes, 
Dexterity so obeying appetite 
That what he will he dues, and does so much 
That proof is call'd impossibility. 

Enter Ulysses. 
fflj'ss. O, courage, courage, princes! great 
Achilles 30 

Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance : 
Patroclus' wounds have roused his drowsy blood, 
Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come 

to him, 
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend 
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it, 
Roaring for Troilus, who hath done to-day 
Mad and fantastic execution, 
Engaging and redeeming of himself 
With such a careless force and forceless care 40 
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
Bade him win all. 

Enter Aj \:c. 
Ajax. Troilus! thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 
Dio. Ay, there, there. 

Nest. So, so, we draw together. 

Enter Achilles. 
Achil. Where is this Hector? 

Come, come, thou boy-que!ler, show thy face; 
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry : 
Hector ! where 's Hector? I will none but Hector. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Another part of the plains. 
Enter Ajax. 
Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy 
head ! 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dio. Troilus, I say! where 's Troilus? 
Ajax. What wouldst thou? 



6 5 2 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act 



Dio. I would correal him. 
Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst 
have my office 
Ere that correction. Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus ! 

Enter Troilus, 

Tro. O traitor Diomed ! turn thy false face, 

thou traitor, 
And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse ! 
Dio. Ha, art thou there ? 
Ajax. I '11 fight with him alone : stand, Diomed. 
Dio. He is my prize ; I will not look upon. 10 
Tro. Come, both you cogging Greeks ; have 

at you both ! [Exeunt^ fighting. 

Enter Hector. 
Heel. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my 
youngest brother ! 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Now do I see thee, ha! have at thee, 
Hector ! 

Heel. Pause, if thou wilt. 

Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan : 
Be happy that my arms are out of use : 
My rest and negligence befriends thee now, 
But thou anon shalt hear of me again; 
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 

Heel. Fare thee well : 

I would have been much more a fresher man, 20 
Had I expected thee. How now, my brother ! 

Re-e7iter Troilus. 
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en yEneas : shall it be ? 
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, 
He shall not carry him : I '11 be ta'en too, 
Or bring him off: fate, hear me what I say ! 
I reck not though I end my life to-day. \_Exit. 

Enter one hi sumptuous armour. 
Heel. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a 
goodly mark : 
No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well ; 
I '11 frush it and unlock the rivets all, 
But I '11 be master of it: wiltthounot, beast, abide? 
Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. 31 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Anot/ier part of the plains. 
Efiter Achilles, -with Myrmidons. 
Achil. Come here about me, you my Myr- 
midons ; 
Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel: 
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in 

breath : 
And when I have the bloody Hector found, 
Empale him with your weapons round about ; 
In fellest manner execute your aims. 
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : 
It is decreed Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. 

Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting: then 

Thersites. 
Ther. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are 
at it. Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! 
now my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! 
The bull has the game : ware horns, ho ! 

[Exeunt Paris and Menelaics. 



Enter Margarelon. 

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 

Ther. What art thou? 

Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. 

Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I 
am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard 
in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegi- 
timate. One bear will not bite another, and 
wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, 
the quarrel 's most ominous to us : if the son of a 
whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement: 
farewell, bastard. [Exit. 

Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [Exit. 

Scene VIII. Another part oj 'the plains. 

Enter Hector. 
Heel. Most putrefied core, so fair without, 
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. 
Now is my day's work done ; I '11 take good 

breath : 
Rest, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and death. 
[Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield 
behind him. 

Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 
Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to 
set; 
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
Even with the vail and darking of the sun, 
To close the day up, Hector's life is done. 

Heel. I am unarnvd ; forego this vantage, 

Greek. 
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man 
I seek. [Heclor falls. 10 

So, Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink down ! 
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. 
On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain, 
' Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.' 

[A retreat sounded. 
Hark ! a retire upon our Grecian part. 
Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, 

my lord. 
Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads 
the earth, 
And, stickler-like, the armies separates. 
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have 

fed, 
Pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed. 20 
[Sheathes his sword. 
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX. Another part of the plains. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, 

Diomedes, and others, marching. Shouts 

within. 

A gam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ? 

Nest. Peace, drums ! 
[Within] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain! 
Achilles ! 

Dio. The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by 
Achilles. 

Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; 
Great Hector was a man as good as he. 

Agant. March patiently along : let one be sent 
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. 



Scene ix.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



653 



If in his death the gods have us befriended, 9 

Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

Scene X. Another part of the plains. 
Enter /Eneas and Trojans. 

ALne. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the 
field : 
Never go home ; here starve we out the night. 

Enter Troilus. 

Tro. Hector is slain. 

All. Heritor ! the gods forbid ! 

Tro. He 's dead ; and at the murderer's horse's 
tail, 
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful 

field. 
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with 

speed ! 
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! 
1 say. at once let your brief plagues be mercy, 
And linger not our sure destructions on ! 9 

.My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 

Tro. You understand me not that tell me so: 
I do not speak of Right, of fear, of death, 
But dare all imminence that gods and men 
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone: 
Who shall tell Priam so, or hecuba? 
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be c. 
Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead: 
There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; 
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives. 
Cold statues of the youth, and, in a word, 20 

Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away: 
Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. 
Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, 
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, 
Let Titan rise as early as he dare- 



I'll through and through you! and, thou great- 
sized coward, 
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates: 
I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, 
That mouldcth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. 
Strike a free march to Troy ! with comfort go : 30 
Hope of re% - enge shall hide our inward woe. 

[Exeunt .Eneas and Trojans. 

ii.t s is going oitt, enter, from the other 
side, Pandarus. 

Pan. But hear you, hear you ! 

'Tro. Hence, broker-lackey ! ignomyand shame 
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! [Exit. 

Tan. A goodly medicine for my aching bones ! 
O world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent 
despised! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly 
are you set a-work, and how ill requited ! why 
should our endeavour be so loved and the per- 
formance so loathed? what verse for it? what 
instance for it? Let me sec : 41 

Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing. 
Till lie hath lost his honey and his stu 
And being once subdued in armed tail, 
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. 

Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted 

cloths. 

As many as be here of pander's hall. 

Your eyes, half out, weep out at Bandar's fall ; 

Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, 50 

Though not for me. yet for your aching bones. 

Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, 

Some two months hence my will shall here be 

made : 
It should be now, but that my fear is this. 
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : 
Till then I '11 sweat and seek about for eases, 
And at that time bequeathe you my diseases. 

[Exit. 



CORIOLANUS. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Caius Marcius, afterwards Caius Marcius 

CORIOLANUS. 

Titus Lartius, i generals against the Vol- 

Cominius, J scians. 

Menenius Agrippa, friend to Coriolanus. 

f^Sl^} «*-?<**■*■* 

Young Marcius, son to Coriolanus. 

A Roman Herald. 

Tullus Aufidius, general of the Volscians. 

Lieutenant to Aufidius. 

Conspirators with Aufidius. 

A Citizen of Antium. 



Two Volscian Guards. 

Volumnia, mother to Coriolanus. 
Virgilia, wife to Coriolanus. 
Valeria, friend to Virgilia. 
Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. 

Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, vEdiles, 
Lienors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Ser- 
vants to Aufidius, and other Attendants. 

Scene : Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli 
and the ?ieis.hbourhood; Antium. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. Rome. A street. 

Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with 
staves, clubs, and other weapons. 

First Cit. Before we proceed any further, 
hear me speak. 

All. Speak, speak. 

First Cit. You are all resolved rather to die 
than to famish ? 

All. Resolved, resolved. 

First Cit. First, you know Caius Marcius is 
chief enemy to the people. 

All. We know't, we know't. 

First Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have 
corn at our own price. Is't a verdict? n 

All. No more talking on't; let it he done: 
away, away ! 

Sec. Cit. One word, good citizens. 

First Cit. We are accounted poor citizens, the 
patricians good. What authority surfeits on would 
relieve us: if they would yield us but the super- 
fluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess 
they relieved us humanely; but they think we 
are too dear : the leanness that afflicts us, the 
object of our misery, is as an inventory to parti- 
cularize their abundance; our sufferance is a gain 
to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere 
we become rakes : for the gods know I speak this 
in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 

Sec. Cit. Would you proceed especially against 
Caius Marcius? 

All. Against him first : he's a very dog to the 
commonalty. 29 

Sec. Cit. Consider you what services he has 
done for his country? 

First Cit. Very well : and could be content to 
give him good report for't, but that he pays him- 
self with being proud. 

Sec. Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 

First Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done 
famously, he did it to that end : though soft-con- 
scienced men can be content to say it was for his 
country, he did it to please his mother, and to be 



partly proud; which he is, even to the altitude of 
his virtue. 41 

Sec. Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, 
you account a vice in him. You must in no way 
say he is covetous. 

First Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren 
of accusations; he hath faults, with surplus, to 
tire in repetition. [Shouts within. ] What shouts 
are these? The other side o' the city is risen: 
why stay we prating here V to the Capitol ! 

All. Come, come. 50 

First Cit. Soft! who comes here? 

Enter Menenius Agrippa. 

Sec. Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that 
hath always loved the people. 

First Cit. He's one honest enough : would all 
the rest were so ! 

Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand ? 
where go you 
With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray 
you. 

First Cit. Our business is not unknown to the 
senate ; they have had inkling this fortnight what 
we intend to do, which now we'll show 'em in 
deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths : 
they shall know we have strong arms too. 

Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine 
honest neighbours,' 
Will you undo yourselves? 

First Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone 
already. 

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 69 
Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them 
Against the Roman state, whose course will on 
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
Of more strong link asunder than can ever 
Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, 
The gods, not the patricians, make it, and 
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
You are transported by calamity 
Thither where more attends you, and you slander 



Scene 



CORIOLANUS. 



655 



The helms o' the state, who care for you like 

fathers, 
When you curse them as enemies. 80 

First Cit. Care for us ! True, indeed ! They 
ne'er cared for us yet : suffer us to famish, and 
their store-houses crammed with grain; make 
edicls for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily 
any wholesome act established against the rich, 
and provide more piercing statutes daily, to 
chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat 
us not up, they will ; and there's all the love they 
bear us. 

Men. Either you must 90 

Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you 
A pretty tale : it may be you have heard it ; 
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
To stale 't a little more. 

First Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you 
must not think to fob off our disgrace with a 
tale : but, an 't please you, deliver. 

Men. There was a time when all the body's 
members 
Rebeil'd against the belly, thus accused it: 100 
That only like a gulf it did remain 
I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, 
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
Like labour with the rest, where the other 

instruments 
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
And, mutually participate, did minister 
Unto the appetite and affection common 
Of the whole body. The belly answer'd — 

First Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the 

belly? no 

Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of 

smile, 

Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even 

thus — 
For, look you, I may make the belly smile 
As well as speak — it tauntingly replied 
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly 
As you malign our senators for that 
They are not such as you. 

First Cit. Your belly's answer? What ! 

The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, 
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, 120 
Our steed die leg, the tongue our trumpeter, 
With other muniments and petty helps 
In this our fabric, if that they — 

Men. What then? 

'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what 
then? 

First Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be 
restrain'd, 
Who is the sink o' the body, — 

Men. Well, what then ? 

First Cit. The former agents, if they did 
complain, 
What could the belly answer? 

Men. I will tell you ; 

If you'll bestow a small — of what you have 

little- 
Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer. 

First Cit. Ye 're long about it. 

Men. Note me this, good friend ; 

Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd : 



' True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he, 
' That I receive the general food at first, 
Which you do live upon ; and fit it is, 
Because I am the store-house and the shop 
Of the whole body: but, if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood, 
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the 
brain ; 140 

And, through the cranks and offices of man. 
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins 
From me receive that natural competency 
Whereby they live : and though that all at once, 
You, my good friends,' — this says the belly, 
mark me, — 

First Cit. Ay, sir; well, well. 

Men. 'Though all at once cannot 

See what I do deliver out to each, 
Y'et I can make my audit up, that all 
From me do back receive the flour of all, 
And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't? 

First Cit. It was an answer: how apply 
you this? 151 

Men. The senators of Rome are this good 
belly, 
And you the mutinous members; for examine 
Their counsels and their cares, digest things 

rightly 
Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find 
No public benefit which you receive 
But it proceeds or comes from them to you 
And no way from yourselves. What do you ; 

think, 
You, the great toe of this assembly? 

First Cit. I the great toe ! why the great toe? 

Men. For that, being one o' the lowest, 
basest, poorest, 161 

Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: 
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, 
Lead'st first to win some vantage. 
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs: 
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle ; 
The one side must have bale. 

E)Uer Caius Marcius. 

Hail, noble Marcius ! 
Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you dis- 

sentious rogues, 
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, 
Make yourselves scabs? 
First Cit. We have ever your good word. 170 
Mar. He that will give good words to thee 

will flatter 
Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you 

curs, 
That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you, 
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to 

you, 
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; 
Where foxes, geese : you are no surer, no, 
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, 
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is 
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him 
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves 

greatness 180 

Deserves your hate ; and your affections are 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead 



6 5 6 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act i. j 



And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! 

Trust ye? 
With every minute you do change a mind, 
And call him noble that was now your hate, 
Him vile that was your garland. What's the 

matter, 
That in these several places of the city 
You cry against the noble senate, who, 190 

Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
Would feed on one another? What's their 

seeking? 
Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof, 

they say, 
The city is well stored. 

Mar. Hang 'em ! They say ! 

They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know 
What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise, 
Who thrives and who declines ; side factions and 

give out 
Conjectural marriages ; making parties strong 
And feebling such as stand not in their liking 
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's 

grain enough ! 200 

Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, 
And let me use my sword, I 'Id make a quarry 
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
As I could pick my lance. 

Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per- 
suaded ; 
For though abundantly they lack discretion, 
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech 

you, 
What says the other troop? 

Mar. They are dissolved : hang 'em ! 

They said they were an-hungry ; sigh'd forth 

proverbs, 
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, 
That meat was made for mouths, that the gods 

sent not 211 

Corn for the rich men only : with these shreds 
They vented their complainings ; which being 

answer'd, 
And a petition granted them, a strange one — 
To break the heart of generosity, 
And make bold power look pale — they threw 

their caps 
As they would hang them on the horns o' the 

moon, 
Shouting their emulation. 
Men. What is granted them? 

Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar 

wisdoms, 
Of their own choice: one's Junius Brutus, 220 
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath ! 
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, 
Ere so prevail'd with me : it will in time 
Win upon power and throw forth greater themes 
For insurrection's arguing. 

Men. This is strange. 

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments ! 

Enter a Messenger, hastily. 
Mess. Where's Caius Marcius? 
Mar. Here : what's the matter? 

Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in 

arms. 
Mar. I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' 
means to vent 
Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. 



Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other 
Senators; Junius Brutus and Sicinius Ve- 
lutus. 

First Sen. Marcius, 'tis true that you have 
lately told us; 231 

The Volsces are in arms. 

Mar. They have a leader, 

Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. 
I sin in envying his nobility, 
And were I any thing but what I am, 
I would wish me only he. 

Com. You have fought together. 

Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears 
and he 
Upon my party, I 'Id revolt, to make 
Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
That I am proud to hunt. 

First Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 240 

Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 

Com. It is your former promise. 

Mar. Sir, it is; 

And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou 
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. 
What, art thou stiff? stand'st out? 

Tit. No, Caius Marcius; 

I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, 
Ere stay behind this business. 

Men. O, true-bred ! 

First Sen. Your company to the Capitol ; 
where, I know, 
Our greatest friends attend us. 

Tit. [To Com.] Lead you on. 

[To Mar.] Follow Cominius; we must follow 
you ; 250 

Right worthy you priority. 

Com. Noble Marcius ! 

First Sen. [To the Citizens] Hence to your 
homes ; be gone ! 

Mar. Nay, let them follow : 

The Volsces have much corn; take these rats 

thither 
To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, 
Your valour puts well forth : pray, follow. 

[Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but 
Sicinius and Brutus. 

Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this 
Marcius ? 

Br?i. He has no equal. 

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the 
people, — 

Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes ? 

Sic. Nay. but his taunts. 

Bru. Being moved, he will not spare to gird 
the gods. 260 

Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. 

Bru. The present wars devour him : he is 
grown 
Too proud to be so valiant. 

Sic. Such a nature, 

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
Which he treads on at noon : but I do wonder 
His insolence can brook to be commanded 
Under Cominius. 

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims, 

In whom already he's well graced, can not 
Better be held nor more attain'd than by 
A place below the first : for what miscarries 270 
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 



Scene i.] 



CORIOLAXrs. 



657 



To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure 
Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he 
Had borne the business !' 

Sic. Besides, if things go well, 

Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall 
Of" his demerits rob Cominius. 

Bru. Come : 

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
Though Marcius earn'd them not, and all his faults 
To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed 
In aught he merit not. 

Sic. Let's hence, and hear 280 

How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, 
More than his singularity, he goes 
1 Upon this present action. 

Bru. Let's along. [Fxe/.'ut. 

Scene II. Corioli. The Senate-house. 
Enter Tvllvs Aufidius and certain Senators. 

First Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels 
And know how we proceed. 

Auf. Is it not yours? 

What ever have been thought on in this state, 
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone 
Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think 
I have the letter here ; yes, here it is. 
IK cads] 'They have press'd a power, but it is 

not known 
Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; 10 
The people mutinous ; and it is rumour'd, 
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, 
Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, 
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
These three lead on this preparation 
Whither 'tis bent : most likely 'tis for you : 
Consider of it.' 

First Sen. Our army's in the field : 
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
To answer us. 

Auf. Nor did you think it folly 

To keep your great pretences veil'd till when 20 
They needs must show themselves; which in the 

hatching, 
It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery 
We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was 
To take in many towns ere almost Rome 
Should know we were afoot. 

Sec. Sen. Noble Aufidius, 

Take your commission ; hie you to your bands : 
Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
If they set down before 's, for the remove 
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you '11 find 
They've not prepared for us. 

Auf. O, doubt not that; 30 

I speak from certainties. Nay, more, 
Some parcels of their power are forth already, 
And only hitherward. I leave your honours. 
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike 
Till one can do no more. 

A II. The gods assist you ! 

Auf. And keep your honours safe ! 

First Sen. Farewell. 

Sec. Sen. Farewell. 

All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 



Scene III. Rome. A room in Marcius house. 

Enter Volumnia and Virgilia: they set tliem 
down 07i two low stools, and sew. 

I'ol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express 
yourself in a more comfortable sort : if my son 
were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that 
absence wherein he won honour than in the em- 
bracements of his bed where he would show most 
love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and 
the only son of my womb, when youth with come- 
liness plucked all gaze his way, when for a day 
of kings' entreaties a mother should not sell him 
an hour from her beholding, I, considering how 
honour would become such a person, that it was 
no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if 
renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him 
seek danger where he was like to find fame. To 
a cruel war I sent him ; from whence he returned, 
his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, 
I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a 
man-child than now in first seeing he had proved 
himself a man. ig 

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam; 
how then? 

/ ~ol. Then his good report should have been 
my son ; 1 therein would have found issue. Hear 
me profess sincerely : had I a dozen sons, each in 
my love alike and none less dear than thine and 
my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die 
nobly for their country than one voluptuously 
surfeit out of action. 

Enter a Gentlewoman. 

Gent. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to 
visit you. 

/ 'it: Beseech you, give me leave to retire 
myself. 30 

/ ~ol. Indeed, you shall not. 
Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum, 
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair, 
As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him : 
Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: 
'Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear. 
Though you were born in Rome :' his bloody brow 
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, 
Like to a harvest-man that 's task'd to mow 
Or all or lose his hire. 40 

Vir. His bloody brow ! O Jupiter, no blood ! 

Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man 
Than gilt his trophy : the breasts of Hecuba, 
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood 
At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Vajeria, 
We are fit to bid her wel :ome. [Exit Gent. 

Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius ! 

/ ','1. He 'II beat Aufidius' head below his knee 
And tread upon his neck. 50 

Enter Valeria, with an Usher and Gentle- 
woman. 

J "a I. My ladies both, good day to you. 
Vol. Sweet madam. 
Vir. 1 am glad to see your ladyship. 
Va I. How do you both? you are manifest 
house-keepers. What are you sewing here ? A 



42 



658 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act 



fine \ spot, in good faith. How does your little 
son ? 

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good 
madam. 

Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear 
a drum, than look upon his schoolmaster. 61 

Val. O' my word, the father's son : I '11 swear, 
'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked 
upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together : 
has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him 
run after a gilded butterfly ; and when he caught 
it, he let it go again ; and after it again ; and 
over and over he comes, and up again ; catched 
it again ; or whether his fall enraged him, or how 
'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it ; O, I 
warrant, how he mammocked it ! 71 

Vol. One on 's father's moods. 

Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 

Vir. A crack, madam. 

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must 
have you play the idle huswife with me this after- 
noon. 

Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of doors. 

Val. Not out of doors ! 

Vol. She shall, she shall. 80 

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not 
over the threshold till my lord return from the 
wars. 

Val. Fie, you confine yourself most unreason- 
ably : come, you must go visit the good lady that 
lies in. 

Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit 
her with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 

Vol. Why, I pray you ? 

Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want 
love. 91 

Val. You would be another Penelope : yet, 
they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence 
did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would 
your cambric were sensible as your finger, that 
you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you 
shall go with us. 

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, 
I will not forth. 

Val. In truth, la, go with me: and I'll tell 
you excellent news of your husband. 101 

Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 

Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there 
came news from him last night. 

Vir. Indeed, madam? 

Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator 
speak it. Thus it is : the Volsces have an army 
forth; against whom Cominius the general is 
gone, with one part of our Roman power : your 
lord and Titus Lartius are set down before their 
city Corioli ; they nothing doubt prevailing and 
to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine 
honour ; and so, I pray, go with us. 

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will 
obey you in every thing hereafter. 

Vol. Let her alone, lady : as she is now, she will 
but disease our better mirth. 

Val. In troth, I think she would. Fare you 
well, then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, 
Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door, and go 
along with us. 121 

Vir. No, at a word, madam ; indeed, I must 
not. I wish you much mirth. 

Val. Well, then, farewell. {Exeunt. 



Scene IV. Before Corioli. 
Enter, -with drtwi and colours, Marcius, Titus 
Lartius, Captains and Soldiers. To them a 
Messenger. 

Mar. Yonder comes news. A wager they have 

met. 
Lart. My horse to yours, no. 
Mar. 'Tis done. 

Lart. Agreed. 

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy? 
Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke 

as yet. 
Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 
Mar. I'll buy him of you. 

Lart. No, I '11 nor sell nor give him : lend you 

him I will 
For half a hundred years. Summon the town. 
Mar. How far off lie these armies ? 
Mess. Within this mile and half. 

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and 

they ours. 
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, 10 
That we with smoking swords may march from 

hence, 
To help our fielded friends ! Come, blow thy blast. 

They sound a parley. Enter two Senators with 

others on the walls. 
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls ? 

First Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less 
than he, 
That's lesser than a little. [Drums afar off.] 

Hark ! our drums 
Are bringing forth our youth. We '11 break our 

walls, 
Rather than they shall pound us up : our gates, 
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 

rushes ; 
They'll open of themselves. [Alarum afar off.] 

Hark you, far off! 
There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes 20 
Amongst your cloven army. 
Mar. _ O, they are at it ! 

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. Lad- 
ders, ho ! 

Enter the army of the Volsces. 
Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight 
With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, 

brave Titus : 
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 
Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, 

my fellows : 
He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce, 
And he shall feel mine edge. 

Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their 

trenches. Re-etiter Marcius, cursing. 

Mar. All the contagion of the south light on 

you, 30 

You shames of Rome ! you herd of — Boils and 

plagues 
Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorrM 
Further than seen and one infect another 
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese, 
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto andhell ! 



Scene iv.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



659 



All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
With flight and agued fear ! Mend and charge 

home, 
Or, by the fires of heaven, I '11 leave the foe 39 
And make my wars on you : look to't : come on ; 
If you'll standfast, we'll beat them to their wives, 
As they us to our trenches followed. 

Another alarum. The VoIscesy7j>, and Mar- 

cws follows them to the gates. 
So, now the gates are ope: now prove good 

seconds : 
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, 
Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like. 

[Enters the gates. 
First Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 
Sec. Sol. Nor I. 

[Ma ret us is shut in. 
First Sol. See, they have shut him in. 
All. To the pot, I warrant him. 

[Alarum con t in ues. 

Re-enter Titus Lartius. 

Lart. What is become of Marcius ? 

All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 

First Sol. Following the fliers at the very 
heels, 
With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, 50 
Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone, 
To answer all the city. 

Lart. O noble fellow ! 

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, 
And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, 

Marcius : 
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, 
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and 
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, 59 
Thou madest thine enemies shake, as if the world 
Were feverous and did tremble. 

Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the 
enemy. 
First Sol. Look, sir. 

Lart. O, 'tis Marcius ! 

Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 

[ They fight, and all enter the city. 

Scene V. Corioli. A street. 
Enter certain Romans, -with spoils. 
First Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 
Sec. Rom. And I this. 

Third Rom. A murrain on 't ! I took this for 
silver. [Alarum contimees still afar off. 

Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius with a 

trumpet. 
Mar. See here these movers that do prize 
their hours 
At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons, 
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
Bury with those that wore them, these base 

slaves, 
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : down with 

them! 
And hark, what noise the general makes! To 
him ! 10 



There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take 
Convenient numbers to make good the city; 
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will 

haste 
To help Cominius. 

Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st ; 

Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
A second course of fight. 

Mar. Sir, praise me not; 

My work hath yet not warm'd me : fare you well : 
The blood I drop is rather physical 
Than dangerous to me : to Aufidius thus 20 

I will appear, and fight. 

Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, 

Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms 
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentleman, 
Prosperity be thy page ! 

Mar. Thy friend no less 

Than those she placeth highest ! So, farewell. 

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! 

[Exit Marcius. 
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place ; 
Call thither all the officers o' the town, 
Where they shall know our mind : away ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Near the camp of Cominius. 

Enter Cominius, as it were in retire, with 

soldiers. 
Com. Breathe you, my friends : well fought ; 
we are come off 
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, 
Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs, 
We shall be charged again. Whiles we have 

struck, 
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard 
The charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods ! 
Lead their successes as we wish our ou n. 
That both our powers, with smiling fronts en- 
countering, 
May give you thankful sacrifice. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Thy news? 

Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 10 
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
I saw our party to their trenches driven, 
And then I came away. 

Com. Though thou speak'st truth, 

Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't 
since? 

Mess. Above an hour, my lord. 

Com. 'Tis not a mile ; briefly we heard their 
drums: 
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, 
And bring thy news so late? 

Mess. Spies of the Volsces 

Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel 
Three or four miles about, else had I, sir, 20 

Half an hour since brought my report. 

Com. Who's yonder, 

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods ! 
He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have 
Before-time seen him thus. 

Mar. [Within\ Come I too late ? 

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from j 
a tabor 



42 — 2 



66o 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act 



More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 
From every meaner man. 

Enter Marcius. 

Mar. Come I too late? 

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of 
others, 
But mantled in your own. 

Mar. O, let me clip ye 

In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart 30 
As merry as when our nuptial day was done, 
And tapers burn'd to bedward ! 

Com. Flower of warriors, 

How is't with Titus Lartius? 

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees : 
Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; 
Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other ; 
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
To let him slip at will. 

Com. Where is that slave 

Which told me they had beat you to your 
trenches? 4c 

Where is he ? call him hither. 

Mar. Let him alone ; 

He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, 
The common file — a plague ! tribunes for them ! — 
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did 

budge 
From rascals worse than they. 

Com. But how prevail'd you ? 

Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not 
think. 
Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? 
If not, why cease you till you are so? 

Com. Marcius, 

We have at disadvantage fought and did 
Retire to win our purpose. 50 

Mar. How lies their battle? know you on 
which side 
They have placed their men of trust? 

Coin. As I guess, Marcius, 

Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, 
Of their best trust ; o'er them Aufidius, 
Their very heart of hope. 

Mar. I do beseech you, 

By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows 
We have made to endure friends, that you directly 
Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates ; 
And that you not delay the present, but, 60 

Filling the air with swords advanced and darts, 
We prove this very hour. 

Com. Though I could wish 

You were conducted to a gentle bath 
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
Deny your asking : take your choice of those 
That best can aid your action. 

Mar. Those are they 

That most are willing. If any such be here — 
As it were sin to doubt — that love this painting 
Wherein you see me smear'd ; if any fear 
Lesser his person than an ill report ; 70 

If any think brave death outweighs bad life 
And that his country's dearer than himself; 
Let him alone, or so many so minded, 
Wave thus, to express his disposition, 
And follow Marcius. 

[ They all shout and wave their swordx, take 



him tip in their arms, and cast ?/p their 

caps. 
O, me alone ! make you a sword of me? 
If these shows be not outward, which of you 
But is four Volsces? none of you but is 
Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
A shield as hard as his. A certain number, 80 
Though thanks to all, must I select from all : the 

rest 
Shall bear the business in some other fight, 
As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march ; 
tAnd four shall quickly draw out my command, 
Which men are best inclined. 

Com. March on, my fellows : 

Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
Divide in all with us. \_Exeunt. 

Scene VII. The gates of Corioli. 

Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Cori- 
oli, going with drum a?id trumpet toward 
Cominius and Caius Marcius, enters with a 
Lieutenant, other Soldiers, and a Scout. 

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded : keep your 
duties, 
As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch 
Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 
For a short holding : if we lose the field, 
We cannot keep the town. 

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 

La7-t. Hence, and shut your gates upon 's. 
Our guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct 
us. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. A field of battle. 

A larum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, 

Marcius and Aufidius. 

Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do 
hate thee 
Worse than a promise-breaker. 

A uf. We hate alike : 

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. 

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 
And the gods doom him after ! 

Aufi If I fly, Marcius, 

Holloa me like a hare. 

Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, 
And made what work I pleased : 'tis not my blood 
Wherein thou seest me mask'd ; for thy revenge 
Wrench up thy power to the highest. 

Aufi Wert thou the Hector 11 

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 
Thou shouldst not scape me here. 

• {They fight, and certain Volsces come to the 
aid of A ufidius. 3 la rcius figh ts till th ey 
be driven in breathless. 
Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me 
In your condemned seconds. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX. The Roman ca7np. 
Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sozmded. 
Flourish. Enter, from one side, Cominius 
with the Romans ; fi-om the other side, Mar- 
cius, with his arm in a scarf. 
Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's 
work, 



Scene ix.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



66 1 



Thou'Idst not believe thy deeds : but I'll report it 
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, 
Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, 
I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted, 
And, gladly quaked, hear more ; where the dull 

tribunes, 
That, with the fustyplebeians, hate thine honours, 
Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods 
Our Rome hath such a soldier.' 
Yet earnest thou to a morsel of this feast, 10 

Having fully dined before. 

Enter Titus Lartius. with his power, from 

the pursuit. 
Lart. O general, 

Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
Hadst thou beheld — 

Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother, 

Who has a charter to extol her blood, 
When she does praise me grieves me. I have done 
As you have done ; that's what I can ; induced 
As you have been ; that 's for my country : 
He that has but effected his good will 
Hath overta'en mine act. 

Com. You shall not be 

The grave of your deserving ; Rome must know 
The value of her own : 'twere a concealment 21 
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
To hide your doings ; and to silence that, 
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, 
Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech 

you — 
In sign of what you are, not to reward 
What you have done — before our army hear me. 
Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they 
smart 
To hear themselves remember'd. 

Com. Should they not, 

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 30 
And tent themselves with death. Of all the 

horses, 
Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, 

of all 
The treasure in this field achieved and city, 
We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth, 
Before the common distribution, at 
Your only choice. 

Mar. I thank you, general ; 

But cannot make my heart consent to take 
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it; 
And stand upon my common part with those 
That have beheld the doing. 40 

[A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius! 
Marcius ! ' cast up their caps and lances: 
Comiuius and Lartius stand bare. 
Mar. May these same instruments, which 
you profane, 
Never sound more ! when drums and trumpets 

shall 
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be I 
Made all of false-faced soothing! 
When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, 
Let him be made a coverture for the wars ! 
No more, I say ! For that I have not wash'd 
My tii >e that bled, orfoil'd some debile wretch, — 
Which, without note, here's many else have 

done, — 
You shout me forth 50 

In acclamations hyperbolical ; 



As if I loved my little should be dieted 
In praises sauced with lies. 

Cam. Too modest are you ; 

More cruel to your good report than grateful 
To us that give you truly : by your patience, 
If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put 

you, 
Like one that means his proper harm, in mana- 
cles, 
Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it 

known, 
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 59 
Wears this war's garland : in token of the which, 
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
With all his trim belonging ; and from this time, 
For what he did before Corioli, call him, 
With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
(Mis Marcius Coriolanus! Bear 
The addition nobly ever ! 

{Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. 

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! 

Cor. I will go wash ; 
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you. 70 
I mean to stride your steed, and at all times 
To undercrest your good addition 
To the fairness of my power. 

Com. So, to our tent ; 

Where, ere we do repose us. we will write 
To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, 
Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome 
The best, with whom we may articulate, 
For their own good and ours. 

Lart. I shall, my lord. 

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now 
Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg 80 
Of my lord general. 

Com. Take 't; 'tis yours. What is 't? 

Cor. I sometime lay here in Corioli 
At a poor man's house ; he used me kindly : 
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner; 
But then Aufidius was within my view, 
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you 
To give my poor host freedom. 

Com. O. well begg'd ! 

Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 

Lart. Marcius, his name? 

Cor. By Jupiter ! forgot. 

I am weary ; yea, my memory is tired. 91 

Have we no wine here? 

Com. Go we to our tent : 

The blood upon your visage dries ; 'tis time 
It should be look'd to : come. [Exeunt. 

Scene X. The camp of the Volsces. 

A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tii.lus Aufidius, 
bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 
A uf. The town is ta'en ! 
First Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good 

condition. 
Auf. Condition! 
I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot, 
Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition! 
What good condition can a treaty find 
1' the part that is at mercy? Five limes, Mar- 
cius, 



G>- 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act i. 



I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat 

me, 
And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter 
As often as we eat. By the elements, 10 

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, 
He's mine, or I am his : mine emulation 
Hath not that honour in't it had ; for where 
I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
True sword to sword, I '11 potch at him some way 
Or wrath or craft may get him. 

First Sol. He 's the devil. 

Auf Bolder, though not so subtle. My va- 
lour's poison'd 
With only suffering stain by him ; for him 
Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary, 
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, 20 

The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, 
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, 
Against the hospitable canon, would I 
Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the 

city ; 
Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that 

must 
Be hostages for Rome. 

First Sol. Will not you go? 

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove : I 
pray you — _ 3° 

'Tis south the city mills — bring me word thither 
How the world goes, that to the pace of it 
I may spur on my journey. 

First Sol. I shall, sir. 

\_Exeu?it. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Rome. A public place. 

Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the 
people, Sicinius and Brutus. 

Men. The augurer tells me we shall have 
news to-night. 

Bru. Good or bad? 

Men. Not according to the prayer of the peo- 
ple, for they love not Marcius. 

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their 
friends. 

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love? 

Sic. The lamb. 

Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry ple- 
beians would the noble Marcius. 11 

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a 
bear. 

Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a 
lamb. You two are old men : tell me one thing 
that I shall ask you. 

Both. Well, sir. 

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, 
that you two have not in abundance? 

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored 
with all. 21 

Sic. Especially in pride. 

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 

Men. This is strange now : do you two know 
how you are censured here in the city, I mean of 
us o' the right-hand file? do you? 

Both. Why, how are we censured? 



Men. Because you talk of pride now, — will 
you not be angry ? 

Both. Well, well, sir, well. 30 

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter ; for a very 
little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of 
patience : give your dispositions the reins, and be 
angry at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take 
it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame 
Marcius for being proud? 

Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 

Men. I know you can do very little alone ; 
for your helps are many, or else your actions 
would grow wondrous single : your abilities are 
too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk 
of pride : O that you could turn your eyes toward 
the napes of your necks, and make but an interior 
survey of your good selves ! O that you could ! 

Bru. What then, sir? 

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace 
of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, 
alias fools, as any in Rome. 

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough 
too. 5° 

Men. I am known to be a humorous patri- 
cian, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with 
not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be 
something imperfedt in favouring the first com- 
plaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial 
motion ; one that converses more with the buttock 
of the night than with the forehead of the morn- 
ing : what I think I utter, and spend my malice 
in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as 
you are — I cannot call you Lycurguses — if the 
drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I 
make a crooked face at it. I can't say your wor- 
ships have delivered the matter well, when I find 
the ass in compound with the major part of your 
syllables: and though I must be content to bear 
with those that say you are reverend grave men, 
yet they he deadly that tell you you have good 
faces. If you see this in the map of my micro- 
cosm, follows it that I am known well enough 
too? what harm can your bisson conspectuities 
glean out of this character, if I be known well 
enough too? 

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well 
enough. 

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor 
any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' 
caps and legs : you wear out a good wholesome 
forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange- 
wife and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the 
controversy of three pence to a second day of 
audience. When you are hearing a matter be- 
tween party and party, if you chance to be pinched 
with the colic, you make faces like mummers ; 
set up the bloody flag against all patience ; and, 
in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the con- 
troversy bleeding, the more entangled by your 
hearing : all the peace you make in their cause 
is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a 
pair of strange ones. 8g 

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood 
to be a perfecter giber for the table than a neces- 
sary bencher in the Capitol. 

Men. Our very priests must become mockers, 
if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as 
you are. When you speak best unto the pur- 
pose, it is not worth the wagging of your boards ; 



Scene i.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



663 



and your beards deserve not so honourable a 
grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be 
entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must 
be saying, Marcius is proud ; who, in a cheap 
estimation, is worth all your predecessors since 
Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best 
of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to 
your worships : more of your conversation would 
infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly 
plebeians : I will be bold to take my leave of you. 
[Brutus and Sicinius go aside. 

E7iter Volumnia, Vikgilia, and Valeria. 
How now, my as fair as noble ladies, — and the 
moon, were she earthly, no nobler, — whither do 
you follow your eyes so fast? 109 

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius 
approaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go. 

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home ! 

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most 
prosperous approbation. 

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank 
thee. Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! 

Vol. Vir. Nay, 'tis true. 

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him : the state 
hath another, his wife another; and, I think, 
there's one at home for you. 120 

Men. I will make my very house reel to- 
night : a letter for me ! 

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you ; I 
saw 't. 

Men. A letter for me ! it gives me an estate 
of seven years' health; in which time I will make 
a lip at the physician : the most sovereign pre- 
scription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this 
preservative, of no better report than a horse- 
drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to 
come home wounded. 131 

Vir. O, no, no, no. 

Vol. O, he is wounded ; I thank the gods for't. 

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : 
brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds be- 
come him. 

Vol. On's brows: Menenius, he comes the 
third time home with the oaken garland. 

Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? 

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought toge- 
ther, but Aufidius got off. 141 

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant 
him that: an he had stayed by him, I would not 
have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, 
and the gold that's in them. Is the senate pos- 
sessed of this? 

Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes ; 
the senate has letters from the general, wherein 
he gives my son the whole name of the war : he 
hath in this action outdone his former deeds 
doubly. 151 

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke 
of him. 

A fen. Wondrous ! ay, I warrant you, and not 
without his true purchaMng. 

Vir. The gods grant them true ! 

Vol. True ! pow, wow. 

Men. True! I'll be sworn they are true. 
Where is he wounded? [To the Tribunes'] God 
save your good worships! Marcius is coming 
home : he has more cause to be proud. Where 
is he wounded? 



Vol. V the shoulder and i' the left arm : there 
will be large cicatrices to show the people, when 
he shall stand for his place. He received in the 
repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. 

Men. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh, 
— there's nine that I know. 

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, 
twenty-five wounds upon him. 170 

Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was 
an enemy's grave. [A shout and flourish.] 
Hark ! the trumpets. 

_ Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before 
him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves 
tears : 

I >eath, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie ; 
Which, being advanced, declines, and then men 
die. 

A sennet. Trumpets sound. £«/^r Cominius 

the general, and Titus Lartius; between 

them, Coriolanus, crowned with an oaken 

garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a 

Herald. 

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius 
didfight 
Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, 180 
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius ; these 
In honour follows Coriolanus. 
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 

[Flourish. 

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 

Cor. No more of this ; it does offend my heart : 
Pray now, no more. 

Com. Look, sir, your mother ! 

Cor. O, 

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
For my prosperity ! [Kneels. 

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up ; 

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
By deed-achieving honour newly named, — 190 
What is it? — Coriolanus must I call thee? — 
But, O, thy wife ! 

Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! 

Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd 

home, 
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, 
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, 
And mothers that lack sons. 

Men. Now, the gods crown thee ! 

Cor. And live you yet? [To Valeria] O my 
sweet lad}', pardon. 

Vol. I know not whire to turn: O, welcome 
home : 
And welcome, general: and ye 're welcome all. 

Men. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could 
weep 200 

And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome. 
A curse begin at very root on's heart, 
That is not glad to see thee! You are three 
That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith of 

men, 
We have some old crab-trees here at home that 

will not 
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors : 
We call a nettle but a nettle and 
The faults of fools but folly. 

( >/,v. Ever right. 

Cor. Menenius ever, ever. 

Herald. Give way thsre, and go on ! 



66 4 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act ii. 



Cor. [To Volumnia and Virgilia] Your 

hand, and yours: 210 

Ere in our own house I do shade my head, 
The good patricians must be visited ; 
From whom I have received not only greetings, 
But with them change of honours. 

Vol. I have lived 

To see inherited my very wishes 
A nd the buildings of my fancy : only 
There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not 

but 
Our Rome will cast upon thee. 

Cor. Know, good mother, 

I had rather be their servant in my way ( 
Than sway with them in theirs. 

Com. On, to the Capitol ! 220 

\_Floitrish. Cornets. Exeimt in state, as 
be/ore. Bruins a?id Sicinius come for- 
ward. 

Brie. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
sights 
Are spectacled to see him : your prattling nurse 
Into a rapture lets her baby cry 
While she chats him : the kitchen malkin pins 
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, 
Clambering the walls to eye him : stalls, bulks, 

windows, 
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges horsed 
With variable complexions, all agreeing 
In earnestness to see him : seld-shown flamens 
Do press among the popular throngs and puff 230 
To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
Commit the war of white and damask in 
Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil 
Of Phcebus' burning kisses : such a pother 
As if that whatsoever god who leads him 
Were slily crept into his human powers 
And gave him graceful posture. 

Sic. On the sudden, 

I warrant him consul. 

Bru. Then our office may, 

During his power, go sleep. 

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his 
honours 240 

From where he should begin and end, but will 
Lose those he hath won. 

Bru. In that there's comfort. 

Sic. Doubt not 

The commoners, for whom we stand, but they 
Upon their ancient malice will forget 
With the least cause these his new honours, which 
That he will give them make I as little question 
As he is proud to do't. 

Bru. I heard him swear, 

Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
Appear i' the market-place nor on him put 
The napless vesture of humility ; 250 

Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds 
To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 

Sic. 'Tis right. 

Bru. Tt was his word: O, he would miss it 
rather 
Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him 
And the desire of the nobles. 

Sic. I wish no better 

Than have him hold that purpose and to put it 
In execution. 

Bru. 'Tis most like he will. 

Sic. It shall be to him then as our good wills, 



A sure destruction. 

Bru. So it must fall out 

To him or our authorities. For an end, 260 

We rmist suggest the people in what hatred 
He still hath held them; that to's power he 

would 
Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders 

and 
Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them, 
In human action and capacity, 
Of no more soul nor fitness for the world 
Than camels in the war, who have their provand 
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
For sinking under them. 

Sic. This, as you say, suggested 

At some time when his soaring insolence 270 

Shall touch the people — which time shall not want, 
If he be put upon 't ; and that's as easy 
As to set dogs on sheep — will be his fire 
To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze 
Shall darken him for ever. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Bru. What's the matter? 

Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis 
thought 
That Marcius shall be consul : 
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and 
The blind to hear him speak : matrons flung 

gloves, 
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, 
Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles bended, 281 
As to Jove's statue, and the commons made 
A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts : 
I never saw the like. 

Bru. Let's to the Capitol : 

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
But hearts for the event. 

Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. The Capitol. 
E liter two Officers, to lay cushions. 

First Off: Come, come, they are almost here. 
How many stand for consulships? 

Sec. Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of 
every one Coriolanus will carry it. 

First Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's 
vengeance proud, and loves not the common 
people. 

Sec. Off. Faith, there have been many great 
men that have flattered the people, who ne'er 
loved them ; and there be many that they have 
loved, they know not wherefore : so that, if they 
love they know not why, they hate upon no 
better a ground : therefore, for Coriolanus neither 
to care whether they love or hate him manifests 
the true knowledge he has in their disposition ; 
and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly 
see't. 

First Off. If he did not care whether he had 
their love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt 
doing them neither good nor harm: but he seeks 
their hate with greater devotion than they can 
render it him ; and leaves nothing undone that 
may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to 
seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the 
people is as bad as that which he dislikes, to 
flatter them for their love. 



Scene ii.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



665 



Src. Off. He hath deserved worthily of his 
country : and his ascent is not by such easy 
degrees as those who, having been supple and 
courteous to the people, bonneted, without any 
further deed to have them at all into their estim- 
ation and report : but he hath so planted his 
honours in their eyes, and his actions in their 
hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not 
confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful in- 
jury; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, 
giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and 
rebuke from every ear that heard it. 

First Off. No more of him ; he 's a worthy 
man : make way, they are coming. 40 

A sennet. Enter, with Lienors before them, 
Cominius the cons-nl, Menenius, Coriolanus, 
Senators, Sicinius^;/^ Brutus. The Senators 
take their places; the Tribunes take their 
places by themselves. Coriolanus stands. 

J fen. Having determined of the Volsces and 
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 
As the main point of this our after-meeting, 
To gratify his noble service that 
Hath thus stood for his country : therefore, please 

you, 
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
The present consul, and last general 
In our well-found successes, to report 
A little of that worthy work perform'd 
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom 50 

We met here both to thank and to remember 
With honours like himself. 

First Sen. Speak, good Cominius : 

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think 
Rather our state's defective for requital 
Than we to stretch it out. [To the Tribunes] 

Masters o' the people, 
We do request your kindest ears, and after. 
Your loving motion toward the common body, 
To yield what passes here. 

Sic. We are convented 

Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts 
Inclinable to honour and advance 60 

The theme of our assembly. 

Bru. Which the rather 

We shall be blest to do, if he remember 
A kinder value of the people than 
He hath hereto prized them at. 

Men. That's off, that's off; 

I would you rather had been silent. Please you 
To hear Cominius speak ? 

Bru. Most willingly ; 

But yet my caution was more pertinent 
Than the rebuke you give it. 

Men. _ He loves your people ; 

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. 
Worthy Cominius, speak. [Coriolanus offers to 
go away.] Nay, keep your place. 70 

First Sen. Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to 
hear 
What you have nobly done. 

Cor. Your honours' pardon : 

I had rather have my wounds to heal again 
Than hear say how I got them. 

Bru. Sir, I hope 

My words disbench'd you not. 

Cor. No, sir: yet oft, 



When blows have made me stay, I fled from 

words. 
You soothed not, therefore hurt not: but your 

people, 
I love them as they weigh. 

Men. Pray now, sit down. 

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head 
i' the sun 
When the alarum were struck than idly sit 80 
To hear my nothings monster*d. [Exit. 

Men. Mi icrs of the people, 

\ our multiplying spawn how can he flatter — 
That's thousand to one good one — when you 

now see 
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour 
Than one on 's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius. 

Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 
Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held 
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
Most dignifies the haver: if it be, 
The man I speak of cannot in the world <y. 

Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years. 
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 
Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator, 
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, 
When with his Amazonian chin he drove 
The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 
An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the consul's view 
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met, 
And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 
When he might act the woman in the scene, 100 
He proved best man i' the field, and for his meed 
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea. 
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since 
He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this 

last, 
Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
I cannot speak him home : he stopp'd the fliers ; 
And by his rare example made the coward 
Turn terror into sport : as weeds before 
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd no 

And fell below his stem: his sword, death's 

stamp, 
Where it did mark, it took ; from face to foot 
He was a thing of blood, whose every 111. 
Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd 
The mortal gate of the city, which he painted 
With shunless destiny ; aidless came off, 
And with a sudden re-inforcement struck 
Corioli like a planet: now all's his: 
When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce uq 
His ready sense ; then straight his doubled spirit 
Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, 
And to the battle came he ; where he did 
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd 
Both field and city ours, he never stood 
To ease his breast with panting. 

Men. Worthy man I 

First Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the 
honours 
Which we devise him. 

Com. Our spoils he kick'd at. 

And look'd upon things precious as they were 
The common muck of the world : he covets less 
Than misery itself would give; rewards 131 ] 

His deeds with doing them, and is content 
To spend the time to end it. 



666 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act ii. 



Men. He's right noble : 

Let him be call'd for. 
First Sen. Call Coriolanus. 

Off. He doth appear. 

Re-enter Coriolanus. 

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased 
To make thee consul. 

Cor. I do owe them still 

My life and services. 

Men. It then remains 

That you do speak to the people. 

Cor. I do beseech you, 

Let me o'erleap that custom, for I cannot 140 
Put on the gown, stand naked and entreat them, 
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: 

please you 
That I may pass this doing. 

Sic. Sir, the people 

Must have their voices ; neither will they bate 
One jot of ceremony. 

Men. Put them not to 't : 

Pray you, go fit you to the custom and 
Take to you, as your predecessors have, 
Your honour with your form. 

Cor. It is a part 

That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
Be taken from the people. 

Bru. Mark you that? 150 

Cor. To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus ; 
Show them the unaching scars which I should 

hide, 
As if I had received them for the hire 
Of their breath only ! 

Men. Do not stand upon't. 

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, 
Our purpose to them : and to our noble consul 
Wish we all joy and honour. 

Senators. To Coriolanus come all joy and 

honour ! [Flourish of cornets. Exewit all 

but Sicinius and Brutus. 

Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 

Sic. May they perceive 's intent ! He will 
require them, 160 

As if he did contemn what he requested 
Should be in them to give. 

Bru. Come, we'll inform them 

Of our proceedings here : on the market-place, 
1 know, they do attend us. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. The Forum. 
Enter seven or eight Citizens. 

First Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, 
we ought not to deny him. 

Sec. Cit. We may, sir, if we will. 

Third Cit. We have power in ourselves to do 
it, but it is a power that we have no power to do ; 
for if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, 
we are to put our tongues into those wounds and 
speak for them ; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, 
we must also tell him our noble acceptance of 
them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the 
multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a mon- 
ster of the multitude; of the which we being 
members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous 
members. 

First Cit. And to make us no better thought 
of, a little help will serve ; for once we stood up 



about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the 
many-headed multitude. 

Third Cit. We have been called so of many ; 
not that our heads are some brown, some black, 
some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so 
diversely coloured : and truly I think if all our 
wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly 
east, west, north, south, and their consent of one 
direct way should be at once to all the points o' 
the compass. 

Sec. Cit. Think you so ? Which way do you 
judge my wit would fly? 

Third Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon 
out as another man's will; 'tis strongly wedged 
up in a block-head, but if it were at liberty, 
'twould, sure, southward. 

Sec. Cit. Why that way? 

Third Cit. To lose itself in a fog, where 
being three parts melted away with rotten dews, 
the fourth would return for conscience sake, to 
help to get thee a wife. 

Sec. Cit. You are never without your tricks : 
you may, you may. 39 

Third Cit. Are you all resolved to give your 
voices? But that's no matter, the greater part 
carries it. I say, if he would incline to the peo- 
ple, there was never a worthier man. 

Enter Coriolanus in a gown of humility, 
•with Menenius. 
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility: 
mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all to- 
gether, but to come by him where he stands, 
by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make 
his requests by particulars; wherein every one 
of us has a single honour, in giving him our 
own voices with our own tongues: therefore 
follow me, and I '11 direct you how you shall go 
by him. 

A II. Content, content. [Exeunt citizens. 

Men. O sir, you are not right : have you not 
known 
The worthiest men have done 't? 

Cor. What must I say? 

' I pray, sir,' — Plague upon't ! I cannot bring 
My tongue to such a pace : — ' Look, sir. my 

wounds ! 
I got them in my country's service, when 
Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran 59 
From the noise of our own drums.' 

Men. O me, the gods ! 

You must not speak of that: you must desiie 

them 
To think upon you. 

Cor. Think upon me ! bang 'em ! 

I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
Which our divines lose by 'em. 

Men. You '11 mar all : 

I '11 leave you : pray you, speak to 'em, I 

pray you, 
In wholesome manner. [Exit. 

Cor. Bid them wash their faces 

And keep their teeth clean. [Re-etiter two of 
the Citz'zens.] So, here comes a brace. 
[Re-enter a third Citizen.'] 
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 

Third Cit. We do, sir; tell us what hath 
brought you to't. 70 

Cor. Mine own desert. 



Scene hi.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



667 



Sec. Cit. Your own desert ! 

Cor. Ay, but not mine own desire. 

Third Cit. How not your own desire? 

Cor. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to 
trouble the poor with begging. 

Third Cit. You must think, if we give you 
any thing, we hope to gain by you. 

Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the 
consulship? 80 

First Cit. The price is to ask it kindly. 

Cor. Kindly! Sir, 1 pray, let me ha' t: I have 
wounds to show you, which shall be yours in 
private. Your good voice, sir; what say you? 

Sec. Cit. You shall ha' it, worthy sir. 

Cor. A match, sir. There 's in all two worthy 
voices begged. I have your alms: adieu. 

Third Cit. But this is something odd. 

Sec. Cit. An 'twere to give again, — but 'tis 
no matter. [Exeunt the three Citizens. 90 

Re-enter two other Citizens. 

Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the 
tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have 
here the customary gown. 

Fourth Cit. You have deserved nobly of your 
country, and you have not deserved nobly. 

Cor. Your enigma ? 

Fourth Cit. You have been a scourge to her 
enemies, you have been a rod to her friends ; you 
have not indeed loved the common people. 99 

Cor. You should account me the more vir- 
tuous that I have not been common in my love. 
I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, 
to earn a dearer estimation of them ; 'tis a con- 
dition they account gentle : and since the wis- 
dom of their choice is rather to have my hat 
than my heart, I will practise the insinuating 
nod and be off to them most counterfeitly ; that 
is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some 
popular man and give it bountiful to the de- 
sirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. 

Fifth Cit. We hope to find you our friend; 
and therefore give you our voices heartily. 

Fourth Cit. You have received many wounds 
for your country. 

Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with 
showing them. I will make much of your voices, 
and so trouble you no further. 

Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily ! 
[Exeunt. 

Cor. Most sweet voices ! 
Better it is to die, better to starve, 120 

Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, 
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, 
Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't: 
What custom wills, in all things should we do 't, 
The dust on antique time would lie unswept, 
And mountainous error be too highly heapt 
For truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it so, 
Let the high office and the honour go 
To one that would do thus. I am half through ; 
The one part sufferM, the other will I do. 131 

Re-enter three Citizens more. 
Here come moe voices. 

Your voices : for your voices I have fought ; 
Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices bear 



Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six 
I have seen and heard of; for your voices have 
Done many things, some less, some more : your 

voices : 
Indeed, I would be consul. 

Sixth Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go 
without any honest man's voice. 140 

Seventh Cit. Therefore let him be consul : 
the gods give him joy, and make him good friend 
to the people ! 

All Cit. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble 
consul ! [Exeunt. 

Cor. Worthy voices ! 

Re-enter Menenius, with Brvtvs and ?>\cimvs. 
Men. You have stood your limitation ; and 
the tribunes 
Endue you with the people's voice: remains 
That, in the official marks invested, you 
Anon do meet the senate. 

Cor. Is this done? 

Sic. The custom of request you have dis- 
charged : 150 
The people do admit you, and are summon'd 
To meet anon, upon your approbation. 
Cor. Where? at the senate-house? 
■Sic. There, Coriolanus. 
Cor. May I change these garments? 
Sic. You may, sir. 
Cor. That I'll straight do; and, knowing 
myself again, 
Repair to the senate-house. 
Men. I'll keep you company. Will you 

along ? 
Bru. We stay here for the people. 
Sic. Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus and Menenius. 
He has it now, and by his looks methinks 
"lis warm at \s heart. 160 

Bru. With a proud heart he wore his humble 
weeds. 
Will you dismiss the people? 

Re-enter Citizens. 
Sic. How now, my masters ! have you chose 

this man? 
First Cit. He has our voices, sir. 
Bru. We pray the gods he may deserve your 

loves. 
Sec. Cit. Amen, sir: to my poor unworthy 
notice, 
He mock'd us when lie begged our voices. 

Third Cit. Certainly 

He flouted us downright. 
First Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech: he did 

not mock us. 
Sec. Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, 
but says 170 

He used us scornfully: he should have show'd us 
His marks of merit, wounds received for's 
country. 
Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
Citizens. No, no ; no man saw 'em. 

Third Cit. He said he had wounds, which he 
could show in private ; 
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 
4 1 would be consul,' says he : 'aged custom. 
But by your voices, will not so permit me ; 
Yftur voices therefore.' When we granted that, 



668 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act ii. 



Here was ' I thank you for your voices : thank 

you : 
Your most sweet voices : now you have left your 
voices, 1 80 

I have no further with you.' Was not this 
mockery? 

Sic. Why either were you ignorant to see't, 
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
To yield your voices? 

Bru. Could you not have told him 

As you were lesson'd, when he had no power, 
But was a petty servant to the state, 
He was your enemy, ever spake against 
Your liberties and the charters that you bear 
F the body of the weal ; and now, arriving 
A place of potency and sway o' the state, 190 
If he should still malignantly remain 
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
Be curses to yourselves? You should have said 
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature 
Would think upon you for your voices and 
Translate his malice towards you into love, 
Standing your friendly lord. 

Sic. Thus to have said, 

As you were fore-advised, had touch'd his spirit 
And tried his inclination ; from him pluck'd 200 
Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ; 
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, 
Which easily endures not article 
Tying him to aught ; so putting him to rage, 
You should have ta'en the advantage of his 

choler 
And pass'd him unelected. 

Bru. Did you perceive 

He did solicit you in free contempt 
When he did need your loves, and do you think 
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, 
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your 
bodies 211 

No heart among you? or had you tongues to cry 
Against the rectorship of judgement? 

Sic. Have you 

Ere now denied the asker? and now again 
Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow 
Your sued-for tongues ? 

Third Cit. He's not confirm'd ; we may deny 
him yet. 

Sec. Cit. And will deny him: 
I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 

First Cit. I twice five hundred and their 
friends to piece 'em. 220 

Bru. Get you hence instantly, and tell those 
friends, 
They have chose a consul that will from them 

take 
Their liberties: make them of no more voice 
Than dogs that are as often beat for barking 
As therefore kept to do so. 

Sic. Let them assemble, 

And on a safer judgement all revoke 
Your ignorant election ; enforce his pride, 
And his old hate unto you ; besides, forget not 
With what contempt he wore the humble weed, 
How in his suit he scorn' d you ; but your loves, 
Thinking upon his services, took from you 231 
The apprehension of his present portance, 
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashicm 



After the inveterate hate he bears you. 

Bru. Lay 

A fault on us, your tribunes; that we labour'd, 
No impediment between, but that you must 
Cast your election on him. 

Sic. Say, you chose him 

More after our commandment than as guided 
By your own true affections, and that your | 

minds, 
Pre-occupied with what you rather must do 240 
Than what you should, made you against the 

grain 
To voice him consul : lay the fault on us. 

Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures 
to you, 
How youngly he began to serve his country, 
How long continued, and what stock he springs of 
The noble house o' the Marcians, from whence 

came 
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king ; 
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were. 
That our best water brought by conduits hither ; 
And [Censorinus,] nobly named so, 251 

Twice being [by the people chosen] censor, 
Was his great ancestor. 

Sic. One thus descended, 

That hath beside well in his person wrought 
To be set high in place, we did commend 
To your remembrances : but you have found, 
Scaling his present bearing with his past, 
That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
Your sudden approbation. 

Bru. Say, you ne'er had done't — 

Harp on that still — but by our putting on : 260 
And presently, when you have drawn your 

number, 
Repair to the Capitol. 

A II. We will so : almost all 

Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens. 

Bru. Let them go on ; 

This mutiny were better put in hazard, 
Than stay, past doubt, for greater : 
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
With their refusal, both observe and answer 
The vantage of his anger. 

Sic. To the Capitol, come : 

We will be there before the stream o' the people ; 
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, 270 
Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Rome. A street. 

Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, all 
the Gentry, Cominius, Titus Lartius, and \ 
other Senators. 
Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new 

head? 
Lart. He had, my lord; and that it was 
which caused 
Our swifter composition. 

Cor. So then the Volsces stand but as at 
first, 
Ready when time shall prompt them, to make 

road 
TJpon's again. 

Com. • They are worn, lord consul, so, 



Scene i. 



CORIOLANUS. 



669 



That we shall hardly in our ages see 
Their banners wave again. 

Cor. Saw you Aufidius? 

Lart. On safe-guard he came to me; and 
did curse 
Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 10 
Yielded the town : he is retired to Antium. 

Cor. Spoke he of me ? 

Lart. He did, my lord, 

Cor. How? what? 

Lart. How often he had met you, sword to 
sword ; 
That of all things upon the earth he hated 
Your person most, that he would pawn his 

fortunes 
To hopeless restitution, so he might 
Be call'd your vanquisher. 

Cor. At Antium lives he? 

Lart. At Antium. 

Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, 
To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. 20 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, 
The tongues o' the common muuth : I do despise 

them ; 
For they do prank them in authority, 
Against all noble sufferance. 

Sic. Pass no further. 

Cor. Ha! what is that? 

Bru. It will be dangerous to go on : no further. 

Cor. What makes this change ? 

Men. The matter? 

Com. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the 
common? 

Bru. Cominius, no. 

Cor. Have I had children's voices? 30 

First Sen. Tribunes, give way ; he shall to 
the market-place. 

Bru. The people are incensed against him. 

Sic. Stop, 

Or all will fall in broil. 

Cor. Are these your herd ? 

Must these have voices, that can yield them now 
And straight disclaim their tongues? What are 

your offices? 
You being their mouths, why rule you not their 

teeth? 
Have you not set them on? 

Men. Be calm, be calm. 

Cor. It is a purposed thing, and grows by plot, 
To curb the will of the nobility : 
Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule 40 

Nor ever will be ruled. 

Bru. Call 't not a plot : 

The people cry you mock'd them, and of late, 
When corn was given them gratis, you repined ; 
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd 

them 
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 

Cor. Why, this was known before. 

Bru. Not to them all. 

Cor. Have you inform'd them si thence? 

Bru. How ! I inform them ! 

Com. You are like to do such business. 

Bru. Not unlike. 

Each way. to better yours. 

Cor. Why then should I be consul? By yond 
clouds, 50 



Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
Your fellow tribune. 

Sic. You show too much of that 

For which the people stir : if you will pass 
To where you are bound, you must inquire your 

way, 
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, 
Or never be so noble as a consul, 
Nor yoke with him for tribune. 

Men. Let's be calm. 

Com. The people are abused ; set on. This 
paltering 
Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus 
Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 60 
1' the plain way of his merit. 

Cor. Tell me of corn ! 

This was my speech, and I will speak 't again — 

Men. Not now, not now. 

First Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 

Cor. Now, as I live, I will. My nobler ; 
I crave their pardons: 

For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
Regard me as I do not natter, and 
Therein behold themselves : I say again, 
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 70 
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and 

scatter'd, 
By mingling them with us, the honour'd number, 
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
Which they have given to beggars. 

Men. Well, no more. 

First Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 

Cor. How ! no more ! 

As for my country I have shed my blood, 
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
Coin words till their decay against those measles, 
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
The very way to catch them. 

Bru. You speak o' the people, 80 

As if you were a god to punish, not 
A man of their infirmity. 

Sic. 'Twere well 

We let the people know't. 

Men. What, what? his choler? 

Cor. Choler ! 
Were I as patient as the midnight 
By Jove, 'twould be my mind ! 

Sic. It is a mind 

That shall remain a poison where it is, 
Not poison any further. 

Cor. Shall remain ! 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you 
His absolute 'shall'? 

Com. 'Twas from the canon. 

Cor. ' Shall ' ! 90 

O good but most unwise patricians ! why. 
You grave but reckless senators, have you thus 
( liven Hydra here to choose an officer, 
That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but 
The horn and noise o' the monster"*, wants not 

spirit 
To say he'll turn your current in a ditch, 
And make your channel his? If he have power, 
Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake 
Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn' d, 
Be not as common fools ; if you are not, 100 

Let them have cushions by you. You are ple- 
beians, 



'7° 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act hi. 



If they be senators: and they are no less, 
When, both your voices blended, the great'st 

taste 
Most palates theirs. They choose their magis- 
trate, 
And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,' 
His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench 
Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself! 
It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches 
To know, when two authorities are up, 
Neither supreme, how soon confusion no 

May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take 
The one by the other. 

Com. Well, on to the market-place. 

Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth 
The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas used 
Sometime in Greece, — 

Men. Well, well, no more of that. 

Cor. Though there the people had more ab- 
solute power, 
I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed 
The ruin of the state. 

Bru. Why, shall the people give 

One that speaks thus their voice? 

Cor. I '11 give my reasons, 

More worthier than their voices. They know the 

corn i 20 

Was not our recompense, resting well assured 

That ne'er did service for't : being press'd to the 

war, 
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, 
They would not thread the gates. This kind of 

service 
Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war, 
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd 
Most valour, spoke not for them : the accusation 
Which they have often made against the senate, 
All cause unborn, could never be the motive 
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 130 
How shall this bisson multitude digest 
The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
What's like to be their words : ' We did request it ; 
We are the greater poll, and in true fear 
They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase 
The nature of our seats and make the rabble 
Call our cares fears; which will in time 
Break ope the locks o' the senate and bring in 
The crows to peck the eagles. 

Men. Come, enough. 

Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 

Cor. No, take more : 140 

What may be sworn by, both divine and human, 
Seal what I end withal ! This double worship, 
Where one part does disdain with cause, the 

other 
Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, 

wisdom, 
Cannot conclude but by the yea and no 
Of general ignorance, — it must omit 
Real necessities, and give way the while 
To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd, it 

follows, 
Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech 

you, — 
You that will be less fearful than discreet, 150 
That love the fundamental part of state 
More than you doubt the change on't, that prefer 
A noble life before a long, and wish 
fTo jump a body with a dangerous physic 



That's sure of death without it, at once pluck out 
The multitudinous tongue ; let them not lick 
The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour 
Mangles true judgement and bereaves the state 
Of that integrity which should become't, 
Not having the power to do the good it would, 
For the ill which doth control't. 

Bru. Has said enough. 161 

Sic. Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
As traitors do. 

Cor. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee ! 
What should the people do with these bald tri- 
bunes? 
On whom depending, their obedience fails 
To the greater bench : in a rebellion, 
When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, 
Then were they chosen : in a better hour, 
Let what is meet be said it must be meet, jjo 

And throw their power i' the dust. 

Bru. Manifest treason ! 

Sic. This a consul ? no. 

Bru. The ssdiles, ho ! 

Enter an ^Edile. 

Let him be apprehended. 
Sic. Go, call the people: {Exit ^Edile\ in 
whose name myself 
Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, 
A foe to the public weal : obey, I charge thee, 
And follow to thine answer. 

Cor. Hence, old goat ! 

Senators, &c. We '11 surety him. 
Com. Aged sir, hands off. 

Cor. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake 
thy bones 
Out of thy garments. 

Sic. Help, ye citizens ! 180 

Enter a rabble (^/Citizens [Plebeians], with the 
jEdiles. 
Men. On both sides more respect. 
Sic. Here's he that would take from you all 

your power. 
Bru. Seize him, sediles ! 
Citizens. Down with him ! down with him ! 
Senators, &>c. Weapons, weapons, weapons! 
[ They all bustle aboiit Coriolanus, crying 
'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, 

ho!' 
'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' 
'Peace, peace, peace!' 'Stay, hold, peace !' 
Men. What is about to be? I am out of 
breath ; 
Confusion's near ; I cannot speak. You, tribunes 
To the people ! Coriolanus, patience ! 191 

Speak, good Sicinius. 
Sic. Hear me, people ; peace ! 

Citizens. Let's hear our tribune : peace ! 

Speak, speak, speak. 
Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties : 
Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, 
Whom late you have named for consul. 

Men. Fie, fie, fie ! 

This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
First Sen. To unbuild the city and to lay all 

flat. 
Sic. What is the city but the people? 
Citizens. True, 

The people are the city. 200 



Scene i.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



671 



Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd 
The people's magistrates. 

Citizens. You so remain. 

Men. And so are like to do. 

Com. That is the way to lay the city flat; 
To bring the roof to the foundation. 
And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, 
In heaps and piles of ruin. 

Sic. This deserves death. 

Bru. Or let us stand to our authority. 
Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, 
Upon the part o' the people, in whose power 210 
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy 
Of present death. 

Sic. Therefore lay hold of him : 

Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence 
Into destruction cast him. 

Bru. .AEdiles, seize him ! 

Citizens. Yield, Marcius, yield ! 

Men. Hear me one word ; 

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 

AUd. Peace, peace ! 

Men. [To Brutus] Be that you seem, truly 
your country's friend, 
And temperately proceed to what you would 
Thus violently redress. 

Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 220 

That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon 

him, 
And bear him to the rock. 

Cor. No, I'll die here. 

[Drawing his sword. 
There 's some among you have beheld me fighting : 
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. 

Men. Down with that sword ! Tribunes, with- 
draw awhile. 

Bru. Lay hands upon him. 

Com. Help Marcius. help, 

You that be noble ; help him, young and old ! 

Citizens. Down with him, down with him ! 
[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the ALdiles, 
and the People, arc beat in. 

Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone, 
away ! 230 

All will be naught else. 

Sec. Sen. Get you gone. 

Com. Stand fast ; 

We have as many friends as enemies. 

Men. Shall it be put to that? 

First Sen. The gods forbid ! 

I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house ; 
Leave us to cure this cause. 

Men. For 'tis a sore upon us, 

You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you. 

( 'ont. Come, sir, along with us. 

Cor. I would they were barbarians — as they 
are, 
Though in Rome litter'd — not Romans— as they 

are not, 
Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol — 

Men. Be gone ; 240 

Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
One time will owe another. 

Cor. On fair ground 

I could beat forty of them. 

Com. I could myself 

Take up a brace o' the best of them ; yea, the 
two tribunes: 



But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic ; 
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, 
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend 
Like interrupted waters and o'erbear 
What they are used to bear. 

Men. Pray you, be gone : 250 

I'll try whether my old wit be in request 
With those that have but little: this must be 

patch'd 
With cloth of any colour. 

Com. Nay, come away. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, and others. 

A Patrician. This man has marr'd his fortune. 

Men. His nature is too noble for the world : 
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 
Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his 

mouth : 
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ; 
And, being angry, does forget that ever 259 

He heard the name of death. [A noise within. 
Here's goodly work ! 

Sec. Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 

Men. I would they were in Tiber ! What the 
vengeance ! 
Could he not speak 'em fair ? 

Re-enter Brutus ««tf Sicinius, with the rabble. 

Sic. Where is this viper 

That would depopulate the city and 
Be every man himself? 

Men. You worthy tribunes, — 

Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian 
rock 
With rigorous hands : he hath resisted law, 
And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
Than the severity of the public power 
Which he so sets at nought. 

First Cit. He shall well know 270 \ 

The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
And we their hands. 

Citizens. He shall, sure on't. 

Men. Sir, sir, — 

Sic. Peace ! 

Men. Do not cry havoc, where you should but 
hunt 
With modest warrant. 

Sic. Sir, how comes 't that you 

Have holp to make this rescue ? 

Men. Hear me speak : 

As I do know the consul's worthiness, 
So can I name his faults, — 

Sic. Consul! what consul? 

Men. The consul Coriolanus. 

Bru. He consul ! 280 

Citizens. No, no, no, no, no. 

Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, 
good people, 
I may be heard, I would crave a word or two ; 
The which shall turn you to no further harm 
Than so much loss of time. 

Sic. Speak briefly then ; 

For we are peremptory to dispatch 
This viperous traitor: to eject him hence 
Were but one danger, and to keep him here 
Our certain death : therefore it is decreed 
He dies to-night 

Men. Now the good gods forbid 290 

That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 



672 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act 



Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 
I In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
( Should now eat up her own ! 

Sic. He's a disease that must be cut away. 

Men. O, he's a limb that has but a disease ; 
i Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. 
What has he done to Rome that's worthy death? 
Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost — 
Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, 
By many an ounce — he dropp'd it for his country; 
And what is left, to lose it by his country, 
Were to us all, that do't and surfer it, 
A brand to the end o' the world. 

Sic. This is clean kam. 

Bru. Merely awry; when he did love his 
country, 
It honour'd him. 

Men. The service of the foot 

Being once gangrened, is not then respected 
For what before it was. 

Bru. We'll hear no more. 

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; 
Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 310 
Spread further. 

Men. One word more, one word. 

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late 
Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by pro- 
cess; 
Lest parties, as he is beloved, break out, 
And sack great Rome 'with Romans. 

Bru. If it were so, — 

Sic. What do ye talk ? 
Have we not had a taste of his obedience? 
Our zediles smote? ourselves resisted? Come. 

Men. Consider this : he has been bred i' the 
wars 320 

Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
In bolted language ; meal and bran together 
He throws without distinction. Give me leave, 
I '11 go to him. and undertake to bring him 
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
In peace, to his utmost peril. 

First Sen. Noble tribunes, 

It is the humane way : the other course 
Will prove too bloody, and the end of it 
Unknown to the beginning. 

Sic. Noble Menenius, 

Be you then as the people's officer. 330 

Masters, lay down your weapons. 

Bru. Go not home. 

Sic. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend 
you there : 
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed 
In our first way. 

Men. I '11 bring him to you. 

[ To the Senators] Let me desire your company : 

he must come, 
Or what is worst will follow. 

First Sen. Pray you, let's to him. 

\_Exetmt. 

Scene II. A room in Coriolanus's house. 

Enter Coriolanus ivith Patricians. 
Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears, 
present me 
Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, 
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, 



That the precipitation might down stretch 
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
Be thus to them. 

A Patrician. You do the nobler. 

Co r. I muse my mother 
Does not approve me further, who was wont 
To call them woollen vassals, things created 9 
To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads 
In congregations, to j^awn, be still and wonder, 
When one but of my ordinance stood up 
To speak of peace or war. 

Enter Volumnia. 

I talk of you : 
Why did you wish me milder? would you 

have me 
False to my nature ? Rather say I play 
The man I am. 

Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 

I would have had you put your power well on, 
Before you had worn it out. 

Cor. Let go. 

Vol. You might have been enough the man 
you are, 
With striving less to be so : lesser had been 20 
The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
You had not show'd them how ye were disposed 
Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 

Cor. Let them hang. 

A Patrician. Ay, and burn too. 

Enter Menenius and Senators. 
Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, 
something too rough ; 
You must return and mend it. 

First Sen. There 's no remedy ; 

Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
Cleave in the midst, and perish. 

Vol. P ra y> be counsell'd : 

I I have a heart as little apt as yours, 

But yet a brain that leads my use of anger 30 
To better vantage. 

Men. Well said, noble woman ! 

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic 
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, 
Which I can scarcely bear. 

Cor. What must I do ? 

Men. Return to the tribunes. 

Cor. Well, what then? what then? 

Men. Repent what you have spoke. 

Cor. For them ! I cannot do it to the gods ; 
Must I then do't to them? 

Vol. You are too absolute ; 

Though therein you can never be too noble, 40 
But when extremities speak. I have heard 

you say, 
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
I' the war do grow together: grant that, and 

tell me, 
In peace what each of them by the other lose, 
That they combine not there. 

Cor. Tush, tush ! 

Men. A good demand. 

Vol. If it be honour in your wars to seem 
The same you are not, which, for your best ends, 
You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, 
That it shall hold companionship in peace 
With honour, as in war, since that to both 50 



Scene ii.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



673 



It stands in like request? 

Cor. Why force you this? 

Vol. Because that now it lies you on to 

speak 
To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, 
But with such words that are but rooted in 
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables 
Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. 
Now, this no more dishonours you at all 
Than to take in a town with gentle words, 
Which else would put you to your fortune and 
The hazard of much blood. 61 

I would dissemble with my nature where 
My fortunes and my friends at stake required 
I should do so in honour: I am in this, 
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles ; 
And you will rather show our general louts 
How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, 
For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard 
Of what that want might ruin. 

Men. Noble lady ! 

Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve so, 
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 71 
Of what is past. 

/ 'ol. I prithee now, my son, 

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
And thus far having stretch'd it — here be with 

them — 
Thy knee bussing the stones — for in such business 
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
More learned than the ears — waving thy head, 
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
Now humble as the ripest mulberry 
That will not hold the handling : or say to them, 
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils 81 
Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, 
Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, 
In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame 
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
As thou hast power and person. 

Men. This but done, 

Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were 

yours ; 
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
As words to littie purpose. 

Vol. Prithee now, 

Go, and be ruled : although I know thou hadst 

rather 90 

Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf 
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. 

Enter Cominius. 
Com. I have been i' the market-place ; and, 
sir, 'tis fit 
You make strong party, or defend yourself 
By calmness or by absence : all's in anger. 
Men. Only fair speech. 

Com. I think twill serve, if he 

Can thereto frame his spirit. 

Vol. He must, and will. 

Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. 
Cor. Must I go show them my unbarbed 
sconce ? 
Must I with base tongue give my noble heart 
A lie that it must bear? Well, I will dot : 101 
Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, 
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should 
grind it 



And throw't against the wind. To the market- 
place ! 
You have put me now to such a part which never 
I shall discharge to the life. 

Com. Come, come, we '11 prompt you. 

Vol. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast 
said 
My praises made thee first a soldier, so, 
To have my praise for this, perforin a part 
Thou hast not done before. 

Cor. Well, I must dot : 

Away, my disposition, and possess me m 

Some harlot's spirit ! my throat of war be turn'd, 
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
That babies lulls asleep ! the smiles of knaves 
Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up 
The glasses of my sight ! a beggar's tongue 
Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd 

knees, 
Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
That hath received an alms ! I will not dot, 120 
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth 
And by my body's action teach my mind 
A most inherent baseness. 

Vol. At thy choice, then : 

To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour 
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin ; let 
Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear 
Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death 
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it 

from me, 
But owe thy pride thyself. 

Cor. Pray, be content : 130 

Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, 
Cog their hearts from them, and come home 

beloved 
Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: 
Commend me to my wife. I '11 return consul ; 
Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
I' the way of flattery further. 

Vol. Do your will. \E.rit. 

Com. Away! the tribunes do attend you: 
arm yourself 
To answer mildly ; for they are prepared 
With accusations, as I hear, more strong 140 
Than are upon you yet. 

Cor. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you, let 
us go: 
Let them accuse me by invention, I 
Will answer in mine honour. 

Men. Av, but mildly. 

Cur. Well, mildly be it then. Mildly ! 

[IC.veunt. 

Scene III. The same. The Forum. 
Enter Sicinics and BRUTUS. 
Bru. In this point charge him home, that he 
affects 
Tyrannical power: if he evade us there, 
Enforce him with his envy to the people, 
And that the spoil got on the Antiaies 
Was ne'er distributed. 

Enter an /EJile. 
What, will he come? 



4.; 



674 



CQRIOLANUS. 



[Act in. 



/Ed. He's coming. 

Bru. How accompanied? 

/Ed. With old Menenius, and those senators 
That always favour'd him. 

Sic. Have you a catalogue 

Of all the voices that we have procured 
Set down by the poll? 

jEd. I have ; 'tis ready. 10 

Sic. Have you collected them by tribes ? 

Md. I have. 

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither ; 
And when they hear me say ' It shall be so 
I' the right and strength o' the commons,' be it 

either 
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let 

them, 
If I say fine, cry ' Fine ;' if death, cry ' Death.' 
Insisting on the old prerogative 
And power i' the truth o' the cause. 

/Ed. I shall inform them. 

Bru. And when such time they have begun 
to cry, 
Let them not cease, but with a din confused 20 
Enforce the present execution 
Of what we chance to sentence. 

Md. Very well. 

Sic. Make them be strong and ready for this 
hint, 
When we shall hap to give't them. 

Bru. Go about it. [Exit JEdile. 

Put him to choler straight : he hath been used 
fEver to conquer, and to have his worth 
Of contradiction : being once chafed, he cannot 
Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks 
What 's in his heart ; and that is there which looks 
With us to break his neck. 

Sic. Well, here he comes. 30 

Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, and Cominius, 
■with Senators and Patricians. 

Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 

Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
Will bear the knave by the volume. The ho- 

nour'd gods 
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among 's ! 
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, 
And not our streets with war ! 

First Sen. Amen, amen. 

Men. A noble wish. 

Re-enter ^Fdile, with Citizens. 

Sic. Draw near, ye people. 

sEd. List to your tribunes. Audience ! peace, 
I say ! 40 

Cor. First, hear me speak. 

Both Tri. Well, say. Peace, ho ! 

Cor. Shall I be charged no further than this 
present ? 
Must all determine here? 

Sic. I do demand, 

If you submit you to the people's voices, 
Allow their officers and are content 
To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
As shall be proved upon you? 

Cor. I am content. 

Men. Lo, citizens, he says he is content : 
The warlike service he has done, consider ; think 
Upon the wounds his body bears, which show 50 



Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 

Cor. Scratches with briers, 

Scars to move laughter only. 

Men. Consider further, 

That when he speaks not like a citizen, 
You find him like a soldier: do not take 
His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
But, as I say, such as become a soldier, 
Rather than envy you. 

Com. Well, well, no more. 

Cor. What is the matter 
That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
I am so dishonour'd that the very hour 60 

You take it off again? 

Sic. Answer to us. 

Cor. Say, then : 'tis true, I ought so. 

Sic. We charge you, that you have contrived 
to take 
From Rome all season' d office and to wind 
Yourself into a power tyrannical ; 
For which you are a traitor to the people. 

Cor. How! traitor! 

Men. Nay, temperately ; your promise. 

Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the 
people ! 
Call me their traitor ! Thou injurious tribune ! 
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 70 
In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say 
' Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free 
As I do pray the gods. 

Sic. Mark you this, people? 

Citizens. To the rock, to the rock with him ! 

Sic. Peace ! 

We need not put new matter to his charge : 
What you have seen him do and heard him speak, 
Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, 
Opposing laws with strokes and here defying 
Those whose great power must try him; even | 

this, So 

So criminal and in such capital kind, 
Deserves the extremest death. 

Bru. But since he hath 

Served well for Rome, — 

Cor. What do you prate of service ? 

Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 

Cor. You?_ 

Men. Is this the promise that you made your 
mother? 

Com. Know, I pray you, — 

Cor. I '11 know no further : 

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, 
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger 
But with a grain a day, I would not buy go 

Their mercy at the price of one fair word ; 
Nor check my courage for what they can give, 
To have't with saying ' Good morrow.' 

Sic. For that he has, 

As much as in him lies, from time to time 
Envied against the people, seeking means 
To pluck away their power, as now at last 
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence 
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
That do distribute it; in the name o' the people 
And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 100 

Even from this instant, banish him our city, 
In peril of precipitation 
From off the rock Tarpeian never more 
To enter our Rome gates : i' the people's name, 



Scene hi.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



675 



I say it shall be so. 

Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so ; let him 
away : 
He's banish'd, and it shall be so. 

Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
friends, — 

Sic. He's sentenced; no more hearing. 

Com. Let me speak : 

I have been consul, and can show for Rome no 
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
My country's good with a respect more tender, 
More holy and profound, than mine own life, 
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
And treasure of my loins ; then if I would 
Speak that, — 

Sic. We know your drift: speak what? 

Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is 
banish'd, 
As enemy to the people and his country : 
It shall be so. 

Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so. 

Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath 
I hate 120 

As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carcasses of unburied men 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
And here remain with your uncertainty ! 
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, 
Fan you into despair ! Have the power still 
To banish your defenders ; till at length 
Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, 
Making not reservation of yourselves, 130 

Still your own foes, deliver you as most 
Abated captives to some nation 
That won you without blows ! Despising, 
For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
There is "a world elsewhere. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Mene- 
nius. Senators, and Patricians. 

/Ed. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 

Citizens. Our enemy is banish'd ! he is gone ! 

Hoo ! hoo ! [Shouting, and throwing up 

their caps. 

Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, 
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; 
Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard 140 
Attend us through the city. 

Citizens. Come, come; let's see him out at 
gates; come. 
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! Come. 

{Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 
Scene I. Rome. Be/ore a gate of the city. 

Entc>- Coriolanus, Volumkia, Virgilia, Me- 
n-knits, Cominius, with the yoimg Nobility of 
Rome. 

Cor. Come, leave your tears: a brief fare- 
well : the beast 
With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, 
Where is your ancient courage? you were used 
To say extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
That common chances common men could bear ; 
I'hat when the sea was calm all boats alike 
! Show'd mastership in floating ; fortune's blows, 



When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 

craves 
A noble cunning: you were used to load me 
With precepts that would make invincible 10 

The heart that conn'd them. 

Vir. O heavens ! O heavens ! 

Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman, — 

Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades 
in Rome, 
And occupations perish ! 

Cor. What, what, what ! 

I shall be loved when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, 
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, 
If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
Six of his labours you'ld have done, and saved 
Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, 19 

Droop not ; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother : 
I '11 do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, 
Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, 
And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime 

general. 
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
Heart-hardening spectacles ; tell these sad women 
'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, 
As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well 
My hazards still have been your solace: and 
Believe 't not lightly — though I go alone, 
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 30 

Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen — your 

son 
Will or exceed the common or be caught 
With cautelous baits and practice. 

Vol. My first son, 

W"hither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius 
With thee awhile : determine on some course, 
More than a wild exposture to each chance 
That starts i' the way before thee. 

Cor. O the gods ! 

Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with 
thee 
Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us 
And we of thee : so if the time thrust forth 40 
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
O'er the vast world to seek a single man, 
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
I' the absence of the needer. 

Cor. Fare ye well : 

Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove. with one 
That's yet unbruised : bring me but out at gate. 
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, 
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 50 
While I remain above the ground, you shall 
Hear from me still, and never of me aught 
But what is like me formerly. 

Men. That's worthily 

As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. 
If I could shake off but one seven years 
From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
I'ld with thee every foot. 

Cor. Give me thy hand : 

Come. [Exeunt. 

Scene IT. The same. A street near the gate. 
Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an .Kdile. 
Sic. Bid them all home; lie's gone, and we'll 
no further. 



43—2 



6 7 6 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act iv. 



The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided 
In his behalf. 

Bru. Now we have shown our power, 

Let us seem humbler after it is done 
Than when it was a-doing. 

Sic. Bid them home : 

Say their great enemy is gone, and they 
Stand in their ancient strength. 

Bru. Dismiss them home. [Exit sEdile. 

Here comes his mother. 

Sic. Let's not meet her. 

Bru. Why? 

Sic. They say she 's mad. 

B)-?t. They have ta'en note of us: keep on 
your way. 10 

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. 

Vol. O, ye 're well met: the hoarded plague 
o' the gods 
Requite your love ! 

Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud. 

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should 
hear, — 
Nay, and you shall hear some. [To B}-titus\ 
Will you be gone? 

Vir. [ To Sicinius] You shall stay too : I 
would I had the power 
To say so to my husband. 

Sic. Are you mankind? 

Vol. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but 
this fool. 
Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship 
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome 
Than thou hast spoken words ? 

Sic. O blessed heavens ! 

Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise 

words; 21 

And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what; 

yet go: 
Nay, but thou shalt stay too : I would my son 
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, 
His good sword in his hand. 

Sic. What then? 

Vir. What then ! 

He 'Id make an end of thy posterity. 

Vol. Bastards and all. 
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for 
Rome ! 

Men. Come,. come, peace. 

Sic. I would he had continued to his country 
As he began, and not unknit himself 31 

The noble knot he made. 

Bru. I would he had. 

Vol. 'I would he had' ! 'Twas you incensed 
the rabble: 
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth 
As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
Will not have earth to know. 

Bru. Pray, let us go. 

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : 
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear 

this:— 
As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son — 40 
This lady's husband here, this, do you see — 
Whom you have banish' d, does exceed you all. 

Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 

Sic. Why stay we to be baited 

With one that wants her wits? 



Vol. Take my prayers with you. 

[Exeunt Tribunes. 
I would the gods had nothing else to do 
But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet 'em 
But once a-day, it would unclog my heart 
Of what lies heavy to't. 

Men. You have told them home ; 

And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup 
with me? 

Vol. Anger's my meat ; I sup upon myself, 50 
And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go : 
Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, 
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 

Men. Fie, fie, fie ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A highway between Rome 
and Antium. 

Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting. 

Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know 
me : your name, I think, is Adrian. 

Vols. It is so, sir: truly, I have forgot you. 

Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, 
as you are, against 'em : know you me yet? 

Vols. Nicanor? no. 

Rom. The same, sir. 

Vols. You had more beard when I last saw 
you; but your favour is well approved by your 
tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a 
note from the Volscian state, to find you out 
there : you have well saved me a day's journey: 

Rom. There hath been in Rome strange in- 
surrections ; the people against the senators, 
patricians, and nobles. 

Vols. Hath been ! is it ended, then ? Our 
state thinks not so : they are in a most warlike 
preparation, and hope to come upon them in the 
heat of their division. 19 

Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a 
small thing would make it flame again: for the 
nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that 
worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe apt- 
ness to take all power from the people and to 
pluck from them their tribunes for ever. This 
lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature 
for the violent breaking out. 

Vols. Coriolanus banished ! 

Rom. Banished, sir. 29 

Vols. You will be welcome with this intel- 
ligence, Nicanor. 

Rofu. The day serves well for them now. 
I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt 
a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her 
husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will ap- 
pear well in these wars, his great opposer, 
Coriolanus, being now in no request of his 
country. 

Vols. He cannot choose. I am most fortu- 
nate, thus accidentally to encounter you : you 
have ended my business, and I will merrily ac- 
company you home. 

Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell 
you most strange things from Rome ; all tending 
to the good of their adversaries. Have you an 
army ready, say you? 

Vols. A most royal one ; the centurions and 
their charges, distinctly billeted, already in the 
entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's 
warning. 50 



Scene hi.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



677 



Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, 
and am the man, I think, that shall set them in 
present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and 
most glad of your company. 

Vols. You take my part from me, sir ; I have 
the most cause to be glad of yours. 

Rom. Well, let us go together. {Exeunt. 



Scene IV. Antium. Before Aufidius' s house. 

Enter Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised 
and }?iu filed. 
Cor. A goodly city is this Antium. City, 
'Tis I that made thy widows : many an heir 
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
Have I heard groan and drop: then know 

me not, 
Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with 

stones 
In puny battle slay me. 

Enter a Citizen. 

Save you, sir. 
Cit. And you. 

Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, 

Where great Aufidius lies: is he in Antium? 

Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state 
At his house this night. 

Cor. Which is his house, beseech you ? 10 
Cit. This, here before you. 
Cor. Thank you, sir : farewell. 

[Exit Citizen. 

world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast 

sworn, 
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
Whose house, whose bed, whose meal, and ex- 
ercise, 
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 
Unseparable, shall within this hour, 
On a dissension of a doit, break out 
To bitterest enmity : so, fellest foes, 
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their 

sleep 
To take the one the other, by some chance, 20 
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear 

friends 
And interjoin their issues. So with me : 
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon 
This enemy town. I'll enter : if he slay me, 
He does fair justice; if he give me way, 

1 '11 do his country service. [Exit. 



I Scene V. The same. A hall in Aufidius 's 
house. 

Music within. Enter a Servingman. 
First Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service 
is here ! I think our fellows are asleep. [Exit. 

Enter a second Servingman. 
Sec. Serv. Where's Cotus? my master calls 
for him. Cotus ! [Exit. 

Enter Coriolanus. 
Cor. A goodly house : the feast smells well ; 
but I 
Appear not like a guest. 



Re-enter the first Servingman. 

First Serv. What would you have, friend? 
whence are you? Here's no place for you : pray, 
go to the door. [Exit. 

Cor. I have deserved no better entertainment, ( 
In being Coriolanus. 11 

Re-enter second Servingman. 

See. Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the 
porter his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance 
to such companions? Pray, get you out. 

Cor. Away ! 

Sec. Serv. Away ! get you away. 

Cor. Now thou 'rt troublesome. 

Sec. Serv. Are you so brave ? I '11 have you 
talked with anon. 

Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him. 

Third Serv. What fellow's this? 20 

First Serv. A strange one as ever I looked 
on : I cannot get him out o' the house: prithee, 
call my master to him. [Retires. 

Third Serv. What have you to do here, 
fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. 

Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your 
hearth. 

Third Serv. What are you? 

Cor. A gentleman. 

Third Serv. A marvellous poor one. 30 

Cor. True, so I am. 

Third Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take 
up some other station; here's no place for you; 
pray you, avoid: come. 

Cor. Follow your function, go, and batten on 
cold bits. [Pushes hi?n away. 

Third Serv. What, you will not? Prithee, 
tell my master what a strange guest he has here. 

Sec. Serv. And I shall. [Exit. 

Third Serv. Where dwellest thou? 40 

Cor. Lender the canopy. 

Third Serv. Under the canopy ! 

Cor. Ay. 

Third Serv. Where 's that ? 

Cor. V the city of kites and crows. 

Third Serv. V the city of kites and crows! 
What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest with 
daws too? 

Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 

Third Serv. How, sir! do you meddle with 
my master? 51 

Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to 
meddle with thy mistress. 

Thou pratest, and pratest ; serve with thy trencher, 
hence ! 
[Beats him away. Exit third Servingman. 

Enter Aufidius with the second Servingman. 
Auf. Where is this fellow? 
Sec. Serv. Here, sir: I 'Id have beaten him 
like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. 

[Retires. 

Auf. Whence comest thou? what wouldst 

thou? thy name? 

Why speak'st not? speak, man : what's thv name? 

Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmufiling. 60 

Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, 

dost not 
Think me for the man I am, necessity 



6 7 8 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act iv. 



Commands me name myself. 

Auf. What is thy name ? 

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, 
And harsh in sound to thine. 

Auf. Say, what's thy name? 

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
Bears a command in 't ; though thy tackle's torn, 
Thou show'st a noble vessel : what's thy name? 

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st 
thou me yet? 

Auf. I know thee not: thy name? 70 

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius,' who hath done 
To thee particularly and to all the Volsces 
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
My surname, Coriolanus : the painful service, 
The extreme dangers and the drops of blood 
Shed for my thankless country are requited 
But with that surname ; a good memory, 
And witness of the malice and displeasure 
Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name 

remains; 
The cruelty and envy of the people, 80 

Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest ; 
And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity 
Hath brought me to thy hearth ; not out of hope — 
Mistake me not — to save my life, for if 
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite, 
To be full quit of those my banishers, 
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 90 
A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge 
Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims 
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 

straight, 
And make my misery serve thy turn : so use it 
That my revengeful services may prove 
As benefits to thee, for I will fight 
Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
Thou darest not this and that to prove more for- 
tunes 
Thou'rt tired, then, in a word, I also am 100 

Longer to live most weary, and present 
My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice ; 
Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, 
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, 
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, 
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
It be to do thee service. 

Auf. O Marcius, Marcius ! 

Each v/ord thou hast spoke hath weeded from my 

heart 
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
Should from yond cloud speak divine things, no 
And say 'Tis true,' I Tel not believe them more 
Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine 
Mine arms about that body, where against 
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke, 
And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip 
The anvil of my sword, and do contest 
As hotly and as nobly with thy love 
As ever in ambitious strength I did 
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
I loved the maid I married ; never man 120 

Sigh'd truer breath ; but that I see thee here, 
Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt heart 
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 



Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I tell 

thee, 
We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, 
Or lose mine arm for't : thou hast beat me out 
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me ; 
We have been down together in my sleep, 130 
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, 
And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy 

Marcius, 
Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that 
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster alL 
From twelve to seventy, and pouring war 
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, 
And take our friendly senators by the hands ; 
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, 
Who am prepared against your territories. 140 
Though not for Rome itself. 

Cor. You bless me, gods ! 

Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt 
have 
The leading of thine own revenges, take 
The one half of my commission ; and set down — 
As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st 
Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine 

own ways ; 
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
Or rudely visit them in parts remote, 
To iright them, ere destroy. But come in : 
Let me commend thee first to those that shall 150 
Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes ! 
And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; 
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand : most 
welcome ! 
[Exeunt Coriolanus and Azefidius. The 
two Scrvingme7i come forward. 

First Serv. Here's a strange alteration ! 

Sec. Serv. By my hand, I had thought to 
have strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my 
mind gave me his clothes made a false report of 
him. 

First Serv. What an arm he has ! he turned 
me about with his finger and his thumb, as one 
would set up a top. 161 

Sec. Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there 
was something in him : he had, sir, a kind of face, 
methought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 

First Serv. He had so; looking as it were — 
would I were hanged, but I thought there was 
more in him than I could think. 

Sec. Serv. So did I, I '11 be sworn : he is sim- 
ply the rarest man i' the world. 

First Serv. I think he is : but a greater soldier 
than he you wot on. 171 

Sec. SerzK Who, my master ? 

First Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 

Sec. Serv. Worth six on him. 

First Serv. Nay, not so neither : but I take 
him to be the greater soldier. 

Sec. Sen>. Faith, look you, one cannot tell 
how to say that : for the defence of a town, our 
general is excellent. 

First Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 180 

Re-enter third Servingman. 
Third Serv. O slaves, I can tell you news, — 
news, you rascals ! 



Scene v.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



679 



First and Sec. Serv. What, what, what? let's 
partake. 

Third Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all 
nations ; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 
First and Sec. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 
Third Serv. Why, here's he that was wont 
to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 

First Serv. Why do you say ' thwack our 
general'? 191 

Third Serv. I do not say ' thwack our gene- 
1 ral ; but he was always good enough for him. 

Sec. Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends : 
. he was ever too hard for him ; I have heard him 
; say so himself. 

First Serv. He was too hard for him directly, 
; to say the troth on't: before Corioli he scotched 
j him and notched him like a carbonado. 

Sec. Serv. An he had been cannibally given, 
! he might have broiled and eaten him too. 201 

First Serv. But, more of thy news? 
Third Serz>. Why, he is so made on heie 
within, as if he were son and heir to Mars; set at 
1 upper end o' the table ; no question asked him by 
any of the senators, but they stand bald before 
him : our general himself makes a mistress of 
; him; sanctifies himself with 's hand and turns up 
; the white o' the eye to his discourse. But the bot- 
, torn of the news is, our general is cut i' the middle 
and but one half of what he was yesterday ; for the 
other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the 
whole table. He '11 go, he say*, and sowl the por- 
ter of Rome gates by the ears : he will mow all 
down before him, and leave his passage polled. 

Sec. Serv. And he's as like to do't as any 
man I can imagine. 

Third Serv. Do 't ! he will do 't ; for, look you, 
sir, he has as many friends as enemies ; which 
friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, 
show themselves, as we term it, his friends whilst 
he's in directitude. 

First Serv. Directitude! what's that? 
Third Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his 
crest up again, and the man in blood, they will 
out of their burrows, like conies after rain, and 
revel all with him. 

First Serv. But when goes this forward? 
Third Serv. To-morrow; to-day ; presently ; 
you shall have the drum struck op this afternoon : 
'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be 
executed ere they wipe their lips. 

Sec. Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring 
world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust 
iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 

First Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds 
peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, 
waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very 
apoplexy, lethargy ; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insen- 
sible ; a getter of more bastard children than war 's 
a destroyer of men. 241 

Sec. Serv. 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, 
may be said to be aravisher, so it cannot be denied 
but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 

First Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one 
another. 

Third Serv. Reason ; because they then less 

need one another. The wars for my money. I 

hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They 

are rising, they are rising. 250 

All. In, in, in, in! [E.veunt. 



Scene VI. Rome. A public place. 
Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear 
him; 
His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
And quietness of the people, which before 
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
Blush that the world goes well, who rather had, 
Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold 
Dissentious numbers pestering streets than see 
Our tradesmen singing in their shops and going 
About their functions friendly. 
Bru. We stood to't in good time. [Enter 
Menenius.] Is this Menenius? 10 

Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is grown most kind 

of late. 
Both Tri. Hail, sir ! 
Men.. Hail to you both ! 

■Slip. Your Coriolanus 

Is not much miss'd, but with his friends : 
The commonwealth doth stand, and so would do, 
Were he more angry at it. 
Men. All's well; and might have been much 
better, if 
He could have temporized. 



Sic. 



Where is he, hear 



y>u, 



Men. Nay, I hear nothing : his mother and 
his wife 
Hear nothing from him. 

Enter three or four Citizens. 

Citizens. The gods preserve you both ! 

Sic. God-den, our neighbours. 20 

Bru. God-den to you all, god-den to you all. 

First Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, 
on our knees, 
Are bound to pray for you both. 

Sic. Live, and thrive ! 

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours: we wish'd 
Coriolanus 
Had loved you as we did. 

Citizens. Now the gods keep you ! 

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. 

[Exeunt Citizens. 

Sic. This is a happier and more comely time 
Than when these fellows ran about the streets, 
Crying confusion. 

Bru. Caius Marcius was 

A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, 30 

O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
Self-loving, — 

Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 

Without assistance. 

Men. I think not so. 

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation, 
If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and 
Rome 
Sits safe and still without him. 

Enter an jEdile. 

sEd. Worthy tribunes, 

There is a slave, whom we have put in prison. 
Reports, the Volsces with two several powers 
Are enter'd in the Roman territories, 40 

And with the deepest malice of the war 
Destroy what lies before 'em. 

Men. 'Tis Aufidius, 



68o 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act iv. 



Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world ; 
Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for 

Rome, 
And durst not once peep out. 

Sic. Come, what talk you 

Of Marcius? 

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It 

cannot be 
The Volsces dare break with us. 

Men. Cannot be ! 

We have record that very well it can, 
And three examples of the like have been 50 

Within my age. But reason with the fellow, 
Before you punish him, where he heard this, 
Lest you shall chance to whip your information 
And beat the messenger who bids beware 
Of what is to be dreaded. 

Sic. Tell not me : 

I know this cannot be. 

Bru. Not possible. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The nobles in great earnestness are 
going 
All to the senate-house : some news is come 
That turns their countenances. 

Sic. 'Tis this slave ; — 59 

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — his raising ; 
Nothing but his report. 

Mess. Yes, worthy sir, 

The slave's report is seconded ; and more, 
More fearful, is deliver'd. 

Sic. What more fearful? 

Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths — 
How probable I do not know— that Marcius, 
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, 
And vows revenge as spacious as between 
The young'st and oldest thing. 

Sic. This is most likely ! 

Bru. Raised only, that the weaker sort may 
wish 
Good Marcius home again. 

Sic. The very trick on't. 70 

Men. This is unlikely : 
He and Aufidius can no more atone 
Than violentest contrariety. 

Enter a second Messenger. 

Sec. Mess. You are sent for to the senate : 
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius 
Associated with Aufidius, rages 
Upon our territories ; and have already 
O'erborne their way, consumed with fire, and took 
What lay before them. 

Enter Cominius. 

Com. O, you have made good work ! 

Men. What news? what news? 80 

Co m. You have holp to ravish your own daught- 
ers and 
To melt the city leads upon your pates, 
To see your wives dishonour' d to your noses, — 

Men. What's the news? what's the news? 

Com. Your temples burned in their cement, and 
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined 
Into an auger's bore. 

Men. Pray now, your news? 



You have made fair work, I fear me. — Pray, your 

news ? — 
If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians, — 

Com. If ! 

He is their god : he leads them like a thing 90 
Made by some other deity than nature, 
That shapes man better ; and they follow him, 
Against us brats, with no less confidence 
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, 
Or butchers killing flies. 

Men. You have made good work, 

You and your apron-men ; you that stood so much 
Upon the voice of occupation and 
The breath of garlic-eaters ! 

Com. He will shake 

Your Rome about your ears. 

Men. As Hercules 

Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made 
fair work ! 100 

Bru. But is this true, sir ? 

Com. Ay ; and you '11 look pale 

Before you find it other. All the regions 
Do smilingly revolt ; and who resist 
Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, 
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame 

him? 
Your enemies and his find something in him. 

Men. We are all undone, unless 
The noble man have mercy. 

Com. Who shall ask it? 

The tribunes cannot do't for shame ; the people 
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf no 

Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him 

even 
As those should do that had deserved his hate, 
And therein show'd like enemies. 

Men. 'Tis true : 

If he were putting to my house the brand 
That should consume it, I have not the face 
To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made 

fair hands, 
You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair ! 

Com. You have brought 

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
So incapable of help. 

Both Tri. Say not we brought it. 120 

Men. How! Was it we? we loved him; but, 
like beasts 
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, 
Who did hoot him out o' the city. 

Com. But I fear 

They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, 
The second name of men, obeys his points 
As if he were his officer : desperation 
Is all the policy, strength and defence, 
That Rome can make against them. 

Enter a troop ^/Citizens. 
Men. Here come the clusters. 

And is Aufidius with him? You are they 129 
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at 
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming; 
And not a hair upon a soldier's head 
Which will not prove a whip : as many coxcombs 
As you threw caps up will he tumble down, 
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter ; 
If he could burn us all into one coal, 



Scene vi.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



68 1 



We have deserved it. 

Citizens. Faith, .we hear fearful news. 

First Cit. For mine own part, 

When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 140 

Sec. Cit. And so did I. 

Third Cit. And so did I ; and, to say the 
truth, so did very many of us : that we did, we 
did for the best ; and though we willingly con- 
sented to his banishment, yet it was against our 
will. 

Com. Ye 're goodly things, you voices! 

Men. You have made 

Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the 
Capitol ? 

Com. O, ay, what else? 

[Exeunt Cominius and Mcnenius. 

Sic. Go, masters, get you home ; be not dis- 
may' d : 150 
These are a side that would be glad to have 
This true which they so seem to feail Go home, 
And show no sign of fear. 

First Cit. The gods be good to us ! Come, 
masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 
wrong when we banished him. 

Sec. Cit. So did we all. But, come, let's home. 
[Exeunt Citizens. 

Brit. I do not like this news. 

Sic. Nor I. 

Bru. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my 
wealth 160 

Would buy this for a lie ! 

Sic. Pray, let us go. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. A camp, at a small distance 
from Rome. 

Enter Aufidiu.s and his Lieutenant. 

Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman? 

Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, 
but 
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ; 
And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 
Even by your own. 

Auf. I cannot help it now, 

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, 
Even to my person, than I thought he would 
When first I did embrace him : yet his nature 10 
In that's no changeling ; and I must excuse 
What cannot be amended. 

Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, — 

I mean for your particular, — you had not 
Join'd in commission with him ; but either 
Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
To him had left it solely. 

Auf I understand thee well ; and be thou sure, 
When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
What I can urge against him. Although it seems, 
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 20 

To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly, 
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian 

state, 
Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon 
As draw his sword ; yet he hath left undone 
That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, 
Whene'er we come to our account. 



Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry 
Rome ? 

Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down ; 
And the nobility of Rome are his : 
The senators and patricians love him too : 30 

The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome 
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
A noble servant to them ; but he could not 
Carry his honours even : whether 'twas pride, 
Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
The happy man ; whether defect of judgement, 
To fail in the disposing of those chances 40 

Which he was lord of; or whether nature, 
Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
From the casque to the cushion, but commanding 

peace 
Even with the same austerity and garb 
As he controll'd the war ; but one of these — 
As he hath spices of them all, not all, 
For I dare so far free him — made him fear'd, 
So hated, and so banish'd : but he has a merit, 
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
Lie in the interpretation of the time : 50 

And power, unto itself most commendable, 
tHath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
To extol what it hath done. 
One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; 
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do 

fail. 
Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, 
Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou mine. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. Rome. A public place. 

-ZTWtvMENENIUS, COMINIUS, SlCINIUS, BRUTUS, 

and others. 

Men. No, I'll not go : you hear what he hath 
said 
Which was sometime his general ; who loved him 
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father : 
But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; 
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee 
The way into his mercy : nay, if he coy'd 
To hear Cominius speak, I '11 keep at home. 

Com. He would not seem to know me. 

Men. Do you hear? 

Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name : 
I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops 10 
That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
He would not answer to : forbad all names ; 
He was a kind of nothing, titleless, 
Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire 
Of burning Rome. 

Men. Why, so : you have made good work ! 
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
To make coals cheap, — a noble memory ! 

Com. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon 
When it was less expected: he replied, 
It was a bare petition of a state 20 

To one whom they had punish'd. 

Men, Very well : 

Could he say less? 



682 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act v. 



Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard 
For's private friends: his answer to me was, 
He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
Of noisome musty chaff : he said 'twas folly, 
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, 
And still to nose the offence. 

Men. For one poor grain or two ! 

I am one of those ; his mother, wife, his child, 
And this brave fellow too, we are the grains : 30 
You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 
Above the moon : we must be burnt for you. 

Sic. Nay, pray, be patient : if you refuse your 
aid 
In this so never-needed help, yet do not 
Upbraid's with our distress. But, sure, if you 
Would be your country's pleader, your good 

tongue, 
More than the instant army we can make, 
Might stop our countryman. 

Men. No, I '11 not meddle. 

Sic. Pray you, go to him. 

Men. What should I do? 39 

Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
For Rome, towards Marcius. 

Men. Well, and say that Marcius 

Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 
Unheard ; what then ? 
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
With his unkindness? say't be so? 

Sic. Yet your good will 

Must have that thanks from Rome, after the 

measure 
As you intended well. 

Men. I '11 undertake 't : 

I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip 
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
He was not taken well ; he had not dined : 50 
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff 'd 
These pipes and these conveyances of our 

blood 
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I '11 watch 

him 
Till he be dieted to my request, 
And then I '11 set upon him. 

Bru. You know the very road into his kind- 
ness, 
And cannot lose your way. 

Men. Good faith, I'll prove him, 60 

Speed how it will. I shall ere long have know- 
ledge 
Of my success. [Exit. 

Com. He'll never hear him. 

Sic. Not?_ 

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
Red as 'twould burn Rome ; and his injury 
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him ; 
'Twas very faintly he said ' Rise ;' dismiss'd me 
Thus, with his speechless hand : what he would do, 
He sent in writing after me; what he would not, 
Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions : 
So that all hope is vain, 70 

Unless his noble mother, and his wife ; 
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence, 
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene II. Entrance of the Volsciau ca7nj> 
before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard. 

Enter to them, Menenius. 

First Sen. Stay: whence are you? 

Sec. Sen. Stand, and go back. 

Men. You guard like men ; 'tis well : but, by 
your leave, 
I am an officer of state, and come 
To speak with Coriolanus. 

First Sen. From whence ? 

Men. From Rome. 

First Sen. You may not pass, you must 
return : our general 
Will no more hear from thence. 

Sec. Sen. You'll see your Rome embraced 
with fire before 
You'll speak with Coriolanus. 

Men. Good my friends, 

If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, 10 
My name hath touch'd your ears : it is Menenius. 

First Sen. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of 
your name 
Is not here passable. 

Men. I tell thee, fellow, 

Thy general is my lover : I have been 
The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified; 
For I have ever t verified my friends, 
Of whom he's chief, with all the size that verity 
Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes, 
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 20 

I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his praise 
Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore, 

fellow, 
I must have leave to pass. 

First Sen. Faith, sir, if you had told as 
many lies in his behalf as you have uttered 
words in your own, you should not pass here ; 
no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live 
chastely. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is 
Menenius, always factionary on the party of 
your general. 31 

Sec. Sen. Howsoever you have been his liar, 
as you say you have, I am one that, telling true 
under him, must say, you cannot pass. There- 
fore, go back. 

Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I 
would not speak with him till after dinner. 

First Sen. You are a Roman, are you? 

Men. I am, as thy general is. 39 

First Sen. Then you should hate Rome, as 
he does. Can you, when you have pushed out 
your gates the very defender of them, and, in 
a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy 
your shield, think to front his revenges with 
the easy groans of old women, the virginal 
palms of your daughters, or with the palsied 
intercession of such a decayed dotant as you 
seem to be? Can you think to blow out the 
intended fire your city is ready to flame in, 
with such weak breath as this? No, you are 
deceived ; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare 
for your execution : you are condemned, our 
general has sworn you out of reprieve and 
pardon. 



Scene ii.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, 
he would use me with estimation. 

Sec. Sen. Come, my captain knows you not. 

Men. I mean, thy general. 

First Sen. My general cares not for you. 
Back, I say, go; lest I let forth your half-pint 
of blood; back, — that's the utmost of your 
having : back. 

Men. Nay, but, fellow, fellow, — 

Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

Cor. What's the matter? 

Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand 
for you : you shall know now that I am in esti- 
mation ; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant 
cannot office me from my son Coriolanus : guess, 
but by my entertainment with him, if thou 
standest not i' the state of hanging, or of some 
death more long in spectatorship, and crueller 
in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon 
for what's to come upon thee. [To Cor.] The 
glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy par- 
ticular prosperity, and love thee no worse than 
thy old father Menenius does ! O my son, my 
son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, 
here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved 
to come to thee ; but being assured none but 
myself could move thee, I have been blown out 
of your gates with sighs ; and conjure thee to 
pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. 
The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the 
dregs of it upon this varlet here, — this, who, like 
a block, hath denied my access to thee. 

Cor. Away ! 

Men. How ! away ! 

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My 
affairs 
Are servanted to others : though I owe 
My revenge properly, my remission lies 90 

In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, 
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone. 
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than 
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved 

thee. 
Take this along ; I writ it for thy sake, 

[Gives a letter. 
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, 
I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, 
Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st ! 

A it f. You keep a constant temper. 100 

[Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

First Sen. Now, sir, is your name Menenius? 

Sec. Sen. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much 
power : you know the way home again. 

First Sen. Do you hear how we are shent for 
keeping your greatness back? 

Sec. Sen. What cause, do you think, I have 
to swoon? 

Men. I neither care for the world nor your 
general : for such things as you, I can scarce 
think there's any, ye 're so slight. He that hath 
a will to die by himself fears it not from another: 
let your general do his worst. For you, be that 
you are, long ; and your misery increase with 
your age ! I say to you, as I was said to, Away ! 

[Exit. 

First Sen. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 



Sec. Sen. The worthy fellow is our general : ! 
he 's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. 

[Exeunt. J 

Scene III. The tent of Coriolanits. 

Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others. 
• Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to- 
morrow 
Set down our host. My partner in this action, 
You must report to the Volscian lords, how 

plainly 
I have borne this business. 

Auf. Only their ends 

You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
That thought them sure of you. 

Cor. This last old man. 

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
Loved me above the measure of a father ; 10 

Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
Was to send him ; for whose old love I have, 
Though I show'd sourly to him, once more 

offer 'd 
The first conditions, which they did refuse 
And cannot now accept ; to grace him only 
That thought he could do more, a very little 
I have yielded to : fresh embassies and suits, 
Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter 
Will I lend ear to. Ha ! what shout is this? 

[Shout within. 
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 20 

In the same time 'tis made? I will not. 

Enter, in mourning habits, Virgilia, Vo- 

lumnia, leading young Marcius, Valeria, 

and Attendants. 
My wife comes foremost; then the honour 'd 

mould 
Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand 
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection ! 
All bond and privilege of nature, break ! 
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. 
What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes, 
Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and 

am not 
Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows ; 
As if Olympus to a molehill should 30 

In supplication nod: and my young boy 
Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries ' Deny not.' Let the Volsces 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy : I '11 never 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, 
As if a man were author of himself 
And knew no other kin. 

Vir. My lord and husband ! 

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore 
in Rome. 

Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus changed 
Makes you think so. 

Cor. Like a dull actor now, 40 

I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say 
For that ' Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss 
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 



68 4 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act v. 



Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods ! I prate, 
And the most noble mother of the world 
Leave unsaluted : sink, my knee, i' the earth ; 50 

[K fie els. 
Of thy deep duty more impression show 
Than that of common sons. 

Vol. O, stand up blest ! 

Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
I kneel before thee ; and improperly 
Show duty, as mistaken all this while 
Between the child and parent. [Kneels. 

Cor. What is this? 

Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds 
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; 60 
Murdering impossibility, to make 
What cannot be, slight work. 

Vol. Thou art my warrior ; 

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? 

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle 
That's curdied by the frost from purest snow 
And hangs on Dian's temple : dear Valeria ! 

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, 
Which by the interpretation of full time 
May show like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers, 70 

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst 

prove 
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
And saving those that eye thee ! 

Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 

Cor. That's my brave boy ! 

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and 
myself, 
Are suitors to you. 

Cor. I beseech you, peace : 

Or, if you'ld ask, remember this before: 
The thing I have forsworn to grant may never 80 
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not 
Wherein I seem unnatural : desire not 
To allay my rages and revenges with 
Your colder reasons. 

Vol. O, no more, no more ! 

You have said you will not grant us any thing ; 
For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
Which you deny already : yet we will ask ; 
That, if you fail in our request, the blame 90 

May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us. 

Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for 
we'll 
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request ? 

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our 
raiment 
And state of bodies would bewray what life 
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself 
How more unfortunate than all living women _ 
Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which 

should 
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with 

comforts, 
Constrains them weep and shake with fear and 
sorrow ; IO ° 

Making the mother, wife and child to see 



The son, the husband and the father tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
That all but we enjoy ; for how can we, 
Alas, how can we for our country pray, 
Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, 
Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, 
Our comfort in the country. We must find in 
An evident calamity, though we had 
Our wish, which side should win : for either thou 
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, 
And bear the palm for having bravely shed 
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
I purpose not to wait on fortune till 
These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts 121 
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country than to tread — 
Trust to't, thou shalt not — on thy mother's womb, 
That brought thee to this world. 

Vir. ' Ay, and mine, 

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your 

name 
Living to time. 

Young Mar. A' shall not tread on me ; 
I '11 run away till I am bigger, but then I '11 fight. 

Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 130 
I have sat too 'long. [Rising; 

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so that our request did tend 
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
The Volsces whom you serve, you might con- 
demn us, 
As poisonous of your honour : no ; our suit 
Is, that you reconcile them : while the Volsces 
May say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the 

Romans, 
' This we received ;' and each in either side 
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry ' Be blest 
For making up this peace !' Thou know'st, great 

son, 140 

The end of war's uncertain, but this certain, 
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name, 
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; 
Whose chronicle thus writ : ' The man was noble, 
But with his last attempt he wiped it out; 
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 
To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son : 
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
To imitate the graces of the gods ; 150 

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, 
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not 

speak? 
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you : 
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy : 
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. There's no man in the 

world 
More bound to 's mother ; yet here he lets me 

prate 159 

Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 



Scene hi.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



685 



Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, 

When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, 

Has cluck' d thee to the wars and safely home, 

Loaden with honour. Say my request 's unjust, 

And spurn me back : but if it be not so, 

Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague 

thee, 
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which 
To a mother's part belongs. He turns away: 
Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride 170 
Than pity to our prayers. Down : an end ; 
This is the last : so we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold 's : 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go : 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; 
His wife is in Corioli and his child 
Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch : 
I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 181 

And then I'll speak a little. [He holds her by the 
hand, silent. 

Cor. O mother, mother! 

What have you done? Behold, the heavens do 

ope, 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O ! 
You have won a happy victory to Rome ; 
But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it, 
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, 
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come. 
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 190 
I '11 frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
Were you in my stead, would you have heard 
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? 

Anf. I was moved withal. 

Cor. I dare be sworn you were : 

And, sir, it is no little thing to make 
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
What peace you'll make, advise me : for my part, 
I '11 not to Rome, I '11 back with you ; and pray 

you, 
Stand to me in this cause. O mother ! wife ! 

Anf. [Aside.] I am glad thou hast set thy 
mercy and thy honour 200 

At difference in thee : out of that I'll work 
Myself a former fortune. 

[The Ladies make signs to Coriolanus. 

Cor. Ay, by and by ; 

[To Voluninia, Virgilia, &c. 
But we will drink together ; and you shall bear 
A better witness back than words, which we, 
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To have a temple built you : all the swords 
In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
Couid not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 209 

Scene IV. Rome. A public place. 
Enter Menenius and Sicinius. 
Men. See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond 
corner-stone? 

Sic. Why, what of that ? 

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it 
with your little finger, there is some hope the 
ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may pre- 



vail with him. But I say there is no hope in't: 
our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution. 

Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can alter 
the condition of a man? 10 

Men. There is differency between a grub and 
a butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. This 
Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he has 
wings ; he 's more than a creeping thing. 

SlC. He loved his mother dearly. 

Men. So did he me : and he no more remem- 
bers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. 
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when 
he walks, he moves like an engine, and the 
ground shrinks before his treading : he is able to 
pierce a corslet with his eye ; talks like a knell, 
and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as 
a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be 
done is finished with his bidding. He wants no- 
thing of a god but eternity and a heaven to 
throne in. 

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
mercy his mother shall bring from him : there is 
no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male 
tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 
long of you. 

Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be 
good unto us. When we banished him, we re- 
spected not them ; and, he returning to break our 
necks, they respect not us. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Sir, if you 'Id save your life, fly to your 
house : 
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune 
And hale him up and down, all swearing, if 40 
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
They'll give him death by inches. 

Enter a second Messenger. 

Sic. What's the news? 

Sec. Mess. Good news, good news ; the ladies 
have prevail'd, 
The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone : 
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 

Sic. Friend, 

Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? 

Sec. Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire : 
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt 
of it? 49 

Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, 
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, 
hark you! [Trumpets; hautboys; drums 
beat; all together. 
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, 
Tabors and cymbals and the shouting Romans, 
Make the sun dance. Hark you ! 

[A shout within. 
Men. This is good news: 

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
A city full ; of tribunes, such as you, 
A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day : 
This morning for ten thousand of your throats 59 
I 'Id not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! 
[Music still, with shouts. 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act v. 



Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tidings ; 
next, 
Accept my thankfulness. 

Sec. Mess. Sir, we have all 

Great cause to give great thanks. 

Sic. They are near the city ? 

Sec. Mess. Almost at point to enter. 

Sic. We will meet them, 

And help the joy. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. A street near the gate. 

Enter two Senators with Volumnia, Virgilia, 
Valeria, &c. passing over the stage, followed 
by Patricians, and others. 

First Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of 
Rome ! 
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 
And make triumphant fires ; strew flowers before 

them: 
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; 
Cry ' Welcome, ladies, welcome !' 

All. Welcome, ladies, 

Welcome ! [A flozirish with drums and trum- 
pets. Exeimt. 

Scene VI. Antiunu A public place. 

Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. 

A uf. Go tell the lords o' the city I am here : 
Deliver them this paper : having read it, 
Bid them repair to the market-place ; where I, 
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, 
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse 
The city ports by this hath enter'd and 
Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
To purge himself with words : dispatch. 

[Exettnt A ttendauts. 

7.nter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius' 
faction. 

Most welcome ! 

First Con. How is it with our general? 

Auf Even so 10 

As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, 
And with his charity slain. 

Sec. Con. Most noble sir, 

If you do hold the same intent wherein 
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you 
Of your great danger. 

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell: 

We must proceed as we do find the people. 

Third Con. The people will remain uncertain 
whilst 
'Twixt you there's difference ; but the fall of either 
Makes the survivor heir of all. 

Auf. I know it ; 

And my pretext to strike at him admits 20 

A good construction. I raised him, and I pawn'd 
Mine honour for his truth : who being so heighten'd, 
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, 
Seducing so my friends ; and, to this end, 
He bow'd his nature, never known before 
But to be rough, unswayable and free. 

Third Con. Sir, his stoutness 
When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
By lack of stooping, — 

Auf. That I would have spoke of: 



Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; 30 
Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ; 
Made him joint-servant with me ; gave him way 
In all his own desires; nay, let him choose 
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, 
Mybestandfreshestmen ; served his designments 
I n mine own person ; holp to reap the fame 
Which he did end all his ; and took some pride 
To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
I seem'd his follower, not partner, and 
He waged me with his countenance, as if 40 

I had been mercenary. 

First Con. So he did, my lord : 

The army marvell'd at it, and, in the last, 
When he had carried Rome and that we look'd 
For no less spoil than glory, — 

A uf. There was it : 

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
Of our great action : therefore shall he die, 
And I '11 renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 

\_Dr71ms and i)-zimpets sound, with great 
shouts of the People. 

First Cot. Your native town you enter'd like 
a post, 50 

And had no welcomes home ; but he returns, 
•Splitting the air with noise. 

Sec. Con. And patient fools, 

Whose children he hath slain, their base throats 

tear 
With giving him glory. 

Third Con. Therefore, at your vantage, 

Ere he express himself, or move the people 
With what he would say, let him feel your sword, 
Which we will second. When he lies along, 
After your way his tale pronounced shall bury 
His reasons with his body. 

A uf. Say no more : 

Here come the lords. 60 

Enter the Lords of the city. 

All the Lords. You are most welcome home. 

Auf I have not deserved it. 

But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused 
What I have written to you? 

Lords. We have. 

First Lord. And grieve to hear't. 

What faults he made before the last, I think 
Might have found easy fines : but there to end 
Where he was to begin s~nd give away 
The benefit of our levies, answering us 
With our own charge, making a treaty where 
There was a yielding, — this admits no excuse. 

Auf. He approaches: you shall hear him. 70 

Enter Coriolanus, marching with drum and 
colours; Commoners being with him. 
Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'd your soldier, 
No more infected with my country's love 
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
Under your great command. You are to know 
That prosperously I have attempted and 
With bloody passage led your wars even to 
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought 

home 
Do more than counterpoise a full third part 
The charges of the action. We have made peace 
With no less honour to the Antiates 80 



Scene vi.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



687 



Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver, 
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, 
Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
We have compounded on. 

Auf. Read it not, noble lords; 

But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree 
He hath abused your powers. 

Cor. Traitor ! how now ! 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius! 

Cor. Marcius ! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou 
think 
I '11 grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
Coriolanus in Corioli? 90 

You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously 
He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 
I say 'your city,' to his wife and mother; 
Breaking his oath and resolution like 
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting 
Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears 
He whined and roar'd away your victory, 
That pages blush'd at him and men of heart 
Look'd wondering each at other. 

Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? 100 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tear-; ! 

Cor. Ha ! 

Auf. No more. 

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave ! 
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
I was forced to scold. Your judgements, my 

grave lords, 
Must give this cur the lie : and his own notion — 
Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him ; that 
Must bear my beating to his grave — shall join 
To thrust the lie unto him. no 

First Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces ; men and lads, 
Stain all your edges on me. Boy ! false hound ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, 
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli : 
Alone I did it. Boy ! 

A uf Why, noble lords, 

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, 
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
'Fore your own eyes and ears? 

All Consp. Let him die for't. 120 



All the people. 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it 
presently.' ' He killed my son.' 'My daughter.' 
'He killed my cousin Marcus.' 'He killed my 
father.' 

Sec. Lord. Peace, ho ! no outrage : peace ! 
The man is noble and his fame folds-in 
This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us 
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, 
And trouble not the peace. 

Cor. O that I had him, 

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 130 

To use my lawful sword ! 

Auf. Insolent villain ! 

All Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him ! 

[The Conspirators draw, and kill Corio- 
lanus: Aufidius stands on his body. 

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold ! 

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 

First Lord. O Tullus,— 

Sec. Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat 
valour will weep. 

Third Lord. Tread not upon him. Masters 
all, be quiet ; 
Put up your swords. 

Auf ^ My lords, when you shall know — as in 
this rage, 
Provoked by him, you cannot — the great danger 
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice 
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours 
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 141 

Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
Your heaviest censure. 

First Lord. Bear from hence his body ; 

And mourn you for him : let him be regarded 
As the most noble corse that ever herald 
Did follow to his urn. 

Sec. Lord. His own impatience 

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
Let's make the best of it. 

Auf. My rage is gone ; 

And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. 149 
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. 
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully : 
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he 
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, 
Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
Yet he shall have a noble memory. 
Assist. [£xeunt, bearing the body of Corio- 

lanus. A dead march sounded. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Saturninus, son to the late Emperor of 
Rome, and afterwards declared Emperor. 

Bassianus, brother to Saturninus; in love 
with Lavinia. 

Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, gene- 
ral against the Goths. 

Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the people, 
and brother to Titus. 

Lucius, } 

Sartius, sons t0 Titus Andronicus. 

Mutius, / 

Young Lucius, a boy, son to Lucius. 

Publius, son to Marcus the Tribune. 

Sempronius 

Caius, y kinsmen to Titus. 

Valentine. 



^Emilius, a noble Roman. 

sons to Tamora. 



Alarbus, \ 
Demetrius, V: 
Chiron, J 



Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 

A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown ; 

Romans. 
Goths and Romans. 

Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 
Lavinia, daughter to Titus Andronicus. 
A Nurse. 

Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and 
Attendants. 

Scene : Rome, and the country near it. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Ro?ne. Before the Capitol. 

The Tomb of the Andronici appearing; the 
Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, 
from one side, Saturninus and his Follow- 
ers; and, from the other side, Bassianus 
and his Followers ; with drum and colours. 
Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
Defend the justice of my cause with arms, 
And, countrymen, my loving followers, 
Plead my successive title with your swords : 
I am his first-born son, that was the last 
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; 
Then let my father's honours live in me, 
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 
Bos. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of 
my right, 
If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, 10 

Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
Keep then this passage to the Capitol 
And suffer not dishonour to approach 
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
To justice, continence and nobility; 
But let desert in pure election shine, 
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 

Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the 

crown. 
Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and by 
friends 
Ambitiously for rule and empery, 
Know that the people of Rome, for whom we 
stand 20 

A special party, have, by common voice, 
In election for the Roman empery, 
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius 
P'or many good and great deserts to Rome : 
A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
Lives not this day within the city walls : 
He by the senate is accited home 



From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 

That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 

Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. 

Ten years are spent since first he undertook 31 

This cause of Rome and chastised with arms 

Our enemies' pride : five times he hath return'd 

Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 

In coffins from the field ; 

And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, 

Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 

Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 

Let us entreat, by honour of his name, 

Whom worthily you would have now succeed, 40 

And in the Capitol and senate's right, 

Whom you pretend to honour and adore, 

That you withdraw you and abate your strength; 

Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, 

Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my 
thoughts ! 

Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy 
In thy uprightness and integrity, 
And so I love and honour thee and thine, 
Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, 50 

And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, 
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, 
That I will here dismiss my loving friends, 
And to my fortunes and the people's favour 
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. 

[Exeunt the Followers of Bassianus. 

Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in 
my right, 
I thank you all and here dismiss you all, 
And to the love and favour of my country 
Commit myself, my person and the cause. 

[Exeunt the Followers of Saturninus. 
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me 60 

As I am confident and kind to thee. 
Open the gates, and let me in. 

Bas. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. 
[Flotirish. Satumimis and Bassianus go 
tip into the Capitol. 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



689 



Enter a Captain. 

Cap. Romans, make way : the good Andro- 
nicus, 
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, 
Successful in the battles that he fights, 
With honour and with fortune is return'd 
From where he circumscribed with his sword, 
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 

Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter Mar- 
tius and Mutius; after them, two Men 
bearing a coffin covered -with black; then 
Lucius and Quintus. After them, Titus 
Andronicus; and then Tamora, with Alar- 
bus, Demetrius, Chiron, Aaron, and other 
Goths, prisoners ; Soldiers and People follow- 
ing. The Bearers set down the coffin, and 
Titus speaks. 

Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning 
weeds ! 70 

Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, 
Returns with precious lading to the bay 
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, 
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, 
To re-salute his country with his tears, 
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. 
Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! 
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, 
Half of the number that King Priam had, 80 

Behold the poor remains, alive and dead ! 
These that survive let Rome reward with love ; 
These that I bring unto their latest home, 
With burial amongst their ancestors : 
Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my 

sword. 
Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, 
Why suffer' st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? 
Make way to lay them by their brethren. 

[ The tomb is opened. 
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 90 
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
O sacred receptacle of my joys, 
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, 
How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 
That thou wilt never render to me more ! 

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the 
Goths, 
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile 
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, 
Before this earthy prison of their bones ; 
That so the shadows be not unappeased, 100 

Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. 

Tit. I give him you, the noblest that survives, 
The eldest son of this distressed queen. 

Tain. Stay, Roman brethren ! Gracious con- 
queror, 
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
O, think my son to be as dear to me ! 
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, 
To beautify thy triumphs and return, no 

Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, 
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, 
For valiant doings in their country's cause? 
O, if to fight for king and commonweal 



Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 
Draw near them then in being merciful : 
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge : 
Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 120 

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. 
These are their brethren, whom you Goths be- 
held 
Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain 
Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, 
To appease theirgroaning shadows that are gone. 

Luc. Away with him ! and make a fire straight ; 
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 
Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. 
[E.vcunt Lucius, Quintus, Martins, and 
Mutius, with Alar bus. 

Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety ! 130 

Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? 

Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive 
To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. 
Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal 
The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy 
With opportunity of sharp revenge 
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, 
May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths — 
When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen — 
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 141 

Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Marthts, and 
Mutius, with their swords bloody. 
Luc. See, lord and father, how we have per- 
form'd 
Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, 
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, 
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, 
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 

Tit. Let it be so ; and let Andronicus 
Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 

\_Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in 

the tomb. 

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; 150 

Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in 

rest, 
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
Here grow no damned grudges; here are no 

storms, 
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ! 

Enter Lavinia. 
Lav. In peace and honour live Lord Titus 

long; 
My noble lord and father, live in fame ! 
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears 
I render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 160 | 

And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, 
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome : 
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, 
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud ! 
Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly re 

served 
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! 
Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, 
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise ! 



•14 



6go 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act 



Enter, below, Marcus Andronicus and Tri- 
bunes; re-enter Saturninus and Bassianus, 
attended. 

Marc. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved 
brother, 
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! 170 

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother 
Marcus. 

Marc. And welcome, nephews, from suc- 
cessful wars, 
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame ! 
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
That in your country's service drew your swords : 
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, 
That hath aspired to Solon's happiness 
And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. 
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
Whose friend injustice thou hast ever been, 180 
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, 
This palliament of white and spotless hue ; 
And name thee in election for the empire, 
With these our late-deceased emperor's sons : 
Be candidatus then, and put it on, 
And help to set a head on headless Rome. 

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits 
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: 
What should I don this robe, and trouble you? 
Be chosen with proclamations to-day, igo 

To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, 
And set abroad new business for you all? 
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, 
And led my country's strength successfully, 
And buried one and twenty valiant sons, 
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, 
In right and service of their noble country: 
Give me a staff of honour for mine age, 
But not a sceptre to control the world : 
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 200 

Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the 
empery. 

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou 
tell? 

Tit. Patience, Prince Saturninus. 

Sat. Romans, do me right : 

Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them 

not 
Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. 
Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, 
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! 

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the 
good 
That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 

Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to 
thee 210 

The people's hearts, and wean them from them- 
selves. 

Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, 
But honour thee, and will do till I die: 
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
I will most thankful be r and thanks to men 
Of noble minds is honourable meed. 

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes 
here, 
I ask your voices and your suffrages : 
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? 

Tribunes. To gratify the good Andronicus, 220 
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
The people will accept whom he admits. 



Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit 
I make, 
That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope, 
Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, 
And ripen justice in this commonweal: 
Then, if you will elect by my advice, 
Crown him, and say ' Long-live our emperor !' 229 
Marc. With voices and applause of every sort, 
Patricians and plebeians, we create 
Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, 
And say ' Long live our Emperor Saturnine \\ 

[A long- flourish till they come down. 
Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
To us in our election this day, 
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, 
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: 
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
Thy name and honourable family, 
Lavinia will I make my empress, 240 

Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, 
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please 
thee ? 
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and in this 
match 
I hold me highly honour'd of your grace : 
And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, 
King and commander of our commonweal, 
The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate 
My sword, my chariot and my prisoners ; 
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : 250 
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, 
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! 
How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts 
Rome shall record, and when I do forget 
The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
Romans, forget your fealty to me. 

Tit. [To 'Tamora] Now, madam, are you 
prisoner to an emperor; 
To him that, for your honour and your state, 
Will use you nobly and your followers. 260 

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue 
That I would choose, were I to choose anew. 
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance : 
Though chance of war hath wrought this change 

of cheer, 
Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: 
Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
Daunt all your hopes : madam, he comforts you 
Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. 
Lavinia, you are not displeased with this ? 270 

Lav. Not I, my lord; sith true nobility 
Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let 
us go : 
Ransomless here we set our prisoners free : 
Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and 
drum. 

[Flourish. Saturninus courts Tamora 

in dumb show. 

Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is 

mine. [Seizing Lavinia. 

Tit. Flow, sir! are you in earnest then, my 

lord? 
Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal 
To do myself this reason and this right. 279 



Scene i.] 



TI T US A XDR ONIC US. 






Marc. ' Suum caique' is our Roman justice : 
This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 

Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 
Tit. Traitors, avaunt ! Where is the empe- 
ror's guard ? 
Treason, my lord ! Lavinia is surprised ! 
Sat. Surprised! by whom? 
Bas. By him that justly may 

Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 
[Exeunt Bassianus and Marcus with Lavinia. 
Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, 
And with my sword I'll keep this door sat":. 

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martins. 
Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her 

back. 
Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 
Tit. What, villain boy! 290 

Barr'st me my way in Rome? [Stabbing Mutius. 
Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! [Dies. 

[During the fray, Saturn i>ius, Tamora. 
Demetrius, Chiron and Aaron go out 
and re-enter, above. 

Re-enter Liens. 
Luc. My lord, you are unjust, and, more 

than so, 
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine ; 
My sons would never so dishonour me: 
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 

Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be 

his wife, 
That is another's lawful promised love. [Exit. 
Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her 

not, 
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 300 

I '11 trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; 
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, 
Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, 
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, 
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 
Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words 

are these? 
Sat. But go thy ways; go, give that chang- 
ing piece 309 
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword : 
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; 
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, 
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded 

heart. 
Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of 

Goths, 
That like the stately Phcebe 'mongst her nymphs 
Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, 
If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, 
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, 
And will create thee empress of Rome. 32c 

Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my 

choice? 
And here I swear by all the Roman gods, 
Sith priest and holy water are so near 
And tapers burn so bright and every thing 
In readiness for Hynicnaus stand, 
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
I lead espoused my bride along with me. 



Tain. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome 
I swear, 
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, 330 
She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 

Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, 
accompany 
Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, 
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, 
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: 
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 

[Exeunt all but Titus. 

Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. 
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? 340 

Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and 

M.\KTIUS. 

Marc. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast 
done ! 
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine, 
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
That hath dishonour'd all our family; 
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 

Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; I 
Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 

Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this 
tomb : 
This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
Which I have sumptuously re-edified: 
Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors 
Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : 
Bury him where you can ; he comes not here. 

Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you : 
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him ; 
He must be buried with his brechren. 

Quin. \ And shall, or him we will accom- 

Mart. \ pany. 

'Tit. ' And shall ! ' what villain was it spake 

that word? 
Quin. He that would vouch it in any place 
but here. 360 

Tit. What, would you bury him in my 

despite? 
Marc. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee 
To pardon Mutius and to bury him. 

Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon 
my crest, 
And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast 

wounded : 
My foes I do repute you every one ; 
So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. 

Mart. He is not with himself; let us with- 
draw. - 
Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 

[Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. 

Marc. Brother, for in that name doth nature 

plead, — 370 

Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature 

speak, — 
Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will 

speed. 
Mare. Renowned Titus, more than half my 

soul, — 
Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of 

us all, — 
Mare. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest. 



44—2 



692 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act i. 



That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. 

Thou art a Roman ; be not barbarous : 

The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax 

That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 380 

Did graciously plead for his funerals : 

Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, 

Be barr'd his entrance here. 

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise. 

The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, 
i To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome ! 
Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 

[Matins is put into the tojnb. 

Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with 
thy friends. 
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. 

All. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble 
Mutius ; 
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 390 

Marc. My lord, to step out of these dreary 
dumps, 
How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths 
Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? 

Tit. I know not, Marcus ; but I know it is : 
Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell : 
Is she not then beholding to the man 
That brought her for this high good turn so far? 
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 

Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, Saturninus 
attended, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, and 
Aaron; front the other, Bassianus, Lavinia,- 
and others. 

Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: 
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride ! 400 
Bos. And you of yours, my lord ! I say no 
more, 
Nor wish no less ; and so, I take my leave. 
Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have 
power, 
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 

Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, 
My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? 
But let the laws of Rome determine all; 
Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. 

Sat. 'Tis good, sir : you are very short with us ; 
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. 410 
Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, 
Answer I must and shall do with my life. 
Only thus much I give your grace to know : 
i By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
! This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, 
: Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd ; 
I That in the rescue of Lavinia 
With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath 
To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : 420 

Receive him, then, to favour, Saturnine, 
That hath express'd himself in all his deeds 
A father and a friend to thee and Rome. 

Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds : 
'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me. 
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, 
How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine ! 
Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; 430 

And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 

Sat. What, madam ! be dishonour'd openly, 
And basely put it up without revenge? 



Tarn. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome 

forfend 
I should be author to dishonour you ! 
But on mine honour dare I undertake 
For good Lord Titus' innocence in all ; 
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: 
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ; 
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 440 
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. 
[Aside to Sat.] My lord, be ruled by me, be won 

at last ; 
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 
You are but newly planted in your throne ; 
Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, 
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
And so supplant you for ingratitude, 
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, 
Yield at entreats; and then let me alone : 
I '11 find a day to massacre them all 450 

And raze their faction and their family, 
The cruel father and his traitorous sons, 
To whom I sued for my dear son's life, 
And make them know what 'tis to let a queen 
Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. 

Come, come, sweet emperor : come, Andronicus ; 
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath pre- 
vail'd. 459 

Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord : 
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. 

Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
A Roman now adopted happily, 
And must advise the emperor for his good. 
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; 
And let it be mine honour, good my lord, 
That I have reconciled your friends and you. 
For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
My word and promise to the emperor, 
That you will be more mild and tractable. 470 
And fear not, lords, and you, Lavinia ; 
By my advice, all humbled on your knees, 
You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 

Luc. We do, and vow to heaven and to his 
highness, 
That what we did was mildly as we might, 
Tendering our sister's honour and our own. 

Marc. That, on mine honour, here I doprotest. 

Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no more. 

Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all 
be friends : 479 

The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
I will not be denied : sweet heart, look back. 

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here, 
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
I do remit these young men's heinous faults : 
Stand up. 

Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 
I found a friend, and sure as death I swore 
I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. 490 
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 

Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty 
To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
With horn and hound we '11 give your grace bonjour. 

Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



Scene i.J 



TI T US A NDR ONIC US. 



693 



ACT II. 
Scene I. Rome. Before the palace. 
Enter Aaron. 
Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft, 
Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash ; 
Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. 
As when the golden sun salutes the morn, 
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
And overlooks the highest-peering hills ; 
So Tamora : 

Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, 10 

And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and tit thy thoughts, 
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, 
And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long 
Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains 
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes 
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts ! 
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
To wait upon this new-made empress. 20 

To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, 
This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, 
This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. 
Holloa! what storm is this? 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, braving. 

Dem. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit 
wants edge, 
And manners, to intrude where I am graced ; 
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all ; 
And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 30 
'Tis not the difference of a year or two 
Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate : 
I am as able and as fit as thou 
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace ; 
And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. 

Aar. \ Aside] Clubs, clubs! these lovers will 
not keep the peace. 

Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, un- 
advised, 
Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, 
Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? 
Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath 41 
Till you know better how to handle it. 

Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, 
Full wellshalt thou perceive how much I dare. 

Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave ? [ They draw. 

Aar. [Coming-forzuard] Why, how now. lords 1 
So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, 
And maintain such a quarrel openly? 
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge : 
I would not for a million of gold 
The cause were known to them it most concerns : 
Nor would your noble mother for much more 51 
Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. 
For shame, put up. 

Dem. Not I, till I have sheathed 

My rapier in his bosom and withal 
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat 
That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. 
' Chi. For that I am prepared and full resolved. 



Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy 

tongue, 
And with thy weapon nothing darest perform ! 

Aar. Away, I say ! 60 

Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, 
This petty brabble will undo us all. 
Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous 
It is to jet upon a prince's right? 
What, is Lavinia then become so loose, 
( )r Uassianus so degenerate, 

That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd 
Without controlment, justice, or revenge? 
Young lords, beware ! an should the empressknow 
Thisdiscord's ground, the music would not please. 

Chi. I care not, I, knewshe and all the world: 
I love Lavinia more than all the world. 

Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some 
meaner choice : 
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 

Aar. Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in 
Rome 
How furious and impatient they be, 
And cannot brook competitors in love? 
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
By this device. 

Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 

Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. So 

Aar. To achieve her ! how? 

Dem. Why makest thou it so strange? 

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. 
What, man ! more water glideth by the mill 
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is 
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know : 
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, 
Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. 

Aar. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus 
may. 90 

Dem. Then why should he despair that knows 
to court it 
With words, fair looks and liberality? 
What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, 
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? 

Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch 
or so 
Would serve your turns. 

Chi. Ay, so the turn were served. 

Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 

.-lei?: Would you had hit it too ! 

Then should not we be tired with this ado. 
Why, hark ye, hark ye ! and are you such fools 
To square for this? would it offend you, then, 100 
That both should speed? 

Chi. Faith, not me. 

Dem. Nor me, so I were one. 

Aar. For shame, be friends, and join for that 
you jar : 
'Tis policy and stratagem must do 
That you affect ; and so must you resolve, 
That what you cannot as you would achieve, 
You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
Take this of me : Lucrece was not more chaste 
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
A speedier course than lingering languishment 
Must we pursue, and I have found the path, m 
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; 
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: 
The forest walks are wide and spacious; 



694 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act h. 



And many unfrequented plots there are 
Fitted by kind for rape and villany : 
Single you thither then this dainty doe, 
And strike her home by force, if not by words : 
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit 
To villany and vengeance consecrate, 121 

Will we acquaint with all that we intend; 
And she shall file our engines with advice, 
That will not .suffer you to square yourselves, 
But to your wishes' height advance you both. 
The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, 
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears : 
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; 
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take 

your turns ; 
There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's 
eye, 130 

And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 

Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice, 
Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream 
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A forest near Rome. Horns and 
cry of hounds heard. 

Enter Titus Andronicus, -with Hunters, &c, 
Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 

Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and 
grey, 
The fields are fragrant and the woods are green : 
Uncouple here and let us make a bay 
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride 
And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal. 
That all the court may echo with the noise. 
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, 
To attend the emperor's person carefully: 
I have been troubled in my sleep this night, 
But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. 10 

A cry of hounds, and horns winded in a peal. 
Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Bassianus, La- 
vinia, Demetrius, Chiron, and Attendants. 

Many good morrows to your majesty; 
Madam, to you as many and as good : 
I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lord; 
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 
Bas. Lavinia, how say you ? 
Lav. I say, no ; 

I have been broad awake two hours and more. 
Sat. Come on, then ; horse and chariots let 
us have, 
And to our sport. [To Tamora] Madam, now 

shall ye see 
Our Roman hunting. 

Marc. I have dogs, my lord, 20 

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, 
And climb the highest promontory top. 

Tit. And I have horse will follow where the 
game 
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 
Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse 
nor hound, 
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. 

[Exetiut. 



Scene III. A lonely part of the forest. 

Enter Aaron, with a bag of gold. 
Aar. He that had wit would think that I had 
none, 
To bury so much gold under a tree, 
And never after to inherit it. 
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly 
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, 
Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
A very excellent piece of villany : 
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest 

[Hides the gold. 
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 

Enter Tamora. 

Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st 

thou sad, 10 

When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? 
The birds chant melody on every bush, 
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, 
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind 
And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground : 
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, 
And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, 
Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, 
As if a double hunt were heard at once, 
Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise ; 20 
And, after conflict such as was supposed 
The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, 
When with a happy storm they were surprised 
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, 
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; 
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious 

birds 
Be unto us as is a nurse's song 
Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. 
Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your 

desires, 30 

Saturn is dominator over mine : 
What signifies my deadly-standing eye, 
My silence and my cloudy melancholy, 
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls 
Even as an adder when she doth unroll 
To do some fatal execution? 
No, madam, these are no venereal signs : 
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, 
Blood and revenge ar^ hammering in my head. 
Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, 40 

Which never hopes more heaven than rests in 

thee, . 
This is the day of doom for Ba ;sianus : 
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, 
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity 
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. 
Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, 
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll. 
Now question me no more ; we are espied ; 
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, 
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 50 
Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me 

than life ! 
Aar. No more, great empress; Bassianus 

comes: 
Be cross with him ; and I '11 go fetch thy sons 
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit. 



Scene hi.] 



7 7 1 1 S A NDR ONIC US. 



695 



Enter Eassianus and Lavinia. 

Bas. Who have we here? Rome's royal em- 
press, 
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? 
Or is it Dian, habited like her, 
Who hath abandoned her holy groves 
To see the general hunting in this forest? 

Tain. Saucy controller of our private steps! 
Had I the power that some say Dian had, 61 
Thy temples should be planted presently 
With horns, as was Aclaeon's; and the hounds 
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 

Lav. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning ; 
And to be doubted that your Moor and you 
Are singled forth to try experiments : 
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day ! 
'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. 71 

Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cim- 
merian 
Doth make your honour of his body's hue, 
Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
Why are you sequester'd from all your train, 
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, 
And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, 
Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, 
If foul desire had not conducted you? 

Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, 80 
Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, 
And let her joy her raven-colour'd love ; 
This valley fits the purpose passing well. 

Bas. The king my brother shall have note of 
this. 

Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted 
long : 
Good king, to be so mightily abused ! 

Tajn. Why have I patience to endure all this? 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron. 
Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our 

gracious mother ! 
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? 
Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look 

pale? 91 

These two have 'ticed me hither to this place : 
A barren detested vale, you see it is; 
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe : 
Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds, 
Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven : 
And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, 
They told me, here, at dead time of the night, 
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, 100 
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, 
Would make such fearful and confused cries 
As any mortal body hearing it 
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
No sooner had they told this hellish tale, 
But straight they told me they would bind mc 

here 
Unto the body of a dismal yew, 
And leave me to this miserable death : 
And then they pall'd me foul adulteress, 
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms no 
That ever ear did hear to such effect : 
And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, 



This vengeance on me had they executed. 
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, 
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 
Don. This is a witness that I am thy son. 

\Stabs liassiajius. 

Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my 

strength. [A Iso stabs Bassianus, who dies. 

Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous 

Tamora, 

For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! 

Tain. Give me thy poniard; you shall know, 
my boys, 120 

Your mother's hand shall right your mothers 
wrong. 
Dem. Stay, madam; here is more belongs to 
her; 
First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw : 
This minion stood upon her chastity, 
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, 
t And with that painted hope braves your mighti- 
ness : 
And shall she carry this unto her grave? 

Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 1 
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 130 | 
Tarn. But when ye have the honey ye desire, 1 
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 

Chi. I warrant you, madam, we will make 
that sure. 
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy 
That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 

Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's 

face, — 
Taut. I will not hear her speak; away with 

her! 
Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a 

word. 
Don. Listen, fair madam : let it be your glory 
To see her tears ; but be your heart to them 140 
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach 
the dam? 
O, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee ; 
The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to 

marble ; 
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. 
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike : 
[To Chiron] Do thou entreat her show a woman 
pity. 
Chi. What, wouldst thou have me prove my- 
self a bastard? 
Lav. 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a 
lark: 
Yet have I heard, — O, could I find it now ! — 150 
The lion moved with pity did endure 
To have his princely paws pared all away : 
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, 
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: 
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful ! 

'Tain. I know not what it means; away with 

her! 
Lav. O, let me teach thee ! for my father's 
sake, 
That gave thee life, when well he might have 

slain thee, 
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. 160 

Tain. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, 
Even for his sake am I pitiless. 



696 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act ii. 



Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
To save your brother from, the sacrifice ; 
But fierce Andronicus would not relent: 
Therefore, away with her, aadmse her as you will, 
The worse to her, the better loved of me. 

Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, 
And with thine own hands kill me in this place ! 
For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; 170 
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. 

Tarn. What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, 

let me go. 
Lav. 'Tis present death I beg ; and one thing 
more 
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : 
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
And tumble me into some loathsome pit, 
Where never man's eye may behold my body : 
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 

Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their 
fee : 
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 180 

Dem. Away ! for thou hast stay'd us here too 

long. 
Lav. No grace ? no womanhood ? Ah, beastly 
creature ! 
The blot and enemy to our general name ! 
Confusion fall — 

Chi. Nay, then I '11 stop your mouth. Bring 
thou her husband : 
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 
[Demetrius throws the body of Bassianus into 
the pit; then exeu?it Demetrius arid Chi- 
ron, dragging off Lavinia. 
Tarn. Farewell, my sons : see that you make 
her sure. 
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, 
Till all the Andronici be made away. 
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 190 
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martws. 
Aar. Come on, my lords, the better foot be- 
fore: 
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit 
Where I espied the panther fast asleep. 

Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 
Mart. And mine, I promise you ; were 't not 
for shame, 
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 

[Falls into the pit. 
Quin. What, art thou fall'n? What subtle 
hole is this, 
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, 
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood 
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers? 
A very fatal place it seems to me. 
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ? 
Mart. O brother, with the dismall'st object 
hurt 
That ever eye with sight made heart lament ! 
Aar. [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find 
them here, 
That he thereby may give a likely guess 
How these were they that made away his bro- 
ther. [Exit. 
Mart. Why dost, not comfort me, and help 
me out 209 
From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? 



Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear : 
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints : 
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 

Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining 
heart, 
Aaron and thou look down into this den, 
And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 

Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compassionate 
heart 
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise : 
O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 220 

Was I a child to fear I know not what. 

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, 
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, 
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 

Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? 

Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, 
Which, like a taper in some monument, 
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
And shows the ragged entrails of the pit : 230 
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus 
When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. 

brother, help me with thy fainting hand — 
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath- — 
Out of this fell devouring receptacle, 

As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 

Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help 
thee out ; 
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 

1 may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb 

Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 240 

I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy 

help. 
Qtiin. Thy hand once more ; I will not loose 
again, 
Till thou art here aloft, or I below : 
Thou canst not come to me : I come to thee. 

[Falls in. 

Enter Saturninus with Aaron. 

Sat. Along with me : I '11 see what hole is here, 
And what he is that now is leap'd into it. 
Say, who art thou that lately didst descend 
Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; 
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 251 

To find thy brother Bar.sianus dead. 

Sat. My brother dead ! I know thou dost 
but jest: 
He and his lady both are at the lodge 
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ; 
'Tis not an hour since I left him there. 

Mart. We know not where you left him all 
alive ; 
But, out, alas ! here have we found him dead. 

Re-enter Tamora, with Attendants ; Titus 
Andronicus, and Lucius. 

Tarn. Where is my lord the king? 

Sat. Here, Tamora, though grieved with kill- 
ing grief. 260 

Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus? 

Sal. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
wound : 
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 

Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, 



Scene hi.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



697 



The complot of this timeless tragedy ; 

And wonder greatly that man's face can fold 

In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 

[She giveth Saturnine a letter. 
Sat. [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him 
handsomely — 
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean — 
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him : 270 
Thou know' st our meaning. Look for thy reward 
Among the nettles at the elder-tree 
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit 
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. 
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' 

Tamora ! was ever heard the like? 
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. 
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out 
That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of 
gold. 280 

Sat. [ To Titus] Two of thy whelps, fell curs 
of bloody kind, 
Have here bereft my brother of his life. 
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: 
There let them bide until we have devised 
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
Tarn. What, are they in this pit? O won- 
drous thing ! 
How easily murder is discovered ! 

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 

1 beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 290 
Accursed, if the fault be proved in them, — 

Sat. If it be proved ! you see it is apparent. 
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you.' 

Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 

Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail ; 
For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow 
They shall be ready at your highness' will 
To answer their suspicion with their lives. 

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them : see thou fol- 
low me. 
Some bring the murder'd body, some the mur- 
derers : 300 
Let them not speak a word ; the guilt is plain ; 
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
That end upon them should be executed. 

Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king : 
Fear not thy sons ; they shall do well enough. 

'Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk 
with them. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the Joj-cst. 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, 
ravished; her /lands cut off, and her tongue 
cut out. 

Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can | 
speak, 
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. 
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean- I 
ing so, 
An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. 
Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can 

scrowl. 
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash 

thy hands. 
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands 
to wash ; 
And so let's leave her to her silent walks. 



Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang 

myself. 
Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit 

the cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron. 

Enter Marcus. 
Mar. Who is this? my niece, that flies away 

so fast ! 1 1 

Cousin, a word ; where is your husband? 
If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake 

me ! 
If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! 
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare 
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, 
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to 

sleep in, 
And might not gain so great a happiness 20 

As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me? 
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, 
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, 
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, 
Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, 
And,lestthoushouldst detect him, cut thy : 
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame ! 
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, 
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, 30 
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face 
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? 
O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, 
That I might rail at him, to ease my mind '. 
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, 
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, 
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind : 
But,, lovely mece, that mean is cut from thee ; 40 
A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, 
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, 
That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
O, had the monster seen those lily hands 
Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute. 
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, 
He would not then have touch' d them for his life I 
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony 
Which that sweet tongue hath made, 
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep 
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. 51 

Come, let us go, and make thy father blind ; 
For such a sight will blind a father's eye : 
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ; 
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? 
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee : 
O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! 

[Exeunt. 1 
ACT III. 

Scene I. Rome. A street. 

Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with 
[US n>id QuiNTUS, bound, passing on to 
the place 0/ execution ; Titus going be/ore, 
pleading. 

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, 
stay ! 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dange- .us wars, whilst you securely slept : 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act hi. 



For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ; 
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; 
And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; 
Be pitiful to my condemned sons, 
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. 
For two and twenty sons I never wept, 10 

Because they died in honour's lofty bed. 

[Lieth down; the Judges, &c. pass by 
him, and Exeunt. 
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write 
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears : 
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; 
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and 

blush. 
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, 
That shall distil from these two ancient urns, 
Than youthful April shall with all his showers: 
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; 
In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow, 20 
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 

Enter Lucius,- -with his sword drawn. 
O reverend tribunes ! O gentle, aged men ! 
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; 
And let me say, that never wept before, 
My tears are now prevailing orators. 

Luc O noble father, you lament in vain: 
The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; 
And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. 

Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you, — 31 

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you 

speak. 
Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did 

hear, 
They would not mark me, or if they did mark, 
They would not pity me, yet plead I must; 

fAnd bootless unto them 

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
Who, though they cannot answer my distress, 
Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, 
For that they will not intercept my tale : 40 

When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
Receive my tears and seem to weep with me ; 
And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
A stone is soft as wax, — tribunes more hard than 

stones; 
A stone is silent, and offendeth not, 
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to 

death. [Rises. 

But wherefore stand' st thou with thy weapon 

drawn ? 
L uc. To rescue my two brothers from their 

death : 
For which attempt the judges have pronounced 
My everlasting doom of banishment. 51 

Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended thee. 
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive 
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? 
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey 
But me and mine : how happy art thou, then, 
From these devourers to be banished ! 
But who comes with our brother Marcus here? 

Enter Marcus and Lavinia. 
Marc. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep ; 



Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break : 60 

I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 

Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it, then. 

Marc. This was thy daughter. 

Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 

Luc. Ay me, this object kills me ! 

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon 
her. 
Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand 
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? 
What fool hath added water to the sea, 
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? 
My grief was at the height before thou earnest, 
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. 71 

Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ; 
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ; 
And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life ; 
In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
And they have served me to effectless use : 
Now all the service I require of them 
Is that the one will help to cut the other. 
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands ; 
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 80 

Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr' d 
thee? 

Marc. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, 
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, 
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, 
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear ! 

Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this 
deed? 

Marc. O, thus I found her, straying in the 
park, 
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer 
That hath received some unrecuring wound. 90 

Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her 
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead: 
For now I stand as one upon a rock 
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
This way to death my wretched sons are gone ; 
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man, 
And here my brother, weeping at my woes: 100 
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, 
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. 
Had 1 but seen thy picture in this plight, 
It would have madded me : what shall I do 
Now I behold thy lively body so? 
Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ; 
Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee : 
Thy husband he is dead ; and for his death 
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. 
Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! no 
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 

Marc. Perchance she weeps because they 
kill'd her husband ; 
Perchance because she knows them innocent. 

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be 
joyful, 
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 120 

Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 



SCE.XE I.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



C99 



Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 

And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain. 

Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 

How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, 

With miry slime left on them by a flood? 

And in the fountain shall we gaze so long 

Till the fresh taste he taken from that clearness, 

And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? 

Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? 130 

Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 

Pass the remainder of our hateful days? 

What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, 

Plot some device of further misery, 

To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at 
your grief, 
See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 

Marc. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry 
thine eyes. 

Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot 
Thy napkin cannot driifk a tear of mine, 140 

For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine 
own. 

Luc. Ah. my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 

Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her 
signs : 
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
That to her brother which I said to thee : 
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, 
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
O, what a sympathy of woe is this, 
As far from help as Limbo is from bliss ! 149 

Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 
Sends thee this word, — that, if thou love thy sons, 
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
Or any one of you, chop off your hand. 
And send it to the king: he for the same 
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive ; 
And that shall be the ransom for their fault. 

Tit. O gracious emperor ! O gentle Aaron ! 
Did ever raven sing so like a lark, 
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? 
With all my heart, I'll send the emperor 160 

My hand: 
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? 

Luc. Stay, father ! for that noble hand of thine, 
That hath thrown down so many enemies, 
Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn : 
My youth can better spare my blood than you ; 
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 

Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended 
Rome, 
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, 
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? 170 
O, none of both but are of high desert": 
My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve 
To ransom my two nephews from tin ir death; 
Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 

Aar. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go 
along. 
Fur fear they die before their pardon come. 

Marc. My hand shall go. 

Luc. By heaven, it shall not go ! 

Tit. Sirs, strive no more : such wither'd herbs 
as these 
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 



Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thv 
son, 1 8*0 

Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 
Marc. And, for our father's sake and mother's 
care, 
Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 

Tit. Agree between you; 1 will spare my hand. 
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. 
/'/arc. But I will use the axe. 

[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. 
Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I '11 deceive them 
both: 
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 
Aar. [Aside] If that be calfd deceit, I will be 
honest, 
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: 190 
But 1 '11 deceive you in another sort, 
And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. 

[Cuts off Titus's hand. 

Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS. 

Tit. Now stay your strife : what shall be is 
dispatch'd. 
Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : 
Tell him it was a hand that warded him 
From thousand dangers; bid him bury it; 
More hath it merited; that let it have. 
As for my sons, say I account of them 
As jewels purchased at an easy price; 199 

And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 

Aar. I go, Andronicus : and for thy hand 
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. 
[Aside] Their heads, I mean. O, how this 

villany 
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it ! 
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. 

Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: 
If any power pities wretched tears, 
To that I call ! [To Lav.] What, wilt thou kneel 
with me ? 210 

Do, then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear otir 

prayers ; 
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, 
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds 
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 

Marc. O brother, speak with possibilities, 
And do not break into these deep extremes. 

Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? 
Then be my passions bottomless with them. 

/fare. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 

Tit. If there were reason for these miseries. 
Then into limits could I bind my woes: 221 

When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth 

o'erflovv? 
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
1 hreatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? 
I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow ! 
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; 
Then must my earth with her continual tears 
Become a deluge, overflow^ and drown'd; 230 
For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, 
But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
Then give me leave, for losers will have leave 
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. ' 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act hi. 



Enter a Messenger, with two heads and 
a hand. 

Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
For that good hand thou sent 'st the emperor. 
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; 
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ; 
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd ; 
That woe is me to think upon thy woes 240 

More than remembrance of my father's death. 

{Exit. 
Marc. Now let hot /Etna cool in Sicily, 
And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
These miseries are more than may be borne. 
To weep with them that weep doth ease some 

deal; 
But sorrow flouted at is double death. 
Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep 
a wound, 
I And yet detested life not shrink thereat! 
j That ever death should let life bear his name, 249 
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 
[Lavinia kisses Titus. 
Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is com- 
fortless 
As frozen water to a starved snake. 

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have 

an end? 
Marc. Now, farewell, flattery : die, Andro- 
nicus ; 
Thou dost not slumber : see, thy two sons' heads, 
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here ; 
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight 
Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, 
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs : 260 
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight 
The closing up of our most wretched eyes : 
Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still? 
Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! 
Marc. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with 

this hour. 
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
And would usurp upon my watery eyes, 
j And make them blind with tributary tears : 270 
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? 
For these two heads do seem to speak to me, 
And threat me I shall never come to bliss 
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again 
Even in their throats that have committed them. 
Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
You heavy people, circle me about, 
That I may turn me to each one of you, 
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head ; 
And in this hand the other will I bear. 281 

Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd : these arms ! 
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy 

teeth. 
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight ; 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there : 
And, if you love me, as I think you do, 
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. _ 

[Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia. 

Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, 

; The wofull'st man that ever lived in Rome : 290 



Farewell, proud Rome ; till Lucius come again, 

He leaves his pledges dearer than his life : 

Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; 

O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been ! 

But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives 

But in oblivion and hateful griefs. 

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; 

And make proud Saturnine and his empress 

Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 

Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 300 

To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. 

Scene II. A roo7n in Tit?+s's house. A 
banqzcet set out. 

Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young 
Lucius, a Boy. 
Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no more 
Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot : 
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, 
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, 
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 10 

Then thus I thump it down. 
[To Lavinia.] Thou map of woe, that thus dost 

talk in signs ! 
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous 

beating, 
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; 
Or get some little knife between thy teeth, 
And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; 
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall 
May run into that sink, and soaking in 
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 20 
Marc. Fie, brother, fie ! teach her not thus 

to lay 
Such violent hands upon her tender life. 

Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote 

already ? 
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
What violent hands can she lay on her life? 
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; 
To bid yEneas tell the tale twice o'er, 
How Troy was burnt and he made miserable ? 
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, 
Lest we remember still that we have none. 30 
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, 
As if we should forget we had no hands, 
If Marcus did not name the word of hands! 
Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this: 
Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what she says; 
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; 
She says she drinks no othes.- drink but tears, 
Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her 

cheeks : 
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; 
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect 40 

As begging hermits in their holy prayers : 
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to 

heaven, 
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, 
But I of these will wrest an alphabet 
And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. 



Scene ii.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



701 



Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep 
laments: 
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 

Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, 
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 

Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made 
of tears, 50 

And tears will quickly melt thy life away. 

[Marcus strikes the dish with a Jot if c 

What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? 

Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; 

a fly. 
Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st my 
heart ; 
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: 
A deed of death done on the innocent 
Becomes not Titus' brother : get thee gone ; 
1 see thou art not for my company. 
Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and 
mother? 60 

How would he hang his slender gilded wings, 
And buzz lamenting doings in the air! 
Poor harmless fly, 

That, with his pretty buzzing melody, 
Came here to make us merry ! and thou hast 
kill'd him. 
Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill- 
favour'd fly, 
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. 

Tit. O, O, O, 
Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
For thou hast done a charitable deed. 70 

Give me thy knife, I will insult on him; 
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor 
Come hither purposely to poison me. — " 
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora 
Ah, sirrah! 

Yet, I think, we are not brought so low, 
But that between us we can kill a fly 
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought 
on him, 
He takes false shadows for true substances. 80 
Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me : 
I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee 
Sad stories chanced in the times of old. 
Come, boy, and go with me : thy sight is young, 
And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. Rone. Titus s garden. 
Enter young- Lucius, and Lavinia running 
after him, and the boy flies from her, -with 
books under his arm. Then enter Titus and 
Marcus. 

Young Luc. Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt 
Lavinia 
Follows me every where, I know not why : 
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes. 
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean 
Marc. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear 

thine aunt. 
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee 

harm. 
I 'oung Luc. Ay, when my father was in Rome 
she did. 



Marc. What means iny niece Lavinia' by 

these signs? 
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth 
she mean : 
See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee : 10 
Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
Read to her sons than she hath read to thee 
Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. 
Marc. Canst thou not guess wherefore she 

plies thee thus? 
Young Luc. My lord, I know not, I, nor can 
I gue>^. 
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her: 
F"i- L have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 20 

Ran mad through sorrow : that made me to fear ; 
Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
Loves me as dear as e'er my injther did, 
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : 
Which made me down to throw my books, 

and fly, — 
Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt: 
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
1 will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
Marc. Lucius, I will. 

[Lavinia turns over with her stumps the 
books -which Lucius has let fall. 
Tit. How now, Lavinia ! Marcus, what means 
this? 30 

Some book there is that she desires to see. 
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy. 
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd : 
Come, and take choice of all my library, 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. 
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? 
Marc. I think she means that there was more 
than one 
Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was: 
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 40 
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? 
Young Luc. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamor- 
phoses ; 
My mother gave it me. 

Marc. For love of her that's gone, 

Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 

Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the 
leaves ! | Helping her. 

What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? 
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape ; 
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 

Marc. See, brother, see ; note how she quotes 

the leaves. 50 

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet 

Ravish'd and wronff'd, as Philomela was, 

Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? 

See, see ! 

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt — 

O, had we never, never hunted there ! — 

Pattern' d by that the poet here describes, 

By nature made for murders and for rapes. 

Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a den. 
Unless the gods delight in tragedies? 60 

Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none 
but friends, 



702 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act iv. 



What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? 

Marc. Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit 
down by me. 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
Inspire me, that I may this treason find! 
My lord, look here : look here, Lavinia : 
This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, 
This after me. when I have writ my name 70 

Without the help of any hand at all. 

[He writes his name with ins staff, and guides 
it with feet and mouth. 
Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift ! 
Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at last, 
What God will have discover'd for revenge : 
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, 
That we may know the traitors and the truth ! 

[ She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides 
it with her stumps, and writes. 

Tit. O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath 
writ ? 
"Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.' 

Marc. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora 
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed? 80 

Tit. Magni Dominator poli, 
Tarn lentus audis scelera? tarn lentus vides? 

Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord; although! 
know 
There is enough written upon this earth 
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts 
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ; 
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope ; 
And swear with me, as, with the woful fere 
And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame, go 
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, 
That we will prosecute by good advice 
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 

Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how. 
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware : 
The dam will wake ; and, if she wind you once, 
She's with the lion deeply still in league, 
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, 
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. 100 
You are a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it alone; 
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, 
And with a gad of steel will write these words, 
And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad, 
And where 's your lesson, then? Boy, what say 
you? 

Young Luc. I say, my lord, thatif I were aman, 
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 

Marc. Ay, that's my boy ! thy father hath 
full oft no 

For his ungrateful country done the like. 

Young Lite. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. 

Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury ; 
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy, 
Shalt carry from me to the empress' sons 
Presents that I intend to send them both : 
Come, come; thou'ltdo thy message, wiltthou not? 

Young Luc. Ay, with my dagger in their 
bosoms, grandsire. 

Tit. No, boy, not so ; I '11 teach thee another 



Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house : 120 

Lucius and I '11 go brave it at the court : 

Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on. 

[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Young Luc. 
Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man 

groan, 
And not relent, or not compassion him? 
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, 
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart 
Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield ; 
But yet so just that he will not revenge. 
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus ! [Exit. 

Scene II. The same. A room in the palace. 

Enter, from one side, Aaron, Demetrius, and 
Chiron \ from the other side, young Lucius, 
and an Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, 
and verses writ upon thou. 
. Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; 
He hath some message tto deliver us. 
Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad 

grandfather. 
Young Luc. My lords, with all the humbleness 
I may, 
I greet your honours from Andronicus. 
[Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you 
both! 
Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius: what's the 

news ? 
Young Luc. [Aside] That you are both de- 
cipher'd, that's the news, 
For villains mark'dwith rape. — May it please you, 
My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me 10 
The goodliest weapons of his armoury 
To gratify your honourable youth, 
The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ; 
And so I do, and with his gifts present 
Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, 
You may be armed and appointed well : 
And so I leave you both: [Aside] like bloody 
villains. 

[Exeunt young Lucius and Attendant. 
Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written 
round about? 
Let's see : 

[Reads] 'Integer vitze, scelerisque purus, 20 
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu.' 
Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it well : 
I read it in the grammar long ago. 
Aar. Ay, just ; a verse in Horace ; right, you 
have it. 
[Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! 
Here's no sound jest! the old man hath found 

their guilt ; 
And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines, 
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. 
But were our witty empress well afoot, 
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit: 30 

But let her rest in her unrest awhile. 

And now, young lords, was't not a happy star 
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, 
Captives, to be advanced to this height? 
It did me good, before the palace gate 
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 

Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
Basely insinuate and send us gifts. 

Aar. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius? 



Scene ii.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Did you not use his daughter very friendly? 40 
Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman dames 
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
Chi. A charitable wish and full of love. 
Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say 

amen. 
Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand 

more. 
Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all thegods 
For our beloved mother in her pains. 

Aar. [Ast&e~\ Pray to the devils; the gods 
have given us over. 

[Trumpets sound within. 
Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish 

thus? 
Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 50 
Devi. Soft! who comes here.' 

Enter a Nurse, with a blackamoor Child in her 
arms. 
Nur. Good morrow, lords : 

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? 

Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all, 
Here Aaron is : and what with Aaron now? 

Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 

Aar. Why, whatacaterwaulingdost thoukecp! 

What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? 

Nur. O, thatwhich I would hide from heaven's 

eye, . 59 

Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace ! 

She is deliver'd, lords; she is deliver'd. 

Aar. To whom? 

Nur. I mean, she is brought a-bed. 

Aar. Well, God give her good rest ! What 

hath he sent her? 
Nur. A devil. 
Aar. Why, then she is the devil's dam; a 

joyful issue. 
Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful 
issue: 
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime: 
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 
Aar. 'Zounds, ye whore ! is black so base a hue ? 
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 
Don. Villain, what hast thou done? 
Aar. That which thou canst not undo. 
Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 
Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 
Dent. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast un- 
done. 
Woe to herchance, and damn'd her loathed choice ! 
Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend ! 

Chi. It shall not live. 80 

Aar. It shall not die. 

Nur. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so. 
Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I 
Do execution on my flesh and blood. 

Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's 
point : 
Nurse, give it me ; mysword shall soondispatch it. 
Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels 
up. 

{Takes the Child from the Nurse, 
and draws. 
Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your 
brother? 



Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, 

That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 90 

He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point 

That touches this my first-burn son and heir! 

I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 

With all his threatening band of Typhon's brood, 

Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 

Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 

What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 

Ye white-limed walls! ye alehouse painted signs ! 

Coal-black is better than another hue, 

In that it scorns to bear another hue ; 100 

For all the water in the ocean 

Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, 

Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 

Tell the empress from me, I am of ag~ 

To keep mine own, excuse it how she can. 

Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? 

Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this myself, 
The vigour and the picture of my youth: 
This before all the world do I prefer; 
This maugre all the world will I keep safe, no 
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 

Don. By this our mother is for ever shamed. 

Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. 

Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her 
death. 

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 

Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty 
bears : 
Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing 
The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
Here's a young lad framed of another leer: 
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father, 
As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.' 121 
He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed 
< )f that self-blood that first gave life to you, 
And from that womb where you imprison'd were 
He is enfranchised and come to light: 
Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, 
Although my seal be stamped in his face. 

Nur. Aaron, what shall 1 say unto the empress? ' 

Dem.. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, 
And we will all subscribe to thy advice : 130 

Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 

Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. 
My son and I will have the wind of you : 
Keep there : now talk at pleasure of your safety. 
[ They sit. 

Dein. How many women saw this child of his'.' 

Aar. Why, so, brave lords ! when we join in 
league, 
T am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor, 
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, 
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. 
But say, again, how many saw the child? 140 

Nur. Cornelia the midwife and myself: 
And no one else but the deliver'd empress. 

Aar. The empress, the midwife, and yourself: 
Two may keep counsel when the third's away : 
Go to the empress, tell her this I said. 

[ He kills the nurse. 
Weke, weke ! so cries a pig prepared to the spit. 

Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? wherefore 
didst thou this? 

Aar. Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy: 
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours, 
A long-tongued babbling gossip? no, lords, no: 
And now be it known to you my full intent. 151 



7°4 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act iv. 



Not far, one Muli lives, my countryman; 
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; 
His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, 
And tell them both the circumstance of all ; 
And how by this their child shall be advanced, 
And be received for the emperor's heir, 
And substituted in the place of mine, 
To calm this tempest whirling in the court; 160 
And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
Hark ye, lords; ye see. I have given her physic, 
[Pointing to the nurse. 
And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms : 
j This done, see that you take no longer days, 
! But send the midwife presently to me. 
The midwife and the nurse well made away, 
Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 

Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air 
With secrets. 

Bern. For this care of Tamora, 170 

Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. 

[Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing off the 
Nurse's body. 
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow 
flies ; 
I There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, 
j And secretly to greet the empress' friends. 

Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you 
hence ; 
j For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
J I '11 make you feed on berries and on roots, 
And ffeed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
And cabin in a cave, and bring you up 179 

I To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. 

Scene III. The same. A public place. 

Enter Titus, bearing arrows with letters at 
the ends of them ; with him, Marcus, young 
Lucius, Publius, Sempronius, Caius, and 
other Gentlemen, with bows. 
Tit. Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is 
the way. 
Sir boy, now let me see your archery ; 
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there 

straight. 
Terras Astrsea reliquit : 

Be youremember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she 'sfled. 
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets; 
Happily you may catch her in the sea ; 
Yet there 's as little justice as at land : 
No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 10 
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, 
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : 
Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
I pray you, deliver him this petition; 
Tell him, it is for justice and for aid, 
And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. 
Ah, Rome ! Well, well ; I made thee miserable 
What time I threw the people's suffrages 
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. 20 

Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all, 
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd : 
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence ; 
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
Marc. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, 



To see thy noble uncle thus distract? 

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us con 
cerns 
By day and night to attend him carefully, 
And feed his humour kindly as we may, 
Till time beget some careful remedy. 30 

Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 

Tit. Publius, how now ! how now, my masters ! 
What, have you met with her? 

Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you 
word, 
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall: 
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, 
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere 



else. 



40 



So that perforce you must needs stay a time 

Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. 
I '11 dive into the burning lake below, 
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. 
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, 
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size ; 
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, 
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can 

bear : 
And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, 
We will solicit heaven and move the gods 50 

To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs. 
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, 
Marcus ; [He gives them the arrows. 

'Ad Jovem,' that's for you: here, 'Ad Apolli- 

nem : ' 
'Ad Martem,' that's for myself: 
Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury: 
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine ; 
You were as good to shoot against the wind. 
To it, boy ! Marcus, loose when I bid. 
Of my word, I have written to effect ; 
There's not a god left unsolicited. 60 

Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the 
court : 
We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, 
well said, Lucius ! 
Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. 

Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ; 
Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 

Tit. Ha, ha ! 
Publius, Publius, wha f . hast thou done? 
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 

Marc. This was the sport, my lord : when 
Publius shot, 70 

The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock 
That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court ; 
And who should find them but the empress' vil- 
lain? 
She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not 

choose 
But give them to his master for a present. 

Tit. > Why, there it goes : God give his lord- 
ship joy ! 

Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons 

in it. 
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is 

come. 
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? 



Scene hi.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



705 



Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter? 79 

Clo. O, the gibbet-maker ! he says that he 
hath taken them down again, for the man must 
not be hanged till the next week. 

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? 
Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never 
drank with him in all my life. 

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? 
Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 
Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? 
Clo. From heaven ! alas, sir, I never came 
there : God forbid I should be so bold to press to 
heaven in my young days. Why, I am going 
with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up 
a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of 
the emperial's men. 

Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to 
serve for your oration ; and let him deliver the 
I pigeons to the emperor from you. 

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to 
the emperor with a grace? 

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace 
in all my life. ioi 

Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, 
But give your pigeons to the emperor : 
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
Hold, hold; meanwhile here's money for thy 

charges. 
Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a 
grace deliver a supplication? 
Clo. Ay, sir. 

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. 
And when you come to him, at the first approach 
you must kneel, then kiss his foot, then deliver 
up your pigeons, and then look for your reward. 
I'll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. 
Clo. I warrant you, sir, let me alone. 
Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? come, let me 
see it. 
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; 
For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant. 
And when thou hast given it the emperor, 
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 
Clo. God be with you, sir; I will. 120 

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, fol- 
low me. [Exennt. 

Scene IV. The same. Before tlie palace. 

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, 
Chiron, Lords, and others; Saturninus 
with the arrows in his hand that Titus shot. 
Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ! was 
ever seen 
An emperor in Rome thus overborne, 
Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent 
Of egal justice, used in such contempt? 
My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, 
However these disturbers of our peace 
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd, 
But even with law, against the wilful sons 
Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 10 

Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, 
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? 
And now he writes to heaven for his redress: 
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury; 
This to Apollo ; this to the god of war-, 
Sweet scrolls to flv about the streets of Rome J 



What's this but libelling against the senate, 

And blazoning our injustice every where? 

A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? 

As who would say, in Rome no justice were, jo : 

But if I live, his feigned ecstasies 

Shall be no shelter to these outrages: 

But he and his shall know that justice lives 

In Saturninus' health, whom, if she sleep, 

He'll so awake as she in fury shall 

Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. 

Tain. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, 
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 30 

Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarr'd his 

heart ; 
And rather comfort his distressed plight 
Than prosecute the meanest or the best 
For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall 

become 
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : 
But, Titus, I have touch 'd thee to the quick, 
Thy life-blood out : if Aaron now be wise, 
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. 

Enter Clown. 

How now, good fellow ! wouldst thou speak 

with us? 

Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be 

emperial. 40 

Ta;n. Empress I am, but yonder sits the 

emperor. 
Clo. 'Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give 
you good den : I have brought you a letter and a 
couple of pigeons here. 

[Saturninus reads the letter. 
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him pre- 
sently. 
Clo. How much money must I have? 
'Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hanged. 
Clo. Hanged ! by'r lady, then I have brought 
up a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. 

Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 50 
Shall I endure this monstrous villany? 
I know from whence this same device proceeds: 
May this be borne? — as if his traitorous sons, 
That died by law for murder of our brother, 
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully! 
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; 
Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege : 
For this proud mock I '11 be thy slaughter-man; 
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 60 

Enter JE.mi.ws. 

What news with thee, jEmilius? 

sEmil. Arm, arm, my lord; — Rome never had 
more cause. 
The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power 
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil, 
They hither march amain, under conduct 
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ; 
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
As much as ever Coriolanus did. 

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? 
These tidings nip me, and I hang the head 70 
As flowers with frost or grass beat down with 

storms : 
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach: 

45 



I 706 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



.[Act iv. 



'Tis he the common people love so much ; 
Myself hath often over-heard them say, 
When I have walked like a private man, 
I That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, 
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their 
emperor. 
Tarn. Why should you fear ? is not your city 

strong? 
Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, 
And will revolt from me to succour him. 80 

Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like 
thy name. 
I Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? 
The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
And is not careful what they mean thereby, 
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings 
He can at pleasure stint their melody: 
Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome. 
Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor, 
I will enchant the old Andronicus 
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep, 91 
When as the one is wounded with the bait, 
The other rotted with delicious feed. 

Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 
Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
For I can smooth and fill his aged ear 
With golden promises ; that, were his heart 
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. 
[To sSmilius] Go thou before, be our ambas- 
sador : 100 
Say that the emperor requests a parley 
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting 
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 
Sat. ^Emilius, do this message honourably : 
And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. 
/Emit. Your bidding shall I do effectually. 

_ [Exit. 
Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus, 
And temper him with all the art I have, 
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 11 1 
And bury all thy fear in my devices. 

Sat. Then go successantly, and plead to him. 
[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. Plains near Rome. 

Enter Lucius with an army of Goths, with 

drum and colours. 
Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful 
friends, 
I have received letters from great Rome, 
Which signify what hate they bear their emperor 
And how desirous of our sight they are. 
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, 
Imperious and impatient of your wrongs, 
And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, 
Let him make treble satisfaction. 
First Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great 
Andronicus, 
Whose name was once our terror, now our com- 
fort ; 10 
Whose high exploits and honourable deeds 
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, 



Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st, 
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day 
Led by their master to the flowered fields, 
And be avenged on cursed Tamora. 
All the Goths. And as he saith, so say we all 

with him. 
Lttc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you 
all. 
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? 

Enter a Goth, leading Aaron with his Child 
in his arms. 

Sec. Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops 
I stray'd 20 

To gaze upon a ruinous monastery : 
And, as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
I heard a child cry underneath a wall. 
I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
The crying babe controll'd with this discourse: 
' Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam ! 
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, 
Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, 
Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor : 30 
But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, 
They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
Peace, villain, peace ! ' — even thus he rates the 

babe,— 
' For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth ; 
Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe, 
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' 
With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, 
Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither, 
To use as you think needful of the man. 

Luc. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate 
devil 40 

That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand ; 
This is the pearl that pleased your empress' eye, 
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. 
Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey 
This growing image of thy fiend-iike face? 
Why dost not speak? what, deaf? not a word? 
A halter, soldiers ! hang him on this tree, 
And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 

Aar. Touch not the boy; he is of royal 
blood. 

Lite. Too like the sire for ever being good. 50 
First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ; 
A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
Get me a ladder. 

[A ladder brought , which Aaro7i is 
made to ascend. 

Aar. Lucius, save the child, 

And bear it from me to the empress. 
If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things, 
That highly may advantage thee to hear: 
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
I '11 speak no more but ' Vengeance rot you all !' 

Luc. Say on: an if it please me which thou 
speak'st, 
Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.6o 

Aar. An if it please thee! why, assure thee, 
Lucius, 
'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ; 
For I must talk of murders, rapes and massacres, 
Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
Complots of mischief, treason, villanies 
Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
And this shall all be buried by my death, 



Scene i. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



707 



J Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. 

Ltic. Tell on thy mind ; I say thy child shall 

live. 
Aar. Swear that he shall, and then I will 
begin. 70 

Luc. Who should I swear by? thou belie vest 
no god : 
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
Aar. What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not ; 
j Yet, for I know thou art religious 
] And hast a thing within thee called conscience, 
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, 
Which I have seen thee careful to observe, 
Therefore I urge thy oath ; for that I know 
An idiot holds his bauble for a god 79 

And keeps the oath which by that god he swears, 
To that 1 '11 urge him : therefore thou shalt vow 
By that same god, what god soe'er it be, 
That thou adorest and hast in reverence, 
To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up ; 
Or else I will discover nought to thee- 

Luc. Even by my god I swear to thee I will. 
Aar. First know thou, I begot him on the 

empress. 
Lvc. O most insatiate, luxurious woman! 
Aar. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of 
charity 
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 90 
'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus ; 
They cut thy sister's tongue and ravish'd her 
And cut her hands and trimm'd her as thou 
saw'st. 
Luc. O detestable villain ! call'st thou that 

trimming? 
Aar. Why, she was wash'd and cut and 
trimm'd, and 'twas 
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 
Luc. O barbarous, beastly villains, like thy- 
self! 
Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them : 
That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
As sure a card as ever won the set ; 100 

That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
As true a dog as ever fought at head. 
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole 
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay : 
I wrote the letter that thy father found 
And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, 
Confederate with the queen and her two sons : 
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? 110 
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand, 
And, when I had it, drew myself apart 
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter : 
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall 
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; 
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, 
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his : 
And when I told the empress of this sport, 
She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, 
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. 120 
First Goth. What, canst thou say all this, and 

never blush ? 
Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 
Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous 

deeds? 
Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand 
more. 



Even now I curse the day — and yet, I think, 
Few come within the compass of my curse — ■ 
Wherein 1 did not some notorious ill, 
As kill a man, or else devise his death, 
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, 
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself, 130 
Set deadly enmity between two friends, 
fMake poor men's cattle break their necks; 
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, 
And bid the owners quench them with their tears. 
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, 
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, 
Even when their sorrow.^ almost were forgot; 
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, 
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 
'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead. '140 
Tut, 1 have done a thousand dreadful things 
As willingly as one would kill a fly, 
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed 
But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 

Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he must not die 
So sweet a death as hanging presently. 

Aar. If there be devils, would I were a devil, 
To live and burn in everlasting fire, 
So I might have your company in hell, 
But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 150 

Ltic. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak 
no more. 

Enter a Goth. 
Third Goth. My lord, there is a messenger 
from Rome 
Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
Luc. Let him come near. 

Enter .^Emiliits. 
Welcome, TEmilius : what's the news from Rome? 
sEmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the 
Goths, 
The Roman emperor greets you all by me ; 
And, for he understands you are in arms, 
He craves a parley at your father's h 
Willing you to demand your hostages, 160 

And they shall be immediately delivered. 
First Goth. What says our general ; 
Luc. /Emilius, let the emperor give his 
pledges 
Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 
And we will come. March away. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Ro?ne. Before Titus's house. 

Enter Tamoka, Demetrius, and Chiron, dis- 
guised. 
Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
I will encounter with Andronicus, 
And say I am Revenge, sent from below 
To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. 
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, 
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ; 
Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, 
And work confusion on his enemies. 

• [ They knock. 

Enter Titus, a! 
Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? 
Is it your trick to make me ope the door, 10 

That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
And all my study be to no efl 



45-2 



708 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act v. 



You are deceived : for what I mean to do 
See here in bloody lines I have set down ; 
And what is written shall be executed. 

Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. 

Tit. No, not a word; how can I grace my 
talk, 
Wanting a hand to give it action? 
Thou hast the odds of me ; therefore no more. 

Tarn. If thou didst know me, thou wouldest 
talk with me. 20 

. Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
Witness this wretched stump, witness these crim- 
son lines ; 
Witness these trenches made by grief and care; 
Witness the tiring day and heavy night; 
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora : 
Is not thy coming for my other hand? 

Tarn. Know, thou sad man, I am not Tamora ; 
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend : 
I am Revenge ; sent from the infernal kingdom, 30 
To ease thegnawing vulture of thy mind, 
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light ; 
Confer with me of murder and of death : 
There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place. 
No vast obscurity or misty vale, 
Where bloody murder or detested rape 
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ; 
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, 
Revenge, which makes the foul offenders quake. 

Tit. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent 
to me, 4 1 

To be a torment to mine enemies? 

Tarn. I am ; therefore come down, and wel- 
come me 

Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands; 
Now give some surance that thou art Revenge, 
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels ; 
And then I'll come and be thy waggoner, 
And whirl along with thee about the globe. _ 
Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, 50 
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
And find out murderers in their guilty caves : 
And when thy car is loaden with their heads. 
I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel 
Trot, like a servile footman, all day long, 
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east 
Until his very downfall in the sea : 
And day by day I'll do this heavy task, 
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 

Tarn. These are'my ministers, and come with 
me. £0 

Tit. Are these thy ministers? what are they 
call'd? 

Tarn. Rapine and Murder ; therefore called so, 
Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 

Tit. Good Lord, how like the empress' sons 
they are ! 
And you, the empress ! but we worldly men 
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 

sweet Reverfge, now do I come to thee ; 
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, 

1 will embrace thee in it by and by. [Exit above. 

Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy : 
Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits, 71 
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, 
For now he firmly takes me for Revenge ; 



And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
I'll make him send for Lucius his son; 
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
I'll find some cunning practice out of hand, 
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
Or, at the least, make them his enemies. 
See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. 

Enter Titus below. 

Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for 
thee : 81 

Welcome, dread Fur}% to my woful house : 
Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. 
How like the empress and her sons you are! 
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor : 
Could not all hell afford you such a devil? 
For well I wot the empress never wags 
But in her company there is a Moor; 
And, would you represent our queen aright, 
It were convenient you had such a devil: 90 

But welcome, as you are. What shall we do? 

Tarn. What wouldst thou have us do, Andro- 
nicus? 

De7ii. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. 

Chi. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, 
And I am sent to be revenged on him. 

Tam. Show me a thousand that have done 
thee wrong, 
And I will be revenged on them all. 

Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of 
Rome ; 
And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, 
Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. 100 
Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap 
To find another that is like to thee, 
Good Rapine, stab him ; he 's a ravisher. 
Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court 
There is a queen, attended by a Moor; 
Well mayst thou know her by thy own propor- 
tion, 
For up and down she doth resemble thee : 
I pray thee, do on them some violent death; 
They have been violent to me and mine. 

Tam. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this shall 
we do. no 

But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, 
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
And bid him come and banquet at thy house ; 
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
I will bring in the empress and her sons, 
The emperor himself and all thy foes ; 
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
What says Andronicus to this device? mo 

Tit. Marcus, my brother ! 'tis sad Titus calls. 

Enter Marcus. 
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; 
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths: 
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
Some of the chiefest princes' of the Goths; 
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are : 
Tell him the emperor and the empress too 
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. 
This do thou for my love ; and so let him, 
As he regards his aged father's life. 130 

Marc. This will I do, and soon return again. 

[Exit. 



Scene ii.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



709 



Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
And take my ministers along with me. 

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay 
with me ; 
Or else I'll call my brother back again, 
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 

Tam. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys ? 
will you bide with him, 
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor 
How [ have govern'd our determined jest? 
Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair. 
And tarry with him till I turn again. 141 

. Tit. [Aside] 1 know them all, though they 

suppose me mad, 
And will o'erreach them in their own devices: 
A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam ! 
Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure ; leave us 

here. 
Tam. Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now 
goes 
To lay a complot to betray thy foes. 

Tit. I know thou dost ; and, sweet Revenge, 

farewell. ■ [Exit Tamora. 

Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be em- 

ploy'd ? 
Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. 
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine ! 151 

Enter Publius and others. 
Pub. What is your will? 
Tit. Know you these two? 
Pub. The empress' sons, I take them, Chiron 
and Demetrius. 

Tit. Fie, Publius, fie ! thou art too much de- 
ceived : 
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name; 
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius. 
Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. 
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, 160 
And now I find it ; therefore bind them sure, 
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. [Exit. 
[Publhis, &c. lay hold on Chiro?i and 
Demetrius. 
Chi. Villains, forbear ! we are the empress' 

sons. 
Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- 
manded. 
Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a 

word. 
Is he sure bound? look that you bind them fast. 

Re-enter Titus, with Lavinta ; he bearing a 
knife, and she a basin. 

Tit. Come, come, Lavinia ; look, thy foes are 

bound. 
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ; 
Put let them hear what fearful words I utter. 
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! 170 

Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd 

with mud, 
This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
You kill'd her husband, and for that vile fault 
Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, 
My hand cut off and made a merry jest ; 
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more 

dear 
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity. 
Inhuman traitors, you constrain' d and forced. 



What would you say, if I should let you speak? 
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
Hark, wretches ! how I mean to martyr you. 181 
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, 
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps cloth hold 
The basin that receives your guilty blood. 
You know your mother means to feast with me, 
And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me ma 1 : 
Hark, villains ! I will grind your bones to dust 
And with your blood and it 1 '11 make a paste, 
And of the paste a coffin I will rear 
And make two pasties of your shameful heads, 190 
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, 
Like to the earth swallow her own increase. 
This is the feast that I have bid her to, 
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ; 
For worse than Philomel you used my daughter, 
And worse than Progne I will be revenged: 
And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, 
[He cuts J .heir throats. 
Receive the blood : and when that they are dead, 
Let me go grind their bones to powder small 
And with this hateful liquor temper it; 200 

And in that paste let their vile heads be baked. 
Come, come, be every one officious 
To make this banquet; which I wish may prove 
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
So, now bring them in, for I'll play the cook, 
And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 
[Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies. 

Scene III. Court of Titus's house. A banquet 
set out. 

Enter Lucius, Marcus, a?zd Goths, with 
Aaron prisoner. 

Luc. Uncle Marcus, since it is my father's mind 
That I repair to Rome, I am content. 

First Goth. And ours with thine, befall what 
fortune will. 

Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous 
Moor, 
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
Till he be brought unto the empress' face, 
For testimony of her foul proceedings : 
And see the ambush of our friends be strong; 
I fear the emperor means no good to us. 10 

Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, 
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 

Luc. Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave ! 
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. 
[Exeunt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish within. 
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 

Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with ./Emi- 
lius, Tribunes, Senators, and others. 

Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than 

one? 
Luc. What boots it thee to call thyself a sun? 
Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break 
the parle ; 
The^e quarrels must be quietly debated. 20 

The feast is ready, which the careful Titus 
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, 
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome : 



7 ic 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act v. 



Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your 
places. 
Sat. Marcus, we will. 
[Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at 

table. 

EnterTiTVS dressed like a Cook, Lavinia veiled, 
young Lucius, and others. Titus places the 
dishes on. the table. 

Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, 
dread queen ; 
Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; 
And welcome, all : although the cheer be poor, 
'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. 29 
Sat. Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus? 
Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well, 
To entertain your highness and your empress. 
Tarn. We are beholding to you, good Andro- 
nicus. 
Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you 
were. 
My lord the emperor, resolve me this : 
Was it well done of rash Virginius 
To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflower'd? 
Sat. It was, Andronicus. 

Tit. Your reason, mighty lord? 40 

Sat. Because the giri should not survive her 
shame, 
And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ; 
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, 
For me, most wretched, to perform the like. 
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 

[Kills Lavinia. 
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die ! 
Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and un- 
kind? 
Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made 
me blind. 
I am as woful as Virginius was, 50 

And have a thousand times more cause than he 
To do this outrage : and it is now done. 

Sat. What, was she ravish'd? tell who did the 

deed. 
Tit. Will't please you eat? will't please your 

highness feed? 
Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter 

thus? 
Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius : 
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue ; 
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. 
Sat. Go fetch them hither to us presently. 
Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that 
pie ; 60 

Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
'Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my knife's sharp point. 
IK ills Tawora. 
Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed ! 
[Kills Titus. 
Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed ? 
There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed ! 
[Kills Satuminns. A great tttlnult. 
Lucius, Marcus, and others go up 
into the balcony. 
Marc. You sad-faced men, people and sons of 
Rome, 
By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 



Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
O, let me teach you how to knit again 70 

This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, 
These broken limbs again into one body ; 
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, 
And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, 
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, 
Do shameful execution on herself. 
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
Grave witnesses of true experience, 
Cannot induce you to attend my words, 
[To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst 
our ancestor, 80 

When with his solemn tongue he did discourse 
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear 
The story of that baleful burning night 
When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's Troy, 
Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, 
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in 
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. 
My heart is not compact of flint nor steel; 
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, 
But floods of tears will drown my oratory, 90 

And break my very utterance, even in the time 
When it should move you to attend me most, 
Lending your kind commiseration. 
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale; 
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 

Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, 
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ; 
And they it were that ravished our sister: 99 

For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
Our father's tears despised, and basely cozen'd 
Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out, 
And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
Lastly, myself unkindly banished, 
The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; 
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, 
And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend. 
I am the turned forth, be it known to you, 
That have preserved her welfare in my blood ; no 
And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body. 
Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I ; 
My scars can witness, dumb although they are, 
That my report is just and full of truth. 
But, soft ! methinks I do digress too much, 
Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ; 
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 

Marc. Now is my turn to speak. Behold this 
child : 

[Pointing to the Child in the arms of an 
A ttenciant. 
Of this was Tamora delivered ; 120 

The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
Chief architect and plotter of these woes: 
The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
fAnd as he is, to witness this is true. 
Now judge what cause bad Titus to revenge 
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, 
Or more than any living man could bear. 
Now you have heard the truth, what say you, 

Romans ? 
Have we done aught amiss, — show us wherein, 
And, from the place where you behold us now, 
The poor remainder of Andronici 131 

Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, 



Scene hi.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



711 



And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, 
And make a mutual closure of our house. 
Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall, 
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 

sEmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of 
Rome, 
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
Lucius our emperor ; for well I know 
The common voice do cry it shall be so. 140 

All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal emperor! 

Marc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, 
[To Attendants, who go into the house. 
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
To be adjudged some direful slaughtering death, 
As punishment for his most wicked life. 

[Exeunt A ttendants. 

Lucius, Marcus, a>id the others descend. 

All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor ! 

Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans : may I govern so, 
! To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! 
\ But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, 
I For nature puts me to a heavy task : 150 

i Stand all aloof: but, uncle, draw you near, 
I To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk, 
j O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 

[Kissing Titus. 

! These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, 
The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, 
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
O, were the sum of these that I should pay 
j Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! 
Luc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn 
of us 160 

To melt in showers : thygrandsire loved thee well : 
Many a time he danced thee on his knee, 
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; 
Many a matter hath he told to thee, 
Meet and agreeing with thine infancy; 
In that respedl, then, like a loving child, 
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, 
1 Because kind nature doth require it so : 



Friends should associate friends in grief and woe : 
Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 170 
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
1 'oung Luc. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with 
all my heart 
Would I were dead, so you did live again ! 

Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; 
My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. 

R e-cntsr Attendants with Aakon. 

sl-lm. You sad Andronici, have done with woes: 
Give sentence on this execrable wretch, 
That hath been breeder of these dire events. 

Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish 
him: 179 

There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food: 
If any one relieves or pities him, 
For the offence he dies. This is our doom : 
Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth. 

Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury 
dumb? 

1 am no baby, I, that with base prayers 
I should repent the evils 1 have done : 
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did 
Would I perform, if I might have my will : 
If one good deed in all my life I did, 

I do repent it from my very soul. 190 

Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
hence, 
And give him burial in his father's grave : 
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith 
Be closed in our household's monument. 
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 
No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey: 
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity; 
And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 200 
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : 
Then, afterwards, to order well the state, 
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Escalus, prince of Verona. 

Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the 

prince. 
Montague,) heads of two houses at variance 
Capulet, J with each other. 
An old man, cousin to Capulet. 
Romeo, son to Montague. 
Mercutio, kinsman to the prince, and friend 

to Romeo. 
Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend 

to Romeo. 
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 



Friar Laurence, 



Franciscans. 



Friar John, ) 

Balthasar, servant to Romeo. 
Sampson, > _ ^ , 

Gregory 1 servants to Capulet. 



PROLOGUE. 



Two households, both alike in dignity, 

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 

A pair of star-cross' d lovers take their life; 
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows 

Do with their death bury their parents' strife. 
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, 

And the continuance of their parents' rage, 10 
Which, but their children's end, nought could 
remove, 

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ; 
The which if you with patient ears attend, 
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to 
mend. 

ACT I. 
Scene I. Verona. A public place. 

Enter Sampson and Gregory, of the house of 

Capulet, armed with swords and hicklers. 

Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry 
coals. 

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 

Sa?n. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. 

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out 
o' the collar. 

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague 
moves me. 10 

Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant is 
to stand : therefore, if thou art moved, thou 
runn'st away. 

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to 
stand : I will take the wall of any man or maid 
of Montague's. 



Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse. 

Abraham, servant to Montague. 

An Apothecary. 

Three Musicians. 

Page to Paris ; another Page ; an Officer. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 
Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 
Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women, j 
relations to both houses ; Maskers, Guards, 
Watchmen, and Attendants. 

Chorus. 

Scene: Verona: Mantzta. 



Gre. That shows thee a weak slave ; for the 
weakest goes to the wall. 

Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the 
weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : there- 
fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, 
and thrust his maids to the wall. 

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and 
us their men. 

Sa?n. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a 
tyrant : when I have fought with the men, I 
will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their 
heads. 

Gre. The heads of the maids ? 29 

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their 
maidenheads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 

Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. 

Sam. Me they shall feel while I am able 
to stand : and 'tis known I am a pretty piece 
of flesh. 

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish ; if thou hadst, 
thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here 
comes two of the house of the Montagues. 

Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I 
will back thee. 40 

Gre. How ! turn thy back and run? 

Sam. Fear me not. 

Gre. No, marry ; I fear thee ! 

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let 
them begin. > 

Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them 
take it as they list. 

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my 
thumb at them ; which is a disgrace to them, if 
they bear it. 50 

Enter Abraham and Balthasar. 
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
Sam. [Aside to Gre.] Is the law of our side, 
if I. say ay? 



Scene i. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



713 



Gre. No. 

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, 
sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. 

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 

Abr. Quarrel, sir! no, sir. 60 

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you : I serve as 
good a man as you. 

Abr. No better. 

Sam. Well, sir. 

Gre. Say 'better:' here comes one of my 
master's kinsmen. 

Sam. Yes, better, sir. 

Abr. You lie. 

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, re- 
member thy swashing blow. [They Jig/it. 70 

Enter Benvolio. 
Ben. Part, fools ! 
Put up your swords ; you know not what you do. 
[Beats down their swords. 

Enter Tybalt. 
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these 
heartless hinds? 
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy 
sword. 
Or manage it to part these men with me. 

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace ! I 
hate the word, 
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee : 
Have at thee, coward! [They fight. 

Enter several of both ho:ises, who join the 
fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs. 
First Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans ! strike ! 
beat them clown ! 80 

Down with the Capulets! down with the Mon- 
tagues ! 

Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady 
Capulet. 

Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long 

sword, ho! 
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! why call you 

for a sword? 
Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is 

come. 
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 

Enter Montague and Lady Montague. 
Mon. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, 

let me go. 
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek 

a foe. 

Enter Prince, with Attendants. 
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, — 
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you 
beasts, 90 

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
With purple fountains issuing from your veins, 
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, 
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. 
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, 
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, 



And made Verona's ancient citizens 
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 100 
To wield old partisans, in hands as old, 
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate : 
If ever you disturb our streets again, 
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
For this time, all the rest depart away : 
You, Capulet, shall go along with me : 
And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
To know our further pleasure in this case, 
To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. 
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart, no 
1 Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Mon- 
tague, and Benvolio. 

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new 
abroach ? 
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : 
I drew to part them : in the instant came 
The fiery Tybalt, with hi 1 ed. 

Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, 
He swung abuit his head and cut the winds, 
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: 119 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
Came more and more and^ fought on part and part, 
Till the prince came, who parted either part. 

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him 
to-day? 
Right glad I am he was not at this fray. 

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'dsun 
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; 
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore 
That westward rooteth from the city's side, 
So early walking did I see your son : 130 

Towards him I made, but he was ware of me 
And stole into the covert of the wood : 
I, measuring his affections by my own, 
That most are busied when they're most alone, 
Pursued my humour not pursuing his, 
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been 
seen, 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs ; 
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 140 

Should in the furthest east begin to draw 
The shady curtains, from Aurora's bed, 
Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
And private in his chamber pens himself, 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out 
And makes himself an artificial m 
Black and portentous must this humour prove, 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? 

Mon. 1 neither know it nor can learn of him. 

Ben. Have you importuned him by any means? 

Mon. Both by myself and many other friends: 
But he, his own affections' counsellor, 
Is to himself — I will not say how true — 
But to himself so secret and so close, 
So far from sounding and discovery, 
As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows 
grow, x 6o 

We would as willingly give cure as know. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act 



Enter Romeo. 

Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, 
step aside ; 
I '11 know his grievance, or be much denied. 

Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, 

To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. 

[Exeunt Montague and Lady. 

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Rom. Is the day so young? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Rom. Ay me ! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast? 

Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
hours? 

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes 
them short. 170 

Ben. In love? 

Rom. Out— 

Ben. Of love ? 

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! 

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled 
still, _ 
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
Where shall we dine ? O me ! What fray was 

here? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 180 

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. 
Why, then, O brawling love ! O loving hate ! 
O any thing, of nothing first create ! 
O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! 
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick 

health ! 
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ! 
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou not laugh? 

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 189 

Rom. Good heart, at what? 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, 
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
With more of thine : this love that thou hast 

shown 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; 
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
What is it else? a madness most discreet, 
A choking gall and a preserving sweet. 200 

Farewell, my coz. 

Ben. Soft ! I will go along ; 

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 

Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; 
This is not Romeo, he's some other where. 

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. 

Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? 

Ben. Groan ! why, no ; 

But sadly tell me who. 

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will : 
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill ! 
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 210 

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you 
loved. 

Rom. A right good mark-man ! And she 's 
fair I love. 



Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 

Rom. Well, in that hit you miss : she'll not be 
hit 
With Cupid's arrow ; she hath Dian's wit ; 
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, 
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
Nor ope her lap to saint seducing gold: 220 

O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, 
That when she dies with beauty dies her store. 

Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still 
live chaste? 

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes 
huge waste, 
For beauty starved with her severity 
Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, 
To merit bliss by making me despair : 
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow 
Do I live dead that live to tell it now. 230 

Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. 

Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to 
think. 

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
Examine other beauties. 

Rom. 'Tis the way 

To call hers exquisite, in question more : 
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows 
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; 
He that is strucken blind cannot forget 
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: 
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 240 

What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? 
Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget. 

Ben. I '11 pay that docf rine, or else die in debt. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A street. 
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. 

Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I, 
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, 
For men so old as we to keep the peace. 

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; 
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. 
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? 

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before : 
My child is yet a stranger in the world; 
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years ; 
Let two more summers wither in their pride, 10 
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers 
made. 

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early 
made. 
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
She is the hopeful lady of my earth : 
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
My will to her consent is but a part; 
An she agree, within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 20 

Whereto I have invited many a guest, 
Such as I love ; and you, among the store, 
One more, most welcome, makes my number 

more. 
At my poor house look to behold this night 



Scene ii.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



715 



Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven 

light: 
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel 
When well-apparell'd April on the heel 
Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Inherit at my house ; hear all, all see, 30 

And like her most whose merit most shall be : 
IWhich on more view, of many mine being one 
May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
Come, go with me. [To Serv., giving a paper.] 

Go, sirrah, trudge about 
Through fair Verona ; find those persons out 
Whose names are written there, and to them say, 
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 

[Exeunt Capulet a7id Paris. 
Serv. Find them out whose names arc written 
here! It is written, that the shoemaker should 
meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, 
the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his 
nets ; but I am sent to find those persons whose 
names are here writ, and can never find what 
names the writing person hath here writ. I 
must to the learned. — In good time. 

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. 
Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's 
burning, 

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; 
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; 

One desperate grief cures with another's lan- 
guish : 
Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 50 

And the rank poison of the old will die. 

Rem. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. 

Ben. For what, I pray thee? 

Rom. For your broken shin. 

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? 

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad- 
man is; 
Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
Whipp'd and tormented and — God-den, good 
fellow. 

Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you 
read? 

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60 

Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without I 
book : but, I pray, can you read any thing you 
see? 

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the lan- 
guage. 

Serv. Ye say honestly: rest you merry ! 

Rom. Stay, fellow; 1 can read. [Reads. 

'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; 
County Ansehne and his beauteous sisters; the 
lady widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio and 
his lovely nieces ; Mercutio and his brother Valen- 
tine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daugh- 
ters; my fair niece Rosaline ; Livia; Signior Va- 
lentioand his cousin Tybalt; Lucioand the lively 
Helena.' 
A fair assembly : whither should they come? 



Serv. 
Rom. 
Serv. 
Rom. 
Serv. 
Rom. 
before. 



Up. 

Whither? 

To supper ; to our house. 

Whose house? 

My master's. 80 

Indeed, I should have ask'd you that 



Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: my 
master is the great rich Capulet ; and if you be 
n it of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and 
crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry ! {Exit. 

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet*s 
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, 
With all the admired beauties of Verona : 
Go thither ; and. with unattainted eye, go 

Compare her face with some that I shall show, 
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to 
fires; 
And these, who often drown'd could never die, 

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. 

Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, 
Herself poised with herself in cither eye: 100 
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd 
Your lady's love against some other maid 
That I will show you shining at this feast, 
And she shall scant show well that now shows 
' best. 

Rom. I '11 go along, no such sight to be shown, 
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A roo77i in Captdefs Jtouse. 
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
La. Cap. Nurse, where 's my daughter? call 

her forth to me. 
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve 
year old, 
I bade her come. What, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! 
God forbid ! Where's this girl ? What, Juliet ! 

E?iter Juliet. 

Jul. How now ! who calls? 

Nurse. Your mother. 

Jul. Madam, I am here. 

What is your will? 

La. Cap. This is the matter: — Nurse, give 
leave awhile, 
We must talk in secret : — nurse, come back again ; 
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. 
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. 10 

Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 

La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, — 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but 

four, — 
She is not fourteen. How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide? 

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days. 

Nurse. Even or odd. of all days in the year, 
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. 
Susan and she — God rest all Christian souls! — 
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; 
She was too good for me : but, as I said, 20 

On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; 
That shall she, marry; I remember it well, 
'lis since the earthquake now eleven years; 
And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget it, — 
Of all the days of the year, upon that day: 
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall : 
My lord and you were then at Mantua: — 



716 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act 



Nay, I do bear a brain : — but, as I said, 

When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 30 

Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, 

To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug ! 

' Shake quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I 

trow, 
To bid me trudge: 

And since that time it is eleven years ; 
For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood, 
She could have run and waddled all about ; 
For even the day before, she broke her brow : 
And then my husband — God be with his soul ! 
A' was a merry man — took up the child : 40 

' Yea,' quoth he, ' dost thou fall upon thy face ? 
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit ; 
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, 
The pretty wretch left crying and said ' Ay.' 
To see, now, how a jest shall come about! 
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' 

quoth he; 
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said ' Ay.' 

La. Cap. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold 

thy peace. 
Nurse. Yes, madam : yet I cannot choose but 
laugh, 50 

To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' 
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone ; 
A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly : 
' Yea,' quoth my husband, ' fall'st upon thy face ? 
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age ; 
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' 
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, 

say I. 
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee 
to his grace ! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed : 
An I might live to see thee married once, 61 

I have my wish. 
La. Cap. Marry, that 'marry' is the very 
theme 
i I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married? 
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. 
Nurse. An honour ! were not I thine only 
nurse, 
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy 
teat. 
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger 
than you, 
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, 70 

Are made already mothers : by my count, 
I was your mother much upon these years 
That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man 
As all the world— why, he's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a 

flower. 
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very 

flower. 
La. Cap. What say you? can you love the 
gentleman? 
This night you shall behold him at our feast ; 80 
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face 
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 
Examine every married lineament 
And see how one another lends content, 



And what obscured in this fair volume lies 

Find written in the margent of his eyes. 

This precious book of love, this unbound lover, 

To beautify him, only lacks a cover: 

The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride 

For fair without the fair within to hide : qo 

That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, 

That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ; 

So shall you share all that he doth possess, 

By having him, making yourself no less. 

Nurse. No less! nay, bigger; women grow 
by men. 

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' 
love ? 

Jul. I '11 look to like, if looking liking move : 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye 
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper 
served up, you called, my young lady asked for, 
the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in 
extremity. I must hence to wait ; I beseech you, 
follow straight. 

La. Cap. We follow thee. [Exit Servant.] 

Juliet, the county stays. 
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy 
days. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A street. 

Enter P.omeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, ■with five 

or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. 

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our 
excuse ? 
Or shall we on without apology? 

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: 
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; 
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance : 
But let them measure us by what they will : 
We '11 measure them a measure, and be gone. 10 

Rom. Give me a torch: I am not for this 
ambling ; 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you 
dance. 

Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing 
shoes 
With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead 
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. 

Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, 
And soar with them above a common bound. 

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft 
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, 20 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: 
Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden 
love; 
Too great oppression for a tender thing. 

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, 
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. 

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with 
love ; 
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. 
Give me a case to put my visage in : 
A visor for a visor ! what care I 30 



Scene iv.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



717 



What curious eye doth quote deformities? 
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. 

Ben. Come, knock and enter ; and no sooner in 
But every man betake him to his legs. 

Rom. A torch for me : let wantons light of 
heart 
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, 
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase ; 
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. 
I The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 

Mer. Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's 
own word : 40 

, If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire 
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st 
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho ! 

Rom. Nay, that's not so. 

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay 

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
Take our good meaning, for our judgement sits 
Five times in that ere once in our five wits. 

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask ; 
But 'tis no wit to go. 

Mer. Why, may one ask? 

Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night. 

Mer. And so did I. 50 

Rom. Well, what was yours? 

Mer. That dreamers often lie. 

Ro?n. In bed asleep, while they do dream 
things true. 

Mer. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been 
with you. 
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep ; 
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, 
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, 60 

The traces of the smallest spider's web, 
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, 
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, 
Her waggoner a small givy-coated gnat, 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Prick' d from the lazy finger of a ma:d ; 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut 
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub. 
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. 
And in this state she gailops night by night 70 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of 

love ; 
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies 

straight, 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, 
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues. 
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted 

are: 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; 
And s imetime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail 
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Co 

Then dreams he of another benefice: 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 
An J then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
Of healths five-fathom deep ; and then anon 
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, 
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two 
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab 



That plats the manes of horses in the night, 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 90 
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes : 
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, 
That presses them and learns them first to bear, 
Making them women of good carriage: 
This is she — 

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ! 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams, 

Which are the children of an idle brain, 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, 

as thin of substance as the air 
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 101 

And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, 
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from 
ourselves ; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives 
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars 
Sh ill bitterly begin his fearful date 
With this night's revels and expire the term 
Of a despised life closed in my breast no 

By some vile forfeit of untimely death. 
But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
DirecT: my sail ! On, lusty gentlemen. 

Ben. Strike, drum. \Ex 

Scene V. A hail in Capulet's house. 

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen, with 
napkins. 

First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps 
not to ta*ce away? He shift a trencher? he scrape 
a trencher ! 

Sec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in 
one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 
'tis a foul thing. 

First Serv. Away with the joint-stools, re- 
move the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good 
thou, save me a piece of marchpane ; and, as thou 
lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone 
and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! 11 

Sec. Serv. Ay, boy, ready. 

First Serv. You are looked for and called for, 
ashed fir and sought for, in the great chamber. 

Sec. Serv. We cannot bi :re too. 

Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer 
liver take all. 

Enter Capulet, with Juliet and others 0/ his 
house, meeting the Guests and Maskers. 

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! ladies that have 

their toes 
Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. 
Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 20 

Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, 
She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye 

now? 
Welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day 
That I have worn a visor and could tell 
A whispering talc in a fair lady's car, 
S'cch as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis i 

gone : 
You are welcome, gentlemen ! Come, musicians, 

play. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act i. 



I A hall, a hall ! give room ! and foot it, girls. 

\_Music plays, and they dance. 
i More light, you knaves ; and turn the tables up, 
! And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. 
j Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 31 
I Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
j For you and I are past our dancing days : 
i How long is't now since last yourself and I 
j Were in a mask ? 

Sec. Cap. By 'r lad y, thirty years. 
Cap. What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so 
much : 
'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
Come pentecost as quickly as it will, 
Some five and twenty years ; and then we mask'd. 
Sec. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, 
sir ; 40 

His son is thirty. 

Cap. Will you tell me that? 

His son was but a ward two years ago. 
Rom. [To a Servitig?nan\ What lady is that, 
which doth enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight? 

Serv. I know not, sir. 

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn 
bright ! 
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear ; 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 50 
' As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 

The measure done, I '11 watch her place of stand, 
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. 
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight ! 
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague. 
Fetch me my rapier, boy. "What dares the slave 
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? 
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 60 

To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ! wherefore 

storm you so? 
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, 
A villain that is hither come in spite, 
To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
Cap. Young Romeo is it? 
Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; 
He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him 
To be a virtuous and well govern'd youth : 70 

I would not for the wealth of all the town 
Here in my house do him disparagement : 
Therefore be patient, take no note of him : 
It is my will, the which if thou respect, 
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, 
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest : 
I '11 not endure him. 

Cap. He shall be endured: 

What, goodman boy ! I say, he shall : go to ; 
Am I the master here, or you? go to. 80 

You'll not endure him! God shall mend my 

soul! 
You'll make a mutiny among my guests ! 
You will set cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man! 
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
Cap. Go to, go to ; 



You are a saucy boy : is't so, indeed? 

This trick may chance to scathe you, I know 

what: 
You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time. 
Well said, my hearts ! You are a princox ; go : 
Be quiet, or — More light, morelight ! Forshame ! 
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! 
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler 
meeting 91 

Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall 
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 
Rom. [To Juliet] If I profane with my un- 
worthiest hand 
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this : 
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too 
much, 
Which mannerly devotion shows in this; 100 
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do 
touch, 
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? 
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in 

prayer. 
Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands 
do; 
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 
Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for 

prayers' sake. 
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect 

I take. 
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. 
Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have 
took. no 

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly 
urged ! 
Give me my sin again. 
Jul. You kiss by the book. 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word 

with you. 
Rom. What is her mother? 
Nurse. Marry, bachelor, 

Her mother is the lady of the house, 
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous : 
I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her 
Shall have the chinks. 
Rom. Is she a Capulet? 

dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 120 
Ben. Away, be gone ; the sport is at the best. 
Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. 
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; 

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all ; 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night. 
More torches here ! Come on then, let's to bed. 
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: 

I '11 to my rest. 

[Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse. 
Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gen- 
tleman? 130 
Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 
Jul. What's he that now is going out of door? 
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. 
J id. What's he that follows there, that would 

not dance? 
Nurse. I know not. 



Scene v.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



719 



Jul. Go, ask his name : if he be married, 
My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
The only son of your great enemy. 

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate ! 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late 1 141 
Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 
That I must love a loathed enemy. 

Nurse. What's this? what's this? 

Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 

Of one I danced withal. [One calls within' Juliet' 

Nurse. Anon, anon ! 

Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. 

{Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, 

And young affection gapes to be his heir ; 
That fair for which love groan'd for and would 
die, 
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. 
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, 

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks, 
But to his foe supposed he must complain, 
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful 
hooks : 
Being held a foe, he may not have access 

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear ; 
And she as much in love, her means much less 11 

To meet her new-beloved any where : 
But passion lends them power, time means, to 
meet, 
i Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. {Exit. 

Scene I. A lane by the wall of Capulefs 
orchard. 
Enter Romeo. 
Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is 
here? 
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 
{He cli7iibs the wall, and leaps down within it. 

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! 

Mer. He is wise : 

And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. 

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard 
wall : 
Call, good Mercutio. 

Mer. Nay, I '11 conjure too. 

Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! 
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: 
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; 
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 
' dove ;' 10 

Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, 
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, 
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, 
When King Cophctua loved the beggar-maid ! 
! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he nioveth not; 
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. 
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, 
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, 
By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh 



And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 20 

That in thy likeness thou appear to us ! 

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 

Mer. This cannot anger him : 'twould anger 
him 
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle 
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 
Till she had laid it and conjured it down; 
That were some spite: my invocation 
Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name 
I conjure only but to raise ui> him. 

Come, he hath hid himself among these 
trees, 30 

To be consorted with the humorous night: 
Blind is his love and best befits the dark. 

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the 
mark. 
Now will he sit under a medlar tree, 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. 
O, Romeo, that she were, O, that she were 
An open et caitcra, thou a poperin pear! 
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: 40 

Come, shall we go? 

Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 

To seek him here that means not to be found. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene II. Capulet's orchard. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a 
wound. 

[Juliet appears above at a window. 
But, soft ! what light through yonder window 

breaks? 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
That thou her maid art far more fair than she: 
Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green 
And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off. 
It is my lady, O, it is my love! 10 

O, that she knew she were ! 

She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that 5 
Her eye discourses; I will answer it. 
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: 
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
What if her eyes were there, they in her head? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame those 

stars, 
As daylight doth a lamp ; her eyes in heaven 20 
Would through the airy region stream so bright 
That birds would sing and think it were nol 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Jul. Ay me ! 

Rom. She speaks : 

O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
As is a winged mess* ngor of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes 
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him 30 

When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds 



720 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act ii. 



And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou 
Romeo? 
Deny thy father and refuse thy name ; 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Rom. [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I 
speak at this? 

Jul. Tis but thy name that is my enemy ; 
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. 
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, 40 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
What's in a name? that which we call a rose 
By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
Retain that dear perfedtion which he owes 
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, 
And for that name which is no part of thee 
Take all myself. 

Rom. I take thee at thy word : 

Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptized ; 50 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou that thus bescreen'd 
in night 
So stumblest on my counsel ? 

Rom. By a name 

I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
Because it is an enemy to thee ; 
Had I it written, I would tear the word. 

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred 
words 
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound : 
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? 60 

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 

Jul. How earnest thou hither, tell me, and 
wherefore? 
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, 
And the place death, considering who thou art, 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 

Ro?n. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch 
these walls ; 
For stony limits cannot hold love out, 
And what love can do that dares love attempt ; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder 
thee. 70 

Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye 
Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee 
here. 

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from 
their sight ; 
And but thou love me, let them find me here : 
My life were better ended by their hate, 
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out 
this place? 

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to 
inquire ; 80 

He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on 
my face, * 

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek 



For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment ! 89 
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay, 
And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, 
Thou mayst prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, 
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
Or if thou chink'st I am too quickly won,. 
I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, 
So thou wilt woo ; but else, not for the world. 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, 
And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light : I 
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 100 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
But that thou overheard' st, ere I was ware, 
My true love's passion : therefore pardon me, 
And not impute this yielding to light love, 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops— 

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the incon- 
stant moon, 
That monthly changes in her circled orb, no 

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Rom. What shall I swear by? 

Jul. Do not swear at all ; 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
Which is the god of my idolatry, 
And I'll believe thee. 

Rom. If my heart's dear love — 

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in 
thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be 
Ere one can say ' It lightens.' Sweet, good night ! 
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 121 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we 

meet. 
Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy heart as that within my breast! 

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to- 
night? 

Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow 
for mine. 

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst re- 
quest it : 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what 
purpose, love? 130 

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 
The more I have, for both are infinite. 

[Ntirse calls within. 
I hear some noise within ; dear love, adieu ! 
Anon, good nurse ! Sweet Montague, be true. 
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit, aboz'e. 

Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I amafeard, 
Being in night, all this is but a dream, 140 

Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good 
night indeed. 



Scene ii.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



If that thy bent of love be honourable, 
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
By one that I '11 procure to come to thee, 
Where and what time thou wilt perform the 

rite; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I '11 lay 
And follow thee my lord throughout the world. 
Nurse. [ IVitliin] Madam ! 
Jul. I come, anon. — But if thou mean'st not 
well, 150 

I do beseech thee — 

Nurse. [IVithiu] Madam ! 
Jul. By and by, I come: — 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
To-morrow will I send. 

Rom. So thrive my soul — 

Jul. A thousand times good night ! 

{Exit, above. 
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want 
thy light. 
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their 

books, 
But love from love, toward school with heavy 
looks. [Retiring. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! O, for a falconer's 
voice, 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 160 

Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, 
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name : 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 

Jul. Romeo ! 

Rom. My dear? 

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow 

Shall I send to thee? 

Rom. At the hour of nine. 169 

Jul. I will not fail : 'tis twenty years till then. 
I I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 

Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand 
there, 
Remembering how I love thy company. 

Rom. Audi '1! still stay, to have thee still forget, 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. 'Tis almost morning ; I would have thee 
gone: 
And yet no further than a wanton's bird; 
Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 180 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 
So loving-jealous of his liberty. 

Rom. I would I were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I : 

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet 

sorrow, 
That I shall say good night till it be morrow. 

[Exit above. 

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in 

thy breast ! 

i Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! 

'Hence will 1 to my ghostly father's cell, 189 

His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 



Scene III. Friar Laurence's cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. 

Fri. L. The grey-eyed morn smiles on the 

frowning night, 
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of 

light, 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: 
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, 
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, 
1 must up-fill this osier cage of ours 
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. 
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; 
What is her burying grave that is her womb, 10 
And from her womb children of divers kind 
We sucking on her natural bosom find, 
Many for many virtues excellent, 
None but for some and yet all different. 
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live 
But to the earth some special good doth give, 
Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : 20 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; 
And vice sometimes by action dignified. 
Within the infant rind of this small flower 
Poison hath residence and medicine power : 
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each 

part; 
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
Two such opposed kings encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; 
And where the worser is predominant. 
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 30 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Good morrow, father. 

Fri. L. Benedicite! 

What early tongue so sweet salute ih me? 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
But where unbruised youth with unstuffd brain 
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth 

reign : 
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 
Thou art up-roused by some distemperature ; 40 
Or if not so, then here I hit it right, 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Rom. That last is true ; the sweeter rest was 
mine. 

Fri. L. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosa- 
line? 

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; 
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 

Fri. L. That's my good son: but where hast 
thou been, then? 

Rom. I '11 tell thee, ere thou ask it me . 
I have been feasting with mine enemy, 
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, 50 
That's by me wounded : both our remedies 
Within thy help and holy physic lies : 
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, 
My intercession likewise steads my foe. 



722 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act ii. 



Frl. L. Be plain, good son, and homely in 
thy drift ; 
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 

Ro)ii. Then plainly know my heart's dear love 
is set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 59 

And all combined, save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage : when and where and how 
We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, 
I '11 tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
That thou consent to marry us to-day. 

Fri. L. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is 
here ! 
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 
So soon forsaken ? young men's love then, lies 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline ! 70 
How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
To season love, that of it doth not taste ! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet : 
If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline r 
And art thou changed ? pronounce this sentence- 
then, 79 
Women may fall, when there 's no strength in men. 

Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 

Fri. L. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. L. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she whom I love 
now 
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow ; 
The other did not so. 

Fri L. O, she knew well. 

Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. 
But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 
In one respect I '11 thy assistant he ; 90 

For this alliance may so happy prove, 
To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 

Rom. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 

Fri. L. Wisely and slow ; they stumble that 
run fast. {Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A street. 
Enter Benvolio a?id Mercutio. 

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? 
Came he not home to-night? 

Beti. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 

Mer. Ah, that same pale hardhearted wench, 
that Rosaline, 
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write may answer a 
letter. 10 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, 
how he dares, being dared. 

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo ! he is already dead ; 
stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot 
thorough the ear with a love-song; the very pin 



of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt- 
shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? 

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. 
O, he is the courageous captain of complements. 
He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, 
distance, and proportion ; rests me his minim 
rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom : the 
very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duel- 
list ; a gentleman of the very first house, of the 
first and second cause : ah, the immortal passado ! 
the punto reverso ! the hai ! 

Ben. The what ? 

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting 
fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! ' By 
Jesu, a very good blade ! a very tall man ! a 
very good whore ! ' Why, is not this a lament- 
able thing, grandsire, that we should be thus 
afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion- 
mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much 
on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on 
the old bench? O, their bones, their bones ! 

Enter Romeo. 
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: 

flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! Now is he 
for the numbers that Petrarch flowedin : Laura to 
his lady was but a kitchen-wench ; marry, she 
had abetter love tobe-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy ; 
Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and 
harlots ; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the 
purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a 
French salutation to your French slop. You gave 
us the counterfeit fairly last night. 

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What coun- 
terfeit did I give you? 50 

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; can you not con- 
ceive ? 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
great ; and in such a case as mine a man may 
strain courtesy. 

Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as 
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 

Rom. Meaning, to court'sy. 

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 

Rom. A most courteous exposition. 60- 

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 

Rom. Pink for flower. 

Mer. Right. 

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 

Mer. Well said : follow me this jest now till 
thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single 
sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the 
wearing sole singular. 

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for 
the singleness ! 70 

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio ; my 
wits faint. 

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or 

1 '11 cry a match. 

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, 
I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose 
in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my 
whole five : was I with you there for the goose? 

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing 
when thou was not there for the goose. 80 

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 



Scene rv.l 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



723 



Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is 
a most sharp sauce. 

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet 
goose ? 

Mer. 0, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches 
from an inch narrow to an. ell broad ! 

Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' 
which added to the goose, proves thee far and 
wide a broad goose. 91 

Mer, Why, is not this better now than groan- 
ing for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou 
Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as 
well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like 
a ijreat natural, that runs lolling up and down to 
hide his bauble in a hole. 

Ben. Stop there, stop there. 

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale 
against the hair. 100 

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale 
large. 

Mer. O, thou art deceived ; I would have made 
it short : for I was come to the whole depth of my 
tale ; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument 
no longer. 

Rom. Here's goodly gear ! 

Efiier Nurse and Peter. 

Mer. A sail, a sail ! 

Ben. Two, two ; a shirt and a smock. 

Nurse. Peter! no 

Peter. Anon ! 

Nurse. My fan, Peter. 

Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face ; for her fan 's 
the fairer face. 

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 

Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Is it good den? 

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy 
hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. 119 

Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you ! 

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made 
for himself to mar. 

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ; 'for him- 
self to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you 
tell me where I may find the young Romeo? 

Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will 
be older when you have found him than he was 
when you sought him : I am the youngest of that 
name, for fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. 130 

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, 
i' faith ; wisely, wisely. 

Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confid- 
ence with you. 

Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 

Rom. What hast thou found? 

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a 
lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it 
be spent. [Sings. 140 

An old hare hoar. 
And an old hare hoar. 
Is very good meat in lent : 
But a hare that is hoar 
Is too much for a score, 
When it hoars ere it be spent. 
Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to 
dinner, thither. 

Rom. I will follow you. 



Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell, [sing- 
ing] 'lady, lady, lady.' 151 ' 
[Exeunt Mercutio and Poivolio. 

Nurse. Many, farewell! 1 pray you, sir, I 
what saucy merchant was this, that was so full 
of his ropery? 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear 
himself talk, and will speak more in a minute 
than he will stand to in a month. 

Nurse. An a' speak any thins against me. 
I'll take hiin down, an a' were lustier than he 
is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll 
find those that shall. Scurvy knave ! I an 
of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. 
And thou must stand by too, and suffer every 
knave to use me at his pleasure? 

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; 
if I had, my weapon should quickly have been 
out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as an- 
other man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, 
and the law on my side. 169 

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that 
every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! 
Pray you, sir, a word : and as I told you, my 
young lady bade me inquire you out; what she 
bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let 
me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's 
paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind 
of behaviour, as they say : for the gentlewoman 
is young; and, therefore, if you should deal 
double with her, truly it were an ill thing to 
be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak 
dealing. 1S1 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and 
mistress. I protest unto thee — 

Nurse. Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell 
her as much : Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful 
woman. 

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou 
dost not mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do pro- 
test ; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise 191 

Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; 
And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell 
Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. 

Rom. Go to ; I say you shall. 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall 
be there. 

Rom. And stav, good nurse, behind the abbey 
wall : 
Within this hour my man shall be with thee, 200 
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair : 
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 
Must be my convoy in the secret night. 
Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains; 
Farewell ; commend me to thy mistress. 

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee ! Hark 
you, sir. 

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? 

Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er 
hear say, 
Two may keep counsel, putting one away? 

Rom. I warrant thee, my man's as true 
as steel 210 

Nurse. Well, sir: my mistress is the sweetest 
lady — Lord, Lord I when 'twas a little prating 
thing: — O, there is a nobleman in town, one i 



Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard ; but she, 
good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, 
as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her 
that Paris is the properer man ; but, I '11 warrant 
you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout 
in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and 
Romeo begin both with a letter? 220 

Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with 
an R. 

Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name ; R 
is for the — No ; I know it begins with some other 
letter: — and she hath the prettiest sententious of 
it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you 
good to hear it. 

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo. ] 
Peter ! 230 

Pet. Anon ! 

Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before, and 
apace. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Cafadefs orchard. 
Enter Juliet. 
Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send 
the nurse ; 
In half an hour she promised to return. 
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. 
O, she is lame ! love's heralds should be thoughts, 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, 
Driving back shadows over louring hills : 
Therefore do nimble-pinion' d doves draw love, 
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve 10 
Is three long hours, yet she is not come. 
Had she affections and warm youthful blood, 
She would be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
My words would bandy her to my sweet love, 
And his to me : 

t But old folks, many feign as they were dead ; 
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
O God, she comes ! 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 

O honey nurse, what news? 
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. 
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. 
Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — O Lord, why 
look' st thou sad? 21 

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; 
If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news 
By playing it to me with so sour a face. 

Nurse. I am a-weary, give me leave awhile : 
Fie, how my bones ache ! what a jaunt have 
I had! 
Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I 
thy news. 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good 
nurse, speak. 
N?erse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay 
awhile ? 
Do you not see that I am out of breath? 30 

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou 
hast breath 
To say to me that thou art out of breath ? 
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay 
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; 



Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: 
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? 

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; 
you know not how to choose a man : Romeo ! no, 
not he ; though his face be better than any man's, 
yet his leg excels all men's ; and for a hand, and 
a foot, and a body, though they be not to be 
talked on, yet they are past compare : he is not 
the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as 
gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench ; serve 
God. What, have you dined at home? 

Jul. No, no : but all this did 1 know before. 
What says he of our marriage? what of that? 

Nurse. Lord, how my head aches ! what a 
head have I ! 
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 50 

My back o' t' other side, — O, my back, my 

back ! 
Beshrew your heart for sending me about, 
To catch my death with jaunting up and down ! 

Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says 
my love? 

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentle- 
man, and a courteous, and a kind, and a hand- 
some, and, I warrant, a virtuous, — Where is your 
mother? 

Jid. Where is my mother ! why, she is 
within ; 60 

Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest ! 
' Your love says, like an honest gentleman, 
Where is your mother?' 

Nurse. O God's lady dear ! 

Are you so hot ? marry, come up, I trow ; 
Is this the poultice for my aching bones? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jid. Here's such a coil! come, what says 
Romeo? 

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift 
to-day ? 

Jul. I have. 

Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Lau- 
rence' cell ; 70 
There stays a husband to make you a wife : 
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, 
They '11 be in scarlet straight at any news. 
Hie you to church; I must another way, 
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark; 
I am the drudge and toil in your delight, 
But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
Go ; I '11 to dinner ■ hie you to the cell. 

Jul. Hie to high fortune ! Honest nurse, 
farewell. [Exeunt. 80 

Scene VI. Friar Laurence's cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
Fri. L, So smile the heavens upon this 
holy act, 
That after hours with sorrow chide us not ! 

Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one short minute gives me in her sight : 
Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare ; 
It is enough I may but call her mine. 
Fri. L. These violent delights have violent 
ends 



SCEXE VI.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, 10 
Which as they kiss consume : the sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness 
And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter Juliet. 
Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint : 
A lover may bestride the gossamer 
That idles in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 20 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 
Fri. L. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, 

for us both. 
Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too 

much. 
Ron. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagined happiness that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in 
words, 30 

Brags of his substance, not of ornament: 
They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
But my true love is grown to such excess 
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. 
Fri. L. Come, come with me, and we will 
make short work ; 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone 
Till holy church incorporate two in one. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT Til. 

Scene I. A public place. 

Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and 
Servants. 

Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: 
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, 
And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl ; 
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood 
stirring. 

Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows that 
when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me 
his sword upon the table and says ' God send me 
no need of thee!' and by the operation of the 
second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed 
there is no need. 10 

Ben, Am I like such a fellow? 

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in 
1 thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved 
to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 

Ben. And what to? 

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should 
have none shortly, for one would kill the other. 
Thou ! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that 
hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, 
than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for 
cracking nuts, having no other reason but be- 
cause thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such 
an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy 
head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of 
meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as 
addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quar- 



relled with a man for coughing in the street, 
because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain 
asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a 
tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? 
with another, for tying his new shoes with old 
riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quar- 
relling ! 

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, 
any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for 
an hour and a quarter. 

Mer. The fee-simple ! O simple ! 

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 

Mer. By my heel, 1 care not. 39 

Enter Tybalt and others. 

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. 
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. 

Mer. Ami but one word with one of us? cou- 
ple it with something ; make it a word and a blow. 

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, 
sir, an you will give me occasion. 

Mer. Could you not take some occasion with- 
out giving? 

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, — 

Mer. Consort ! what, dost thou make us min- 
strels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear 
nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's 
that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort I 

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : 
Either withdraw unto some private place, 
And reason coldly of your grievances, 
Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us. 

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let 
them gaze ; 
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 

Enter Romeo. 

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes 
my man. 

Mer. But I '11 be hang'd, sir, if he wear your 
livery : 60 

Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; 
Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' 

Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford 
No better term than this, — thou art a villain. 

Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love 
thee 
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 
To such a greeting: villain am I none; 
Therefore farewell ; I see thou know'st mo not. 

Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me : therefore turn and draw. 

Rout. I do protest, I never injured thee, 71 
But love thee better than thou canst de> 
Till thou shalt know the reason of my 1 I 
And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender 
As dearly as my own, — he satisfied. 

Mer. calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! 
Alia stoccata carries it away. 
Tybalt, y>u rat-catcher, will you walk? 

Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? 79 

Mer. Good king of cits, nothing but one of 
your nine lives ; that I mean to make bold withal, 
and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the 
rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out 
of his pilcher by the ears ? make h.i->te, lest mine 
it your ears ere it be out. 

Tyb. i am f [Drawing. 

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 



726 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act hi. 



Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight. 

Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their wea- 
pons. 
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage ! 90 
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath 
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets : 
Hold, Tybalt ! good Mercutio ! 

[Tybalt under Romeo's arm stabs Mercutio, 
and files with his followers. 

Mer. I am hurt. 

A plague o' both your houses ! I am sped. 
Is he gone, and hath nothing? 

Ben. What, art thou hurt ? 

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 
'tis enough. 
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 
[Exit Page. 

Rom. Courage, man ; the hurt cannot be much. 

Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so 
wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill 
serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find 
me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for 
this world. A plague o' both your houses ! 
'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch 
a man to death ! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, 
that fights by the book of arithmetic ! Why the 
devil came you between us? I was hurt under 
your arm. 

Rom. I thought all for the best. 109 

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses ! 
They have made worms' meat of me : I have it, 
And soundly too : your houses ! 

[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. 

Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally. 
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd 
With Tybalt's slander, — Tybalt, that an hour 
Hath been my kinsman ! O sweet Juliet, 
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate 
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel ! __ 120 

Re-enter Benvolio. 
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio'sdead ! 
i That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, 
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 
Ro;n. This day's black fate on more days doth 
depend ; 
This but begins the woe, others must end. 
Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back 

again. 
Rom. Alive, in triumph ! and Mercutio slain ! 
j Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
j And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now ! 

Re-enter Tybalt. 

Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 130 
That late thou gavest me ; for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads, 
Staying for thine to keep him company : 
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort 
him here, 
Shalt with him hence. 

Rom. This shall determine that. 

[They fight; Tybalt falls. 

Ben. Romeo, away, be gone ! 
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. 



Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee 

death, 
If thou art taken : hence, be gone, away ! 140 
Rom. O, I am fortune's fool ! 
Ben. Why dost thou stay? 

[Exit Romeo. 

Enter Citizens, &c. 
First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mer- 
cutio? 
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? 
Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 
First Cit. Up, sir, go with me ; 

I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 

Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, 
their Wives, and others. 
Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this 

fray? 
Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 150 

La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's 
child ! 
O prince ! O cousin ! husband ! O, the blood 

is spilt 
Of my dear kinsman ! Prince, as thou art true, 
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. 

cousin, cousin ! 

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? 

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand 
did slay ; 
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal 
Your high displeasure : all this uttered 160 

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly 

bow'd, 
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, 
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, 
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud, 
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than 
his tongue, 170 

His agile arm beats down their fatal points, 
And 'twixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm 
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled ; 
But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, 
And to't they go like lightning, for, ere I 
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain, 
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. 
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 180 

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague ; 
Affection makes him false ; he speaks not true : 
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, 
And all those twenty could but kill one life. 

1 beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; 
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio ; 
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? 

Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's 

friend; . 189 

His fault concludes but what the law should end, 



Scene i.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



727 



The life of Tybalt. 

Prin. And for that offence 

Immediately we do exile him hence : 
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, 
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleed- 

ing; 
But I '11 amerce you with so strong a fine 
That you shali all repent the loss of mine : 
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; 
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: 
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, 
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 200 
Bear hence this body and attend our will: 
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Capulet's orchard. 
Enter Juliet. 
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a waggoner 
As Phaethon would whip you to the west, 
And bring in cloudy night immediately. 
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, 
tThat runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo 
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. 
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties ; or, if love be blind, 
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, 10 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: 
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, 
With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown 

bold, 
Think true love acted simple modesty. 
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in 

night; 
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. 
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black -brow'd 
night, 20 

Give me my Romeo ; and, when he shall die, 
Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
That all the world will be in love with night 
And pay no worship to the garish sun. 
O, I have bought the mansion of a love, 
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, 
Not yet enjoy'd : so tedious is this day 
As is the night before some festival 
To an impatient child that hath new robes 30 

And may not wear them. O, here comes my 

nurse, 
And she brings news; and every tongue that 

speaks 
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. 

Enter Nurse, with cords. 

Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? 

the cords 
That Romeo bid thee fetch ? 

Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 

[Throws them dawn, 
Jul. Ay me! what news? why dost tin. 11 

wring thy hands? 
Nurse. Ah, well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, ' 
dead ! 



We are undone, lady, we are undi 
Alack the day ! he 's gone, he 's kill'd, he 's dead ! 
J id. Can heaven be so envious 1 
Nurse. Romeo can, 40 

Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! 
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo ! 
Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment 
me thus? 
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' 
And that bare vowel ' [' shall poison more 
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
1 am not I, if there be such an I ; 
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' 
If he be slain, say ' I ' ; or if not, no: 50 

Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. 
Nurse. I saw the wound, 1 saw it with mine 
eyes, — 

e the mark ! — here on his manly breast : 
us corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub' d in blood, 
All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight 
Jul. O, break, my heart ! poor bankrupt, 
break at once ! 
To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty ! 
Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
And thou and Romeo press one heaw bier ! 60 
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend 1 
had! 
O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 

Jul. What storm is this that blows so con- 
trary? 
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? 
My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? 
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom ! 
For who is living, if those two are gone? 

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 

Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. 70 

Jul. O God ! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 

blood? 
Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day, it did ! 
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering 
face ! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? 
Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical! 
Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening Iamb! 
Despised substance of divinest sfa 
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
A damned saint, an honourable villain ! 

nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, 80 
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 

Tn morcal paradise of such sweet flesh? 
Was ever book containing such vile matter 
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ! 

Nurse. There's no trust, 

No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjured, 
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. 
Ah, where's my man? give :ne some aqua vitas : 
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me 

old. 
Shame come to Romeo! 

Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue 90 

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame: 
Upon his brow shame i-, ashamed ; 
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth. 

1 >. what !,im! 



7 28 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act hi. 



Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd 

your cousin ? 
Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my hus- 
band? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy 

name, 
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? 
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cou- 
sin ? ioo 
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband : 
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; 
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my 

husband : 
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
But, O, it presses to my memory, no 

Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished;' 
That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' 
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
Was woe enough, if it had ended there: 
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship 
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, 
Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' 
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, 119 

Which modern lamentation might have moved? 
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished !' 
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 
In that word's death; no words can that v/oe 

sound. 
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 
Nzirse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's 
corse : 
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. 
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears : mine 
shall be spent, 130 

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
Take up those cords : poor ropes, you are be- 
guiled, 
Both you and I ; for Romeo is exiled : 
He made you for a highway to my bed ; 
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
Come, cords, come, nurse ; I '11 to my wedding- 
bed; 
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! 

Nzirse. Hie to your chamber : I '11 find Romeo 
To comfort you : I wot well where he is. 
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: 140 
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 

Jul. O, find him ! give this ring to my true 
knight, 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. 

[E.reunt. 

Scene III. Friar Laurence's cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence. 

Fri. L. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou 
fearful man : 
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, 
And thou art wedded to calamity. 



Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's 
doom? 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
That I yet know not? 

Fri. L. Too familiar 

Is my dear son with such sour company : 
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 

Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's 
doom? 

Fri. L. A gentler judgement vanish'd from 
his lips, 10 

Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Rom. Ha, banishment ! be merciful, say 
'death;' 
For exile hath more terror in his look, 
Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' 

Fri. L. Hence from Verona art thou banished : 
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, 
And world's exile is death : then banished, 20 
Is death mis-term'd : calling death banishment, 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, 
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. L. O deadly sin! O rude unthankful- 
ness! 
Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince, 
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, 
And turn'd that black word death to banishment : 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is 
here, 
Where Juliet lives ; and every cat and dog 30 
And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
Live here in heaven and may look on her ; 
But Romeo may not: more validity, 
More honourable state, more courtship lives 
In carrion-flies than Romeo : they may seize 
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand 
And steal immortal blessing from her lips, 
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, 
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin ; 
But Romeo may not ; he is banished : 40 

Flies may do this, but I from this must fly : 
They are free men, but I am banished. 
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? 
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground 

knife, 
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, 
But 'banished' to kill me? — 'banished'? 
O friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
How-lings attend it : how hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, 50 

To mangle me with that word ' banished'? 

Fri. L. Thou fond mad man, hear me but 
speak a word. 

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 

Fri. L. I'll give thee armour to keep off that 
word ; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 
To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 

Rom. Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy ! 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, 
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. 60 



Scene hi.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



729 



Fri. L. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 
Rom. How should they, when that wise men 

have no eyes? 
Fri. L. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost 
not feel : 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
Doting like me and like me banished, 
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou 

tear thy hair, 
And fall upon the ground, as I do now, 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 70 

[Knocking within. 
Fri. L. Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, hide 

thyself. 
Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick 
groans, 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. 

I Knocking. 
Fri. L. Hark, how they knock ! Who 's there ? 
Romeo, arise : 
Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; 

I Knocking. 
Run to my study. F>y and by ! God's will, 
What simpleness is this! I come, I come ! 

[Knocking. 
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's 
your will? 
Nurse. [ Within} Let me come in, and you 
shall know my en and ; 
I come from Lady Juliet. 
Fri. L. Welcome, then. 80 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, 
Where is my lady's lord, where 's Romeo? 

Fri. L. There on the ground, with his own 
tears made drunk. 

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
Just in her case ! O woful sympathy ! 
Piteous predicament ! Even so lies she, 
Blubberingand weeping, weeping and blubbering. 
Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man : 
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; 
Why should you fall into so deep an O? 90 

Rom. Nurse ! 

Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir ! Well, death's the end 
of all. 

Ron. Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with 
her? 
Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain' d the childhood of our joy 
With blood removed but little from her own? 
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says 
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? 

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps 
and weeps; 
And now falls on her bed , and then starts up, 100 
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, 
And then down falls again. 

Rom. As if that name, 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun. 
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge! tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword. 

Fri. L. Hold thy desperate hand : 



Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast: m 

Unseemly woman in a seeming man ! 
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both ! 
Thou hast amazed me : by my holy order, 
I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
flast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? 
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 
By doing damned hate upon thyself? 
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and 

earth? 
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do 

meet 120 

In thee at once ; which thou at once wouldstlose. 
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy 

wit : 
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, 
And usest none in that true use indeed 
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: 
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
1 digressing from the valour of a man ; 
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, 
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish ; 
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 130 
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, 
Like powder in a skilless soldier's Bask, 
Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance, 
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 
What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive, 
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead ; 
There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee, 
But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art thou happy too : 
The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend 
And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 140 
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; 
Happiness courts thee in her best array ; 
But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, 
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: 
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: 
But look thou stay not till the watch be set, 
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 150 
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. 
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; 
And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto : 
Romeo is coining. 
Nurse. Lord, I could have stay'd here all 

the night 
To hear good counsel: O, what learning is 1 160 
My lord, 1 '11 tell my lady you will come. 
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to 

chide. 
Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, 

sir: 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 

[Exit. 
Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this ! 
Fri. L. Go hence ; good night ; and here 

stands all your state: 
Either be gone before the watch be set, 
Or by the break of day disguised from hence: 
S'jouni in Mantua: I'll find out your man, 



73° 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act hi. 



And he shall signify from time to time 170 

Every good hap to you that chances here : 
Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good night. 
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
Farewell. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Capulefs house. 
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. 

Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, 
That we have had no time to move our daughter : 
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, 
And so did I : — WelL, we were born to die. 
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: 
I promise you, but for your company, 
I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 

Par. These times of woe afford no time to 
woo. 
Madam, good night: commend me to your 
daughter. 

La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- 
morrow ; 10 
To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. 

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love : I think she will be ruled 
Tn all respects by me ; nay, more, I doubt it not. 
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; 
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ; 
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next — 
But, soft ! what day is this ? 

Par. Monday, my lord. 

Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is 
too soon, 
O' Thursday let it be : o' Thursday, tell her, 20 
She shall be married to this noble earh 
Will you be ready? do you like this haste? 
We'll keep no great ado, — a friend or two ; 
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
Being our kinsman, if we revel much : 
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, 
And there an end. But what say you to Thurs- 
day? 

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were 
to-morrow. 

Cap. Well, get you gone : o' Thursday be it, 
then. 30 

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, 
Prepare her, wife, .against this wedding-day. 
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho ! 
Afore me ! it is so very very late, 
That we may call it early by and by. 
Good night. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Capulet's orchard. 

E}iter Romeo and Juliet above, at the 
window. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree : 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. 10 



I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I : 
It is some meteor that the sun exhales, 
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
And light thee on thy way to Mantua : 
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. 

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I '11 say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; 20 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : 
I have more care to stay than will to go : 
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. 
How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is : hie hence, be gone, away ! 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune, 
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. 
Some say the lark makes sweet division ; 
This doth not so, for she divideth us : 30 

Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes; 
G, now I would they had changed voices too ! 
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, 
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. 
O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 

Rom. More light and light; more dark and 
dark our woes ! 

Enter Nurse, to the chatnber. 
Nurse. Madam ! 
Jul. Nurse? 

Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your 
chamber : 
The day is broke ; be wary, look about. [Exit. 40 
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life 

out. 
Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll 
descend. [He goeth down. 

Jtd. Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, hus- 
band, friend ! 
I must hear from thee every day in the hour, 
For in a minute there are many days : 
O, by this count I shall be much in years 
Ere I again behold my Romeo ! 

Rom. Farewell ! 
T will omit no opportunity 

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 50 
Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet 

again ? 
Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall 
serve 
For sweet discourses in our time to come. 

Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul ! 
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, 
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb : 
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. 

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you : 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu ! 

[Exit. 
Jul. O fortune, fortune ! all men call thee 
fickle : 60 

If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; 
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
But send him back. 
La. Cap. [ Within] Ho, daughter ! are you up? 
Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? 
Is she not down so late, or up so early? 
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? 



Scene v.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



73i 



Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ! 

Jul. Madam, I am not well. 

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 

death ? 70 

What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with 

tears? 
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him 

live ; 
Therefore, have done : some grief shows much of 

love : 
But much of grief shows still some want of wit. 
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not 
the friend 
Which you weep for. 

Jul. Feeling so the loss, 

J cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much 
for his death, 
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 80 
Jul. What villain, madam? 
La. Cap. That 5,ame villain, Romeo. 

Jul. [Aside] Villain and he be many miles 
asunder. — 
God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart ; 
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. 
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer 

lives. 
Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my 
hands : 
Would none but I might venge my cousin's death ! 
La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear 
thou not : 
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Man- 
tua, 
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, 
Shall give him such an unaccustora'd dram, 91 
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : 
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. 

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
With Romeo, till I behold him — dead — 
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd : 
Madam, if you could find out but a man 
To bear a poison, I would temper it ; 
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors 100 
To hear him named, and cannot come to him, 
To wreak the love I bore my cousin 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! 

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find 
such a man. 
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time : 
What are they, I beseech your ladyship? 

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful 
father, child ; 
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, 
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, no 

That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. 
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that '.' 
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thurs- 
day morn, 
The gallant, young and noble gentleman, 
The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, 
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. 
Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter 
too, 



He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed 
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 121 
I will not marry yet; and, whin 1 do, I swear, 
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, 
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed ! 
La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him 
so yourself, 
And see how he will take it at your hands. 

Enter Cafulkt and Nurse. 

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle 
dew ; 
But for the sunset of my brother's son 
It rains downright. 

How now ! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? 
Evermore showering? In one little body 131 
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; 
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, 
Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is, 
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, thy sighs; 
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, 
Without a sudden calm, will overset 
Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife ! 
Have you deliver'd to her our decree '.' 

La. Cap. Ay, sir ; but she will none, she gives 
you thanks. 140 

I would the fool were married to her grave ! 

Cap. Soft! take me with you, take me with 
3'ou, wife. 
How ! will she none ? doth she not give us thanks ? 
Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, 
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? 

Jul. Not proud, you have ; but thankful, that 
you have : 
Proud can I never be of what I hate : 
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. 

Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic ! What 

is this? 150 

'Proud,' and T thank you,' and 'I thank you 

m >t ; ' 
And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you. 
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, 
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, 
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, 
( )r 1 will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you bag- 
gape ! 
You tallow-face ! 

La. Cap. ■ Fie, fie ! what, are you mad? 

Jul. Good father. I beseech you on my knees, 
Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 160 

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient 
wretch ! 
I tell thee what : get thee to church o' Thursday, 
Or never after look me in the face : 
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; 
My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us 

blest 
That God had lent us but this only child; 
But now I see this one is one too mu< h, 
And that we have a curse in having her : 
Out on her, hilding! 

Nurse. God in heaven bless her \ 

Vnii are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 170 

Cap. And why. :ny lady wisdom? hold your 
tongue, 



73 2 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act hi. 



Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips, go. 
Nurse. I speak no treason. 
Cap. O, God ye god-den. 

Nurse. May not one speak ? 
Cap. Peace, }'ou mumbling fool ! 

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; 
For here we need it not. 
La. Cap). You are too hot. 

Cap. t God's bread ! it makes me mad : 
tDay, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, 
Alone, in company, still my care hath been 179 
To have her match' d : and having now provided 
A gentleman of noble parentage, 
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
Stuff 'd, as they say, with honourable parts, 
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man ; 
And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, 
To answer ' I 'II not wed ; I cannot love, 
I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' 
But, an you will not wed, I '11 pardon you : 
Graze where you will, you shall not house with 
me : igo 

Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. 
Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise : 
An you be mine, I '11 give you to my friend ; 
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the 

streets, 
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, 
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
Trust tot, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. 

[Exit. 
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
That sees into the bottom of my grief? 
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 200 

Delay this marriage for a month, a week ; 
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a 
word: 
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. 
Jul. O God ! — O nurse, how shall this be pre- 
vented? 
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
How shall that faith return again to earth, 
Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. 210 
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise strata- 
gems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself! 
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? 
Some comfort, nurse. 

Nurse. Faith, here it is. 

Romeo is banish'd ; and all the world to nothing, 
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you ; 
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
I think it best you married with the county. 
O, he's a lovely gentleman ! 220 

Romeo's a dishclout to him : an eagle, madam, 
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye 
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
I think you are happy in this second match, 
For it excels your first : or if it did not, 
Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were. 
As living here and ycu no use of him. 
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart? 
Nurse. And from my soul too ; 

Or else beshrew them both. 



Jul. Amen ! 

Nurse. What? 

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvel- 
lous much. 230 
Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone, 
Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, 
To make confession and to be absolved. 

Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely done. 

[Exit. 

Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend ! 
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, 
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
Which she hath praised him with above compare 
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; 239 
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. 
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: 
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Friar Laurence^ cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 
Fri. L. On Thursday, sir? the time is very 

short. 
Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. 

Fri. L. You say you do not know the lady's 
mind: 
Uneven is the course, I like it not. 
Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's 
death, 
And therefore have I little talk'd of love; 
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, 10 
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, 
To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
Which, too much minded by herself alone, 
May be put from her by society : 
Now do you know the reason of this haste. 
Fri. L. [Aside] T would I knew not why it 
should be slow'd. 
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 

Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife ! 

Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 

Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday 
next. 20 

Jul. What must be shall be. 

Fri. L. That's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this father? 

Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. 

Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. 

Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. 

Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. 

Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, 
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 

Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abused with 
tears. 

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
For it was bad enough before their spite. 31 

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with 
that report. 

Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; 
And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slan- 
der d it. 



Scene i.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



733 



Jill. It may be so, for it is not mine own. 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass? 

Fri. L. My leisure serves me, pensive daugh- 
ter, now. 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 40 

Par. God shield I should disturb devotion ! 
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: 
Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. [Exit. 

Jul O, shut the door! and when thou hast 
done so, 
Come weep with me ; past hope, past cure, past 
help! 

Fri. L. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, 
On Thursday next be married to this county. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: 51 
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, 
Do thou but call my resolution wise, 
And with this knife I'll help it presently. 
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our 

hands ; 
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, 
Shall be the label to another deed, 
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 
Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Go 
Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 
Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that 
Which the commission of thy years and art 
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 
Be not so long to speak ; I long to die, 
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 

Fri. L. Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of 
hope, 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent. 70 
If, rather than to marry County Paris, 
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, 
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
That copest with death himself to scape from it ; 
And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 1 
From off the battlements of yonder tower; 
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; 
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 81 

O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, 
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; 
Or bid me go into a new-made grave 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me 

tremble ; 
And I will do it without fear or doubt, 
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri. L. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give 
consent 
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: 90 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone ; 
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber : 
Take thou this vial, being then in bed, 
And this distilled liquor drink thou off; 
When presently through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse 
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease : 



No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; 

The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 

To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, 100 

Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; 

Each part, deprived of supple government, 

Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: 

And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 

Thou shalt continue two and forty hours. 

And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 

Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes 

To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: 

Then, as the manner of our country is, 

In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier no 

Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault 

Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 

In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 

Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, 

And hither shall he come: and he and I 

Will watch thy waking, and that very night 

Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 

And this shall free thee from this present shame; 

If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 

Abate thy valour in the acting it. 120 

Jul. Give me, give me ! O, tell not me of fear ! 

Fri. L. Hold; get you gone, be strong and 
prosperous 
In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 

Jul. Love give me strength ! and strength shall 
help afford. 
Farewell, dear father ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Hall in Canute? s house. 

Enter Capvlkt, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and 
two Servingmen. 
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. 
[Exit First Servant. 
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning 

Sec. Serv. You shall nave none ill, sir; for I'll 
try if they can lick their ringers. 

Cap. How canst thou try them so? 
Sec. Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that 
cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that 
cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. 

Cap. Go, be gone. [Exit Sec. Servant, 

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. 10 
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? 
.Yurse. Ay, forsooth. 

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on 
her: 
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with 
merry look. 

Enter Jfi.iET. 

Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where have 
you been gadding? 

Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient opposition 
To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd 
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 20 

And beg your pardon : pardon, 1 beseech you! 
Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. 

Cap. Send for the county; go tell him of this: 
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 

Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell ; 
And gave him what becomed love 1 might, 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of mo 



734 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[A.CT IV. 



Cap. Why, I am glad on 't ; this is well : stand up: 
This is as 't should be. Let me see the county ; 
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. 30 
Now, afore God ! this reverend holy friar, 
All our whole city is much bound to him. 

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, 
To help me sort such needful ornaments 
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 

La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time 
enough. 

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church 
to-morrow. [Exewit Juliet a7id Nurse. 

La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision : 
'Tis now near night. 

Cap. Tush, I will stir about, 

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife : 
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her ; 41 

I'll not to bed to-night ; let me alone; 
I '11 play the housewife for this once. What, ho ! 
They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself 
To County Paris, to prepare him up 
Against to-morrow : my heart is wondrous light, 
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Juliet 's chamber. 
Enter Juliet and Nurse. 
Jul. Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle 
nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What, are you busy, ho? need you 
my help? 

Jul. No, madam ; we have cull'd such neces- 
saries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
So please you, let me now be left alone, 
And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 10 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
In this so sudden business. 

La. Cap. Good night : 

Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

Jul. Farewell! God knows when we shall 
meet again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
That almost freezes up the heat of life : 
I '11 call them back again to comfort me : 
Nurse ! What should she do here? 
My dismal scene I needs must a6l alone. 
Co'me, vial. 20 

What if this mixture do not work at all? _ 
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? 
No, no : this shall forbid it : lie thou there. 

[Laying down her dagger. 
What if it be a poison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister' d to have me dead, 
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, 
Because he married me before to Romeo ? 
I fear it is : and yet, methinks, it should not, 
For he hath still been tried a holy man. 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 30 

I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! 



Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? 
Or, if I live, is it not very like, 
The horrible conceit of death and night, 
Together with the terror of the place, — 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd : 41 

Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
Lies festering in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
At some hours in the night spirits resort ; — 
Alack, alack, is it not like that I, 
So early waking, what with loathsome smells, 
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, 
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad: — 
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, 
Environed with all these hideous fears? 50 

And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? 
O, look ! methinks I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
Upon a rapier's point : stay, Tybalt, stay ! 
Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 

[She falls 7ipon her bed, within the curtains. 

Scene IV. Hall in Capulet 's house. 
E7iter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch 

more spices, nurse. 
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the 
pastry. 

Enter Capulet. 
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
crow'd, 
The curfew- bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: 
Look to the baked meats, good Angelica : 
Spare not for cost. 

Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go, 

Get you to bed ; faith, you '11 be sick to-morrow 
For this night's watching. 

Cap. No, not a whit : what ! I have watch'd ere 
now 
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 10 
La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in 
your time ; 
But I will watch you from such watching now. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! 

Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, 
a?id baskets. 

Now, fellow, 
What's there? 
First Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I 

know not what. 
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit First 
Serr 1 .] Sirrah, fetch ".rier logs: 
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 
Sec. Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out 
logs, 
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 
Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! 
Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith,_ 'tis day: 
The county will be here with music straight, 21 



Scene iv.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



735 



For so he said he would : I hear him near. 

[Music within. 
Nurse ! Wife ! What, ho ! What, nurse, I say ! 

Re-enter Nurse. 
Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up ; 
I '11 go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste. 
Make haste ; the bridegroom he is come already: 
Make haste, I say. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Juliet's chamber. 

Enter Nurse. 
Nurse. Mistress ! what, mistress ! Juliet ! fast, 

I warrant her, she : 
Why, lamb ! why, lady ! fie, you slug-a-bed ! 
Why, love, I say ! madam ! sweet-heart ! why r 

bride ! 
What, not a word? you take your pennyworths 

now; 
Sleep for a week ; for the next night, I warrant, 
The County Paris hath set up his rest, 
That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, 
Many, and amen, how sound is she asleep ! 
I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! 
Ay, let the count}- take you in your bed ; 10 

He -'11 fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? 

[ i T ndraws the curtains. 
What, dress'd ! and in your clothes ! and down 

again ! 
I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady ! 
Alas, alas ! Help, help ! my lady's dead ! 
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! 
Some aqua vitae, ho ! My lord ! my lady ! 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What noise is here ? 

Nurse. O lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. What is the matter ? 

Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day ! 

La. Cap. O me, O me ! My child, my only life, 
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! 20 

Help, help! Call help. 

Enter Capi'let. 
Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord 

is come. 
Nurse. She's dead, deceased, she's dead; 

alack the day ! 
La. Cap. Alack the day, she 's dead, she 's dead, 

she 's dead ! 
Cap. Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's 
cold;_ 
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
Life and these lips have long been separated : 
Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
Nurse. O lamentable day ! ' 
La. Cap. Owofultime! 30 

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make 
me wail, 
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musi- 
cians. 

Fri. L . Come, is the bride ready to go to church? 

Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. 
O son ! the night before thy wedding-day 
Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies. 



Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir ; 
My daughter he hath wedded : I will die. 
And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. 40 

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's 
face, 
And doth it give me such a sight as this? 

La. Cap. Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hate- 
ful day ! 
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
But one thing to rejoice aud solace in, 
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight ! 

Nurse. O woe ! O woful, woful, woful day ! 
Most lamentable day, most woful day, 50 

That ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
O day ! O day ! O day ! O hateful day ! 
Never was seen so black a day as this : 
O woful day, O woful <1.:\ ! 

Par. Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, 
slain ! 
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, 
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown ! 
O love ! O life ! not life, but love in death ! 

Cap. Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, 
kill'd ! 
Uncomfortable time, why earnest thou now 60 
To murder, murder our solemnity? 
O child ! O child ! my soul, and not my child ! 
Dead art thou ! Alack ! my child is dead ; 
And with my child my joys are buried. 

Fri. L. Peace, ho, for shame ! confusion's cure 
lives not 
In these confusions. Heaven and j'ourself 
Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath all, 
And all the better is it for the maid : 
Your part in her you could not keep from death, 
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 70 

The most you sought was her promotion ; 
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced : 
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced 
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
O, in this love, you love your child so ill, 
That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
She's not well married that lives married long; 
But she's best married that dies married young. 
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, 80 

In all her best array bear her to church : 
For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 

Cap. All things that we ordained festival, 
Turn from their office to black funeral ; 
Our instruments to melancholy bells. 
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried o>r<c. 
And all things change them to the contrary. 90 

Fri. L. Sir, go you in ; and, madam, go with 
him; 
And go, Sir Paris ; every one prepare 
To follow this fair corse unto her grave : 
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill ; 
Move them no more by crossing their hij^h will. 
[Exeunt Caput, -i. Lady Capulet t 
Paris, and Friar. 

First Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes, 
and be gone. 



736 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act iv. 



Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up ; 
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. {Exit. 

First Miis. Ay, by my troth, the case may 
be amended. 101 

Enter Peter. 

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, ' Heart's ease, 
Heart's ease :' O, an you will have me live, play 
' Heart's ease.' 

First Miis. Why ' Heart's ease '? 

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself 
plays ' My heart is full of woe :' O, play me some 
merry dump, to comfort me. 

First Mus. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to 
play now. no 

Pet. You will not, then? 

First Mus. No. 

Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 

First Mus. What will you give us? 

Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek ; I 
will give you the minstrel. 

First Mus. Then will I give you the serving- 
creature. 

Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's 
dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : 
I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? 121 

First Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us. 

Sec. Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and 
put out your wit. 

Pet. Then have at you with my wit ! I will 
dry -beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron 
dagger. Answer me like men : 

' When griping grief the heart doth wound, 

And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
Then music with her silver sound'— 130 

why 'silver sound'? why ' music with her silver 
sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? 

First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a 
sweet sound. 

Pet. Pretty ! What say you, Hugh Rebeck ? 

Sec. Mus. I say 'silver sound,' because musi- 
cians sound for silver. 

Pet. Pretty too ! What say you, James Sound- 
post? _ 139 

Third Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. 

Pet. O, I cry you mercy ; you are the singer : 
I will say for you. It is ' music with her silver 
sound,' because musicians have no gold for sound- 
ing: 

'Then music with her silver sound 

With speedy help doth lend redress.' [Exit. 

First Mus. What a pestilent knave is this 
same! 

Sec. Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in 
here ; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Mantua. A street. 
Enter Romeo. 
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of 
sleep, 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead — 



Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to 

think !— 
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, 
That I revived, and was an emperor. 
Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd, 10 

When but love's shadows are so rich in joy ! 

Enter Balthasar, booted. 

News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ! 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? 
How doth my lady? Is my father well? 
How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; 
For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: 
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, co 

And presently took post to tell it you : 
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars ! 
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
And hire post-horses ; I will hence to-night. 

Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience : 
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush, thou art deceived: 

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. 30 

Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? 

Bal. No, my good lord. 

Rom. No matter : get thee gone, 

And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. 
[Exit Balthasar. 
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
I do remember an apothecary, — 
And hereabouts he dwells, — which late I noted 
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, 40 
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : 
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins 
Of ill-shaped fishes ; and about his shelves 
A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, 
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, 
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. 
Noting this penury, to myself I said 
'An if a man did need a poison now, 50 

Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' 
O, this same thought did but forerun my need; 
And this same needy man must sell it me. 
As I remember, this should be the house. 
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. 
What, ho ! apothecary ! 

Enter Apothe :ary. 

Ap. Who calls so loud? 

Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou art | 
poor: 
Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear Go 
As will disperse itself through all the veins 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead 
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath ! 



Scene i.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



As violently as hasty powder fired 

Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 

Ap. Such mortal drugs 1 have ; but Mantua's 
law- 
Is death to any he that utters them. 

Ron. Art thou so bare and full of wretched- 
ness, 
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, 
Need and op) i th in thine eyes, 70 

Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; 
The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; 
The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
'Then be not poof, but break it, and take this. 
My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

I Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, 
And drink it off; and, if you had the sti 
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. 
Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to men's 

Souls. 80 

Doing more murders in this loathsome world, 
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not 
sell. 

thee poison ; thou hast sold me none. 
11 : buy food, and get thyself in flesh, 
rdial and not poison., go with me 
To Juliet's grave ; for there must I use thee. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Friar Laurence's cell. 

Enter Friar John. 
Fri. J. Holy Franciscan friar 1 brother, ho ! 

Enter Friar Laurence. 

Fri. L. This same should be the voice of 
Friar John. 
Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? 
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 

Fri. y. Going to find a bare-foot brother out, 
One of our order, to associate me, 
Here in this city visiting the sick, 
And finding him, the searchers of the town, 
Suspecting that we both were in a house 
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 10 

Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth ; 
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 

Fri. L. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? 

Fri. J. I could not send it, — here it is again, — 
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
So fearful were they of infection. 

Fri. L. Unhappy fortune ! by my brother- 
hood, 
The letter was not nice but full of charge 
Of dear import, and the neglecting it 
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; 20 
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
Unto my cell. 

Fri. J. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. 

[Exit. 

Fri. L. Now must I to the monument alone ; 
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake: 
She will beshrew me much that Romeo 
Hath had no notice of these accidents; 
But I will write again to Mantua, 
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come ; 
Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb ! 

[Exit. 



Scene III. A churchyard; in it a tomb 
belonging to the Capulets. 

R titer Paris, and his Page bearing flowers 
and a torch. 

Par. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and 

it out, for T would not be seen. 
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, 
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; 

II no foot upon the churchyard tread, 
I'eing ioose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, 
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to 111c, 

! thai thou hear'st something approach. 
■ Bowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 
Page. [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand 
alone 10 

Here in the churchyard ; yet I will adventure. 

[Retires. 
Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal 
bed I strew, — 
( ) woe .' thy canopy is dust and stones ; — 
Which with sweet water nightly I wiil dew, 
Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by 
moans : 
The obsequies that I for thee will keep 
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. 
[ The ! 
The boy gives wanning something d 
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, 
l'o cross my obsequies and true love's rite? 20 
What, with a torch ! muffle me, night, awhile. 

[Retires. 

Enter Romeo and BALTHASAR, with a torch, 

mattock, &=c. 
Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrench- 
ing iron. 
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, 
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death, 
Is partly to behold my lady's face ; 29 

But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger 
A precious ring, a ring that I must-use 
In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone : 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
In what I further shall intend to do, 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint 
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs : 
The time and my intents are savage-wild, 
More fierce and more inexorable far 
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. 39 

Bat. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take 
thou that: 
Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good 
fellow. 
Bal. [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me 
hereabout: 
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. 

[Retires. 
Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of 
death, 
I with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, 



738 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act v. 



And, in despite, I '11 cram thee with more food ! 
[Opens the tomb. 
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Mon- 
tague, _ _ 49 
That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, 
It is supposed, the fair creature died ; 
And here is come to do some villanous shame 
To the dead bodies : I will apprehend him. 

[ Co mes forzva rd. 
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ! 
Can vengeance be pursued further than death? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I 
hither. 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ; 
Fly hence, and leave me : think upon these gone; 
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, 
Put not another sin upon my head, 
By urging me to fury : O, be gone ! 
By heaven, I love thee better than myself; 
For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
Stay not, be gone ; live, and hereafter say, 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. I do defy thy conjurations, 
And apprehend thee for a felon here. 

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at 
thee, boy ! [ They figiit. 70 

Page. O Lord, they fight ! I will go call the 
watch. [Exit. 

Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.} If thou be mer- 
ciful, 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 

Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this 
face. 
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris ! 
What said my man, when my betossed soul 
Did not attend him as we rode? I think • 
He told me Paris should have married Juliet : 
Said he not so? or did I dream it so? 
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 80 

To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave ; 
A grave? O, no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 

[Laying Paris in the toinb. 
How oft when men are at the point of death 
Have they been merry ! which their keepers call 
A lightning before death : O, how may I 90 

Call this a lightning? O my love ! my wife ! 
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there. 
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 
O, what more favour can I do to thee, 
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain 
To sunder his that was thine enemy? 100 

Forgive me, cousin ! Ah, dear Juliet, 
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe 
That unsubstantial death is amorous, 
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
Thee here in dark to be his paramour? 
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee : 
And never from this palace of dim night 



Depart again : here, here will I remain 

With worms that are thy chamber-maids ; O, here 

Will I set up my everlasting rest, 1 10 

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 

From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your 

last! 
Arms, take your last embrace \ and, lips, O you 
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! 
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothe- 
cary ! 
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. 120 

[Dies. 

Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, Friar 

Laurence, with a lantern, crow, and spade. 

Fri. L. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft 
to-night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! Who's 
there? 

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows 
you well. 

Fri. L. Bliss be upon youf Tell me, good 
my friend, 
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light 
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, 
It burnetii in the Capels' monument. 

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my 
master, 
One that you love. 

Fri. L. Who is k? 

Bal. Romeo. 

Fri. L. How long hath he been there ? 

Bal. Full half an hour. 130 

Fri. L. Go with me to the vault. 

Bal. I dare not, sir : 

My master knows not but I am gone hence ; 
And fearfully did menace me with death, 
If I did stay to look on his intents. 

Fri. L. Stay, then ; I '11 go alone. Fear comes 
upon me : 
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought, 
And that my master slew him. 

Fri. L. Romeo ! 

[Advances. 
Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 140 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre? 
What mean these masterless and gory swords 
To lie discolour d by this place of peace ? 

[Enters the tomb. 
Romeo ! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? 
And steep' d in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour 
Is guilty of this lamentable fiance ! 
The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes. 

Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord? 
I do remember well where I should be, 
And there I am. Where is my Romeo ? 150 

[Noise within. 

Fri. L. I hear some noise. Lady, come from 
that nest 
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: 
A greater power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. 
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 



Scene in.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



739 



And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; 
Come, go, good Juliet [Noise again], I dare no 
longer stay. 159 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. 
[Exit Fri. L. 
What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's 

hand? 
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end : 
O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop 
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; 
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, 
To make me die with a restorative. {Kisses him. 
Thy lips are warm. 

First Watch. [ Within] Lead, boy : which way ? 

Jul. Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy 

dagger ! [Snatching Romeo's dagger. 

This is thy sheath [Stabs herself]; there rust, 

and let me die. 17° 

[Falls on Romeo's body, and dies. 

Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris. 
Page. This is the place; there, where the 

torch doth burn. , 
First Watch. The ground is bloody ; search 
about the churchyard : 
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. 
Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain : 
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, 
Who here hath lain these two days buried. 
Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: 
Raise up the Montagues : some others search : 
We see the ground where on these woes do lie ; 
But the true ground of all these piteous woes 180 
We cannot without circumstance descry. 

Re-e7iter some of the Watch, with Balthasak. 

Sec. Watch. Here's Romeo's man ; we found 

him in the churchyard. 
First Watch. Hold him in safety, till the 

prince come hither. 

Re-enter others of the Watch, -with Friar 

Laurence. 
Third Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, 
sighs, and weeps: 
We took this mattock and this spade from him, 
As he was coming from this churchyard side. 
First Watch. A great suspicion: stay the 
friar too. 

Enter the Prince and Attendants. 

Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 

That calls our person from our morning's rest? 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, arid others. 
Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek 
abroad? 190 

La. Cap. The people in the street cry Romeo, 
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, 
With open outcry, toward our monument. 

Prince. What fear is this which startles in 

our ears? 
First Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County 
Paris slain ; 
And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
Warm and new kill'd. 



But he which bore my letter, Friar John, 
Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight 
Retum'd my letter back. Then all alone 
At the prefixed hour of Pier waking, 
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault 

47—2 



250 



Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 

murder comes. 
First Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd 
Romeo's man ; 
With instruments upon them, fit to open 200 

These dead men's tombs. 

Cap. O heaven ! O wife, look how our 
daughter bleeds ! 
This dagger hath mista'en, — for, lo, his house 
Is empty on the back of Montague, — 
And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom ! 
La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as 
a bell, 
That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 

Enter Montague and others. 

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, 
To see thy son and heir more early down. _ 209 

Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night ; 
Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: 
What further woe conspires against my age? 

Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 

Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is 
in this. 
To press before thy father to a grave? 

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for 
a while, 
Til! we can clear these ambiguities, 
And know their spring, their head, their true 

descent ; 
And then will I be general of your woes, 219 

And lead you even to death : meantime forbear, 
And let mischance be slave to patience. 
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 

Fri. L. I am the greatest, able to do least, 
Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
Doth make against me, of this direful murder; 
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
Myself condemned and myself excused. 

Prince. Then say at once what thou dost 
know in this. 

Fri. L. I will be brief, for my short date 
of breath 
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 230 

Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet ; 
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife : 
I married them ; and their stol'n marriage-day 
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death 
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this 

city, 
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. 
You, to remove that siege of grief from her, 
Betroth'd and would have married her perforce 
To County Paris : then comes she to me, 239 
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
To rid her from this second marriage, 
Or in my cell there would she kill herself. 
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 
As I intended, for it wrought on her 
The form of death: meantime- 1 writ to Romeo, 
That he should hither come as this dire- night, 
To help to take her from her borrow' d grave, 
Being the time the potion's force should cease. 



:40 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act v. 



Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, 
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo : 
But when I came, some minute ere the time 
Of her awaking, here untimely lay 
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. 
She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth, 260 
And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ; 
And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 
But, as it seems, did violence on herself. 
All this I know ; and to the marriage 
Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this 
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, 
Unto the rigour of severest law. 
Prince. We still have known thee for a 

holy man. 270 

Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? 

Pal. I brought my master news of Juliet's 

death ; 
And then in post he came from Mantua 
To this same place, to this same monument. 
This letter he early bid me give his father, 
And threaten'd me with death, going in the 

vault, 
If I departed not and left him there. 

Prince. Give me the letter ; I will look on it. 
Where is the county's page, that raised the 

watch ? 
Sirrah, what made your master in this place? 280 
Page. He came with flowers to strew his 

lady's grave ; 
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did : 



Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; 
And by and by my master drew on him ; 
And then I ran away to call the watch. 

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 
words, 
Their course of love, the tidings of her death: 
And here he writes that he did buy a poison 
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. 290 
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Monta- 
gue ! 
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, 
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with 

love. 
And I for winking at your discords too 
Have lost a brace of kinsmen : all are punish'd. 

Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand : 
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
Can I demand. 

Mo>i. But I can give thee more: 

For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
That while Verona by that name is known, 300 
There shall no figure at such rate be set 
As that of true and faithful Juliet. 

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie; • 
Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! 

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with 
it brings; 

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head : 
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things ; 

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished : 
For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. \_Exennt. 310 



TIMON OF ATHENS 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Timon, of Athens. 

Lucius, ) 

LUCULLUS, V flattering lords. 

Sempronius, J 

Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends. 

Alcibiades, an Atheniftn captain. 

Apemantus, a churlish philosopher. 

Flavius, steward to Timon. 

Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. 

An old Athenian. 

Flaminius, I 

LuclLlUS, r servants to Timon. 

Servilius, J 



Caphis, 

Philotus, 

Titus, 

Hortensius, I 

And others, ' 
A Page. A Fool. 
Phrynia 



servants to Timon's creditors. 



Three Strangers. 

, J mistresses to Alcibiades. 
1 IMAN I >R \, I 

Cupid and Amazons in the mask. 
Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Ban- 
ditti, and Attendants. 
Scene: Athens, and the neighbouring woods. 



ACT I. 

! Scene I. Athens. A hall in Timon s house. 

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and 
others, at several doors. 
Poet. Good day, sir. 

Pain. I am glad you're well. 

Poet. I have not seen you long : how goes the 

world? 
Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 
Poet. Ay, that's well known : 

But what particular rarity'.' what strange. 
Which manifold record not matches? See, 
' Magic of bounty ! all these spirits thy power 
| Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. 
Pain. I know them both ; th' other's a jeweller. 
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord. 
Jew. Nay. that's most fix'd. 

Mer. A most incomparable man, breathed, as 
it were. ic 

To an untirable and continuate goodness: 
He passes. 

Jew. I have a jewel here — 

Mer. O, pray, let's see't : for the Lord Timon, 

sir? 
Jew. If he will touch the estimate : but, for 

that— 
Poet. {Reciting to himself] ' When we for re- 
compense have praised the vile, 
It stains the glory in that happy verse 
Which aptly sings the good.' 

Mer. "l'is a good form. 

[Looking- at the Jewel. 
Jew. And rich: here is a water, look ye. 
Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some 
dedication 
To the great lord. 

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 20 

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
From whence 'tis nourish'd : the fire i' the flint 
Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame 
Provokes itself and like the current flies 
Each bound it chafes. What have you there? 



Pain. A picture, sir. When comes your book 
forth ? 

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
Let's see your piece. 

Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 

Poet. So 'tis : this comes off well and excellent. 

Pain. Indifferent. 

Poet. Admirable : how this grace 30 

Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power 
This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture 
One might interpret. 

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
Here is a touch ; is't good ? 

Poet. I will say of it, 

It tutors nature: artificial strife 
Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 

Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 

Pain. How this lord is follow'd ! 

Poet. The senators of Athens : happy man ! 

Pain. Look, more ! 41 

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood 
of visitors. 
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man. 
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
With amplest entertainment: my free drift 
Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd malice 
Infects one comma in the course I hold : 
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, 
Leaving no tracl behind. 50 

Pain. How shall 1 understand you? 

Poet. 1 will unbolt to yuu. 

You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
As well of glib and slippery creatures ;i^ 
Of grave and austere quality, tender down 
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune 
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging 
Subdues and properties to his love a 
All sorts of hearts: yea, from the glass-faced flat- 
terer 
To Apemantus, that U:w things loves better 
Than to abhor himself: even he dropsd iwn 60 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act i. 



The knee before him and returns in peace 
Most rich in Timon's nod. 
Pain. ^ I S aw them speak together. 

Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant 
hill 
Feign'd Fortune to be throned : the base o' the 

mount 
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, 
That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
To propagate their states : amongst them all, 
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, 
One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, 
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; 
Whose present grace to present slaves and serv- 
ants j X 
Translates his rivals. 

Pain. 'Tis conceived to scope. 

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 
With one man beckon'd from the rest below, 
Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
In our condition. 

Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on. 

All those which were his fellows but of late, 
Some better than his value, on the moment 79 
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, 
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, 
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
Drink the free air. 

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ? 

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change 
of mood 
Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants 
Which labour' d after him to the mountain's top 
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, 
Not ope accompanying his declining foot. 

Pain. 'Tis common : 
A thousand moral paintings I can show go 

That shall demonstrate these quick blows of 

Fortune's 
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well 
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen 
The foot above the head. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, address- 
ing himself courteously to every suitor; a. 
Messenger/r<?w Ventidius talking -with him ; 
Lucilius and other servants following. 
Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? 

Mess. Ay, my good lord : five talents is his 
debt, 
His means most short, his creditors most strait: 
Your honourable letter he desires 
To those have shut him up ; which failing, 
Periods his comfort. 

Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well ; 

I am not of that feather to shake off 100 

My friend when he must need me. I do know 

him 
A gentleman that well deserves a help : 
Which he shall have : Til pay the debt, and free 
him. 
Mess. Your lordship ever binds him. 
Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his 
ransom ; 
And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, 
But to support him after. Fare you well. 
Mess. All happiness to your honour ! [Exit. 



Enter an old Athenian. 
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 
Tim. Freely, good father, no 

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. 
Tim. I have so: what of him? 
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man 

before thee. 
Tim. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius ! 
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. 
Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this 
thy creature, 
By night frequents my house. I am a man 
That from my first have been inclined to thrift ; 
And my estate deserves an heir more raised 
Than one which holds a trencher. 

Tim. Well ; what farther? 120 

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin 
else, 
On whom I may confer what I have got : 
The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
And I have bred her at my dearest cost 
In qualities of the best. This man of thine 
Attempts her love : I prithee, noble lord, 
Join with me to forbid him her resort; 
Myself have spoke in vain. 

Tim. The man is honest. 

Old A th. Therefore he will be, Timon : 
His honesty rewards him in itself; 130 

It must not bear my daughter. 

Tim. Does she love him? 

Old A th. She is young and apt : 
Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
What levity's in youth. 

Tim. [To Lucilius'] Love you the maid? 
Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 
Old- Ath. If in her marriage my consent be 
missing, 
I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
And dispossess her all. 

Tim. How shall she be endow'd, 

If she be mated with an equal husband? 140 

Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in 

future, all. 
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served me 
long: 
To build his fortune I will strain a little, 
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: 
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, 
And make him weigh with her. 

Old Ath. Most noble lord, 

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 

Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honour on my 

promise. 
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: never 
may 
That state or fortune fall into my keeping, 150 
Which is not owed to you ! 

[Exeunt Lucilius a7id Old Athenian. 
Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live 3^our 

lordship!' 
Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me 
anon : 
Go not away. What have you there, my friend ? 

Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech I 
Your lordship to accept. 

Tim. Painting is welcome. 

The painting is almost the natural man; 



Scene i.] 



TIMON OF A THENS. 



743 



For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, 
He is but outside : these pencill'd figures are 
Even such as they give out. I like your work ; 
And you shall find I like it : wait attendance 161 
Till you hear further from me. 

Pain. The gods preserve ye ! 

Tim. Well fare you, gentleman : give me your 
hand; 
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel 
Hath sufter'd under praise. 

Jew. What, my lord ! dispraise? 

Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. 
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, 
It would unclew me quite. 

yew. My lord, 'tis rated 

As those which sell would give : but you well 

know, 
Things of like value differing in the owners 170 
Are prized by their masters : believe 't, dear lord, 
You mend the jewel by the wearing it. 

Tim. Well mock'd. 

Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the com- 
mon tongue, 
Which all men speak with him. 

Tim. Look, who comes here : will you be 
chid? 

Enter Apemantus. 
yew. WeTl bear, with your lordship. 
Mer. He'll spare none. 

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! 
Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy 
good morrow ; 
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves 
honest. 180 

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou 

know'st them not. 
A pern. Are they not Athenians ? 
Tint. Yes. 

ApC77i. Then I repent not. 
Jew. You know me, Apemantus? 
Afiem. Thou know^st I do: I call'd thee by 
thy name. 

Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 
Afiem. Of nothing so much as that I am not 
like Timon. 190 

Tim. Whither art going? 
A.pem. To knock out an honest Athenian's 
brains. 

That's a deed thou 'It die for. 
Right, if doing nothing be death by 



Tim. 

Afiem. 
the law. 

Tim, 
tus? 

Apem. 



How likest thou this picture, Apeman- 



The best, for the innocence. 

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? 200 

Afiem. He wrought better that made the 
painier; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. 

J 'a in. You're a dog. 

Apr m. Thy mother 's of my generation: what's 
she, if I be a dog? 

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? 

Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 

Tim. An thou shouldst, thou'ldst anger ladies. 

Afiem. O, they eat lords ; so they come by 
great bellies. 210 

Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. 

Afiem. So thou apprehendest it: take it for 
thy labour. 



Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Ape- 
mantus? 

Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which 
will not cost a man a doit. 



Tim. 
Apem. 
poet! 
Poet. 
Afiem, 

J ''ret. 

Apem. 

Port. 



What dost thou think 'tis worth? 
Not worth my thinking. How now, 



How now, philosopher ! 

Thou liest. 
Art not one? 

Yes. 
Then I lie not. 

Apem. Art not a poet? 

Poet. Yes. 

. Ifiem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work, 
where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. 

Paet, That's not feigned; he is so. 230 

Afiem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay 
thee for thy labour : he that loves to be flattered 
i-; worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were 
a lord ! 

Tim. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? 

Apem. E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a 
lord with mv heart. 

Tim. What, thyself? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. Wherefore? 240 

Apem. fThat I had no angry wit to be a lord. 
Art not thou a merchant ? 

Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 

Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will 
net! 

Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. 

Apem. Traffic's thy god; and thy god con- 
found thee ! 

Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger. 
Tim. What trumpet's that? 
Mess. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, 
All of companionship. 251 

Tint. Pray, entertain them ; give them guide 
to us. [Exeunt some A tte admits. 

You must needs dine with me : go not you hence 
Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done, 
Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. 

Enter Alcibiades, with the rest. 
Most welcome, sir ! 

Apem. So, so, there ! 

Aches contract and starve your supple joints ! 
That there should be small love 'mongst these 

sweet knaves, 
And all this courtesy ! The strain of man 's bred 

out 
Into baboon and monkey. 260 

Alcib. Sir, you have saved my longing, and I 
feed 
Most hungerly on your sight. 

Tim. Right welcome, sir ! 

Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time 
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 

[Exeunt ail except Apemantus, 

Enter two Lords. 
First Lord. What time o' day is't, Apemantus ? 
Apem. Time to be honest. 
J'irst Lord. That time serves still. 
Afiem. The more accursed thou, that still 
omitt'st it. 



744 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act 



Sec. Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timon's 
feast? 270 

Apem. Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine 
heat fools. 

Sec. Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee welh 

Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. 

Sec. Lord. Why, Apemantus? 

Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for 
I mean to give thee none. 

First Lord. Hang thyself ! 

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding : 
make thy requests to thy friend. 

Sec. Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll 
spurn thee hence ! 2S1 

Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the 
ass. [Exit. 

First Lord. He's opposite to humanity. 
Come, shall we in, 
And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes 
The very heart of kindness. 

Sec. Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god 
of gold, 
Is but his steward : no meed, but he repays 
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, 
But breeds the giver a return exceeding 290 

All use of quittance. 

First Lord. The noblest mind he carries 

That ever govern'd man. 

Sec. Loj'd. Long may he live in fortunes ! 
Shall we in ? 

First Lord. I'll keep you company. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A banqtieting-room i)i Timon's 
house. 

Hautboys playing loud music. A g7-eat banquet 
served i>i ; Flavius and others attending; 
then enter Lord Timon, Alctbiades, Lords, 
Senators, and Ventidius. Then comes, drop- 
ping after all, Apemantus, discontentedly, 
like himself. 

Ven. Most honour' d Timon, 
It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's 

age, 
And call him to long peace. 
He is gone happy, and has left me rich : 
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
To your free heart, I do return those talents, 
Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help 
I derived liberty. 

Tim. O, by no means, 

Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love : 
I gave it freely ever ; and there 's none 10 

Can truly say he gives, if he receives : 
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
To imitate them ; faults that are rich are fair. 

Ven. A noble spirit ! 

Tim. Nay, my lords, 

[ They all stand ceremoniously looking 
on Timon. 
Ceremony was but devised at first 
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ; 
But where there is true friendship, there needs 

none. 
Pray, sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes 
Than my fortunes to me. [ They sit. 20 



First Lord. My lord, we always have con- 
fess'd it. 

Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it ! hangM it, have 
you not? 

Ti?n. O, Apemantus, you are welcome. 

Apem. No ; 

You shall not make me welcome : 
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. 

Tim. Fie, thou 'rt a churl; ye 've got a humour 
there 
Does not become a man ; 'tis much to blame. 
They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but 
yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a 
table by himself, for he does neither affect com- 
pany, nor is he fit for't, indeed. 31 

Apem. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon : 
I come to observe ; I give thee warning on 't. 

Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou 'rt an 
Athenian, therefore welcome : I myself would 
have no power ; prithee, let my meat make thee 
silent. 

Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, 
for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what 
a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not ! 
It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in 
one man's blood; and all the madness is, he 
cheers them up too. 

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men : 
Methinks they should invite them without knives; 
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
There's much example for't; the fellow that sits 
next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the 
breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest 
man to kill him : 't has been proved. If I were 
a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; 51 
Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous 

notes : 
Great men should drink with harness on their 
throats. 

Tim. My lord, in heart ; and let the health 
go round. 

Sec. Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 

Apein. Flow this way ! A brave fellow ! he 
keeps his tides well. Those healths will make 
thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here 's that 
which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, 
which ne'er left man i' the mire : 60 

This and my food are equals ; there 's no odds : 
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 

Apemant?es' grace. 
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; 
I pray for no man but myself: 
Grant I may never prove so fond, 
To trust man on his oath or bond ; 
Or a harlot, for her weeping ; 
Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping ; 
Or a keeper with my freedom ; 
Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 70 
Amen. So fall to't : 
Rich men sin, and I eat root. 

[Eats and drinks. 



Much good fdich thy good heart, Apemantus ! 

in Alcit " 
field now. 



Tim. Captair 



:ibiades, your heart's in the 



A Icib. My heart is ever at your service, my 
lord. 

Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of 
enemies than a dinner of friends. 79 



Scene ii.] 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



745 



Alcib. So they were bleeding new, my lord, 
there's no meat like 'em: I could wish my best 
friend at such a feast. 

Apem. Would all those flatterers were thine 
enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and 
bid me to 'em ! 

First Lord. Might we but have that happi- 
ness, my lord, that you would once use our 
: hearts, whereby we might express some part of 
(our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever 
perfect 90 

Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the 
j gods themselves have provided that I shall have 
much help from you: how had you been my 
friends else? why have you that charitable title 
from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my 
heart? I have told more of you to myself than 
you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; 
and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think 
I, what need we have any friends, if we should 
ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most need- 
less creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 
) 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments 
hung up in cases that keep their sounds to them- 
selves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, 
1 that I might come nearer to you. We are born 
ho do benefits: and what better or properer can 
live call our own than the riches of our friends? 
0, what a precious comfort 'tis r to have so many, 
like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes L 
joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born ! 
I Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks : to 
rorget their faults,. I drink to you. 

Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, 
Timon. 
Sec. Lord. Joy had the like conception in our 
eyes 
&nd at that instant like a babe sprung up. 
Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a 
bastard. 
, Third Lord. I promise you, my lord, you 
I moved me much, 

I Apem. Much! [Tucket, within. 

Tim. What means that trump? 

Enter a Servant. 

How now? 120 
Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain 
iies most desirous of admittance. 
Tim. Ladies! what are their wills? 
Serv. There comes with them a forerunner, 

I" ny lord, which bears that office, to sigtrif; 
Measures. 
Tim. I pray, let them be admitted'. 
F titer Cupid. 

\ Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all 
J That of his bounties taste ! The five best senses 
Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely 
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear, 131 
Caste, touch and smell, pleased from thy table 

rise ; 
They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
Tim. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind 
admittance: 
ilusic, make their welcome ! [Exit Cupid. 

First Lord. You see, my lord, how ample 
you're beloved. 



Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a mask of Ladies 
as A inazons, with lutes in their hands, danc- 
ing and playing: 

Apem. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes 
this way ! 
They dance ! they are mad women. 
Like madness is the glory of this life, 
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. 140 
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; 
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men 
Upon whose age we void it up again, 
With poisonous spite and envy. 
Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? 
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves 
Of their friends' gift? 

I should fear those that dance before me now 
Would one day stamp upon me : 'thas been done; 
Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 150 

The Lords rise from table, ivitJi much adoring 
ofTxHiOH ; and to show their loves, each singles 
out an Amazon, and all dance, men with 
women, a lofty strain or tzuo to the hautboys, 
and cease. 

Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, 
fair ladies,. 
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, 
Which was not half so beautiful and kind; 
You have added worth unto 't and lustre, 
And entertain'd me with mine own device ; 
I am to thank you for 't. 

First Lady. My lord, you take us even at the 
best. 

Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and 
would not hold taking, I doubt me. 

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends 
you : 160 

Please you to dispose yourselves. 

All Ladies. Most thankfully, my lord. 

[Exeunt Cupid and Ladies. 

Ti/n. Flavins, 

Flav. My lord? 

Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 

Flav. Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! [A side. 
There is no crossing him in 's humour ; 
Else I should tell him, — well, i' faith, I should, 
When all's spent, he 'Id be cross 'd then, an he 

Could. 

'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind. 
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. 

[Exit. 
First Lord. Where be our men ? 171 

Serr>. Here, my lord, in readiness. 
Sec. Lord. Our horses ! 

Re-enter Flavius, luith the casket. 
Tim. O my friends, 

I have one word to say to you : look you, my 

good lord, 
I must entreat you. honour me so much 
As to advance this jewel : accept it and wear it, 
Kind my lord. 
First Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, — 
All. So are we all. 

•a Servant. 
My] -e are certain nobles of the 



H 6 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act i. 



Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 
Tim. They are fairly welcome. 
Flav. I heseech your honour, 

Vouchsafe me a word ; it does concern you near. 
Tijn. Near ! why then, another time I '11 hear 
_ thee: 
I prithee, let's be provided to show them enter- 
tainment. 
Flav. [Aside] I scarce know how. 

Enter a second Servant. 
Sec. Serv. May it please your honour, Lord 
Lucius, 
Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 

Tim. I shall accept them fairly ; let the presents 
Be worthily entertain' d. 

Enter a third Servant. 

How now! what news? igi 

Third Serv. Please you, my lord, that honour- 
able gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your 
company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent 
your honour two brace of greyhounds. 

Tim. I'll hunt with him; and let them be re- 
ceived, 
Not without fair reward. 

Flav. [Aside] What will this come to? 

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, 
And all out of an empty coffer : 
Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, 200 
To show him what a beggar his heart is, 
Being of no power to make his wishes good : 
His promises fly so beyond his state 
That what he speaks is all in debt ; he owes 
For every word : he is so kind that he now 
Pays interest for't ; his land's put to their books. 
Well, would I were gently put out of office 
Before I were forced out ! 
Happier is he that has no friend to feed 
Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. 210 

I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 

Tim. You do yourselves 

Much wrong, you bate too much of your own 

merits : 
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 

Sec. Lord. With more than common thanks I 
will receive it. 

Third Lord. O, he's the very soul of bounty ! 

Tim. And now I remember, my lord, you gave 
Good words the other day of a bay courser 
1 rode on : it is yours, because you liked it. 

Sec. Lord. O, I beseech you, pardon me, my 

- lord, in that. 

Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know, 
no man 220 

Can justly praise but what he does affecT: : 
I weigh my friend's affection with mine own ; 
I'll tell you true. I '11 call to you. 

All Lords. O, none so welcome. 

Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ; 
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, 
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich ; 
It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living 
Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast 
Lie in a pitch'd field. 

Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord. 231 



First Lord. We are so virtuously bound — 

Tim. And so 

Am I to you. 

Sec. Lord. So infinitely endear' d — 

Tim. All to you. Lights, more lights ! 

First Lord. The best of happiness, 

Honour and fortunes, keep with you, LordTimon! 

Tim. Ready for his friends. 

[Exe?mt all btit Apemantus and Timon. 

Apem. What a coil's here ! 

Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums ! 
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
That are given for 'em. Friendship 's full of dregs : 
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound 

legs. 
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. 

Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, 
I would be good to thee. 

Apem. No, I '11 nothing : for if I should be bribed 
too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, 
and then thou wouldstsin the faster. Thou givest 
so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away 
thyself in paper shortly : what need these feasts, 
pomps and vain-glories ? 249 

Tim. Nay, an you begin to rail on society 
once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. 
Farewell ; and come with better music. [Exit. 

Apem. So : 
Thou wilt not hear me now ; thou shalt not then : 
I '11 lock thy heaven from thee. 
O, that men's ears should be 
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Exit. 

ACT II. 

Scene L A Senator's house. 

Enter Senator, with papers in his hand. 

Sen. And late, five thousand : to Varro and to 
Isidore 
He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum, 
Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion 
Of raging waste 2 It cannot hold ; it will not. 
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, 
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. 
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, 
And able horses. No porter at his gate, 10 

But rather one that smiles and still invites 
All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason 
Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho ! 
Caphis, I say! 

Enter Caphis. 

Caph. Here, sir ; what is your pleasure ? 

Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord 
Timon ; 
Importune him for my moneys ; be not ceased 
With slight denial, nor then silenced when— 
' Commend me to your master'— and the cap 
Plays in the right hand, thus : but tell him, 
My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 20 

Out of mine own ; his days and times are past 
And my reliances on his fracTed dates 
Have smit my credit : I love and honour him, 
But must not break my back to heal his finger ; 
Immediate are my needs, and my relief 
Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, 
But find supply immediate. Get you gone : 



Scene i.] 



TIMON OF A THEXS. 



747 



Put on a most importunate aspect, 

A visage of demand ; for, I do fear, 

When every feather sticks in his own wing, 30 

Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, 

Which flashes now a phcenix. Get you gone. 

Caph. I go, sir. 

Sen. ' I go, sir ! ' — Take the bonds along with 
you, 
And have the dates in compt. 

Caph. I will, sir. 

Sen. Go. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. A hall in Timon 's house. 
Enter Flavu'S, with many bills in his hand. 
Flavins. No care, no stop! so senseless of ex- 
pense, 
That he will neither know how to maintain it, 
Nor cease his flow of riot : takes no account 
How things go from him, nor resumes no care 
Of what is to continue : never mind 
Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. 
What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel: 
I must be round with him, now he comes from 

hunting. 
Fie, fie, fie, fie ! 

Enter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidore 

and VARRO. 
Caph. Good even, Varro t what, 

You come for money? 

Var. Serv. Is't not your business too? 10 

Ca/h. It is: and yours too, Isidore? 

Isid. Serv. It is so. 

Caph. Would we were all discharged ! 

Var. Serv. I fear it. 

Ca/h. Here comes the lord. 

Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, &>c. 

Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth 
again, 
My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will? 

Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 

Tim. Dues! Whence are you? 

Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 

Tim. Go to my steward. 

Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
To the succession of new days this month : 20 
My master is awaked by great occasion 
To call upon his own, and humbly prays you 
That with your other noble parts you'll suit 
In giving him his right. 

Tim. Mine honest friend, 

I prithee, but repair to me next morning. 

Caph. Nay, good my lord, — 

Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 

Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good 
lord — 

Isid Serv. From Isidore ; 

He humbly prays your speedy payment. 

If you did know, my lord, my master's 
wants — 

Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, 
six weeks 3° 

And past. 

Js'd. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; 
And 1 am sent expressly to your lordship. 

Tim. Give me breath. 
1 do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 



I'll wait upon you instantly. 

[Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords. 
[To Flav.~\ Come hither : pray you, 
How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd 
With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
And the detention of long-since-due debts, 
Against my honour? 

Flav. Please you, gentlemen, 40 

The time is unagreeable to this business: 
Your importunacy cease till after dinner, 
That I may make his lordship understand 
Wherefore you are not paid. 

Tint. Do so, my friends. See them well en- 
tertain'd. [Exit. 

Flav. Pray, draw near. [Exit. 

Etiter Apemantus and Fool. 

Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with 
Apemantus: let's ha' some sport with 'em. 

Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. 

Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! 50 

Var. Sew. How dost, fool? 

Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? 

J'ar. Serv. I speak not to thee. 

Apem. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the Fool] 
Come away. 

Isid. Serv. There's the fool hangs on your 
back already. 

Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not 
on him yet. 

Capk. Where's the fool now? 

Ap>em. He last asked the question. Poor 
rogues, and usurers' men ! bawds between gold 
and want! 

All Serv. What are we, Apemantus? 

Apem. Asses. 

Ail Serv. Why? 

Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do 
not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, foot 

Fool. How do you, gentlemen ? 

All Serv. Gramercies, good fool: how does 
your mistress? 70 

Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such 
chickens as you are. Would we could see you at 
Corinth ! 

Apem. Good! gramercy. 

Enter Page. 

Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 

Page. ['To the Fool] Why. how now. 1 
what do you in this wise company? How dost 
thou, Apemantus? 

Apem. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that 
I might answer thee profitably. 80 

Page. Prithee, Apemantus. read me the su- 
perscription of these letters: I know not which is 
which. 

Apem. Canst not read? 

Page. No. 

Apem. There will little learning die then, that 
day thou art hanged. This is to Lord : 
this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bas- 
tard, and thou't die a bawd. 89 

/V? A v. Thou wast whdped a dog, and thou 
shaltfamish a dog's death. Answer not; I am 
gone. [Exit. 

Apem. E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, 
I will go witli you to Lord Timon's. 

Fool. Will you leave me there? 



74 8 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act 



Apem. IfTimon stay at home. You three 
serve three usurers? 

A 11 Serv. Ay ; would they served us ! 

Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever 
hangman served thief. 100 

Fool. Are you three usurers' men? 

A 11 Serv. Ay, fool. 

Fool. I think no usurer but has a fool to his 
servant : my mistress is one, and I am her fool. 
When men come to borrow of your masters, they 
approach sadly, and go away merry ; but they 
enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away 
sadly: the reason of this? 

Var. Serv. I could render one. 109 

Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee 
a whore-master and a knave ; which notwith- 
standing, thou shalt be no less esteemed. 

Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ? 

Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something 
like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime 't appears like 
a lord ; sometime like a lawyer ; sometime like 
a philosopher, with two stones moe than's arti- 
ficial one: he is very often like a knight; and, 
generally, in all shapes that man goes up and 
down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit 
walks in. 121 

Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 

Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as 
much foolery as 1 have, so much wit thou lackest. 

Ape?n. That answer might have become Ape- 
mantus. 

A II Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes Lord Ti- 
mor*. 

Re-enter Timon and Flavtus. 

Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 

Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder bro- 
ther and woman ; sometime the philosopher. 131 
[Exeunt Apemautus and Fool. 

Flav. Pray you, walk near : I '11 speak with 
you anon. [Exeunt Serziants. 

Tim. You make me marvel: wherefore ere 
this time 
Had you not fully laid my state before me, 
That I might so have rated my expense, 
As I had leave of means? 

Flav. You would not hear me, 

At many leisures I proposed. 

Tim. Go to : 

Perchance some single vantages you took, 
When my indisposition put you back ; 
And that unaptness made your minister, 140 

Thus to excuse yourself. 

Flav. O my good lord, 

At many times I brought in my accounts, 
Laid them before you ; you would throw them off, 
And say, you found them in mine honesty. 
When, for some trifling present, you have bid me 
Return so much, I have shook my head and wept ; 
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
To hold your hand more close : I did endure 
Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have 
Prompted you in the ebb of your estate 150 

And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, 
t Though you hear now, too late — yet now's a 

time — 
The greatest of your having lacks a half 
To pay your present debts. 

Tim. Let all m)'- land be sold. 



Flav. 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone ; 
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
Of present dues : the future comes apace : 
What shall defend the interim? and at length 
How goes our reckoning? 

Tim. To Lacedsemon did my land extend. 160 
Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a 
word: 
Were it all yours to give it in a breath, 
How quickly were it gone ! 

Tim. You tell me true. 

Flav. If you suspect my husbandry or false- 
hood, 
Call me before the exactest auditors 
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, 
When all our offices have been oppress'd 
With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept 
With drunken spilth of wine, when every room 
Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with min- 
strelsy, 170 
I have retired me to a wasteful cock, 
And set mine eyes at flow. 

Tim. Prithee, no more. 

Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of 
this lord ! 
How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants 
This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's? 
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is 

Lord Timon's? 
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ! 
Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, 
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers, 
These flies are couch'd. 

Tim. Come, sermon me no further: 

No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; 
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience 

lack, 
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; 
If I would broach the vessels of my love, 
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, 
Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use 
As I can bid thee speak. 

Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 

Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine 

are crown' d, 190 

That I account them blessings ; for by these 

Shall I try friends : you shall perceive how you 

Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my 

friends. 
Within there ! Flaminiois ! Servilius ! 

Enter Flaminius, Servilius, a?id other 
Servants. 

Servants. My lord? my lord? 

Tim. I will dispatch you severally ; you td 
Lord Lucius ; to Lord Lucullus you : I hunted 
with his honour to-day: you, to Sempronius: 
commend me to their loves, and, I am proud, say, 
that my occasions have found time to use 'em to- 
ward a supply of money : let the request be fifty 
talents. 

Flam. As you have said, my lord. 

Flav. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? 
hum ! 

Tim. Go you, sir, to the senators — 
Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 



Scene ii.] 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



749 



Deserved this hearing — bid 'em send o' the 

instant 
A thousand talents to me. 

Flav. I have been bold — 

For that I knew it the most general way — 
To them to use your signet and your name ; 210 
But the}' do shake their heads, and I am here 
No richer in return. 

Tim. Is't true ? can 't be ? 

Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate 
voice, 
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
Do what they would; are sorry — you are hon- 
ourable, — 
But yet they could have wish'd — they know not — 
Something hath been amiss — a noble nature 
-■lay catch a wrench — would all were well — 'tis 

pity : — 
And so, intending other serious matters, 
After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, 
With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods 
They froze me into silence. 

Tim. You gods, reward them ! 

Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows 
. Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 
'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; 
And nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. 
[To a Serv.] Go to Ventidius. [To Flav.} Pri- 
thee, be not sad, 229 
Thou art true and honest ; ingeniously I speak, 
No blame belongs to thee. [To Ser.] Ventidius 
lately 
, Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd 
! Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
Imprisoned and in scarcity of friends, 
I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from 

me ; 
Bid him suppose some good necessity 
Touches his friend, which craves to be remem- 

ber'd 
With those five talents [Exit Ser.]. [To Flav.] 
That had, give't these fellows 
] To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, 
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. 
Flav. I would I could not think it : that 
thought is bounty's foe ; 
Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 
Scene I. A room in Lucullus house. 
Flaminius waiting: Enter a Servant to hint. 
Serv. I have told my lord of you ; he is coming 

down to you. , 
Flam. I thank you, sir. 

Enter LucULLUS. 

Serv. Here 's my lord. 

Lucul. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men ? a 
gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right ; I dreamt 
of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, 
honest Flaminius; you are very respectively wel- 
come, sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit Servant.] 
And how does that honourable, complete, free- 
hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful 
good lord and master? - 11 



Flam. His health is well. sir. 

Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, 
sir : and what hast thou there under thy cloak, 
pretty Flaminius? 

Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; 
which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your 
honour to supply ; who, having great and instant 
occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your 
lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your 
present assistance therein. 21 

Lucul. La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says 
he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if 
he would not keep so good a house. Many a 
time and often I ha' dined with him, and told him 
on't, and come again to supper to him, of purpose 
to have him spend less, and yet he would em- 
brace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. 
Everyman has his fault, and honesty is his: I 
ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him 
from't. 31 

Re-enter Servant, with wins. 

Ser7>. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 

Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always 
wise. Here 's to thee. 

Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 

Lucul. I have observed thee always for a 
towardly prompt spirit — give thee thy clue — and 
one that knows what belongs to reason ; and 
canst use the time well, if the time use thee well : 
good parts in thee. [To Serz'.] Get you gone, 
sirrah [Exit Serv.]. Draw nearer, honest Flami- 
nius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman : but thou 
art wise ; and thou knowest well enough, although 
thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend 
money, especially upon bare friendship, without 
security. Here's three solidares for thee: good 
boy, wink at me, and say thou sawest me not. 
Fare thee well. 

Flam. Is't possible the world should so much 

differ, 

And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness, 

To him that worships thee ! 51 

[Throzving the money back. 

Lucul. Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit 
for thy master. [Exit. 

Flam. May these add to the number that may 
scald thee ! 
Let molten coin be thy damnation. 
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, 
It turns in less than two nights? () you gods, . 
I feel my master's passion ! this slave, 
Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him : 60 
Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, 
When he is turn'd to poison? 
O, may diseases only work upon't ! 
And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of 

nature 
Which my lord paid for, be of any power 
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [Exit. 

Scene II. A public place. 
Enter Lucius, with three Strangers. 
Luc. Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very 
good friend, and an honourable gentleman. 

First St ran. We know him for no less, though 
we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you 



750 



TIMON OF A THENS. 



[Act hi. 



one thing, my lord, and which I hear from com- 
mon rumours : now Lord Timon's happy hours 
are done ' and past, and his estate shrinks from 
him. 

Luc. Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot 
want for money. 10 

Sec. Stran. But believe you this, my lord, 
that, not long ago, one of his men was with the 
Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents, nay, 
urged extremely for't and showed what necessity 
belonged to't, and yet was denied. 

Luc. How! 

Sec. Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. 

Luc. What a strange case was that! now, 
before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied 
that honourable man ! there was very little hon- 
our showed in't. For my own part, I must needs 
confess, I have received some small kindnesses 
from him, as money, plate,, jewels and such-like 
trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he 
mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have 
denied his occasion so many talents. 

Enter Servilius. 

Ser. See, by good hap, yonder 's my lord; I 
have sweat to see his honour. My honoured 
lord, — [To L ucius. 

Luc. Servilius I you are kindly met, sir. Fare 
thee well : commend me to thy honourable virtu- 
ous lord, my very exquisite friend. 

Ser. May it please your honour, my lord loath 
sent — • 

Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so. much 
endeared to that lord ; he 's ever sending : how 
shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has 
he sent now ? 

Ser. Has only sent his- present occasion now, 
my lord ; requesting your lordship to- supply his 
instant use with so many talents. 41 

Luc. I know his lordship is but merry with 
me ; 
fHe cannot want fifty five hundred talents* 

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my 
lord. 
If his occasion were not virtuous, 
I sh.-uld not urge it half so faithfully. 

Ltcc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? 

Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. 

Luc. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish 
myself against such a good time, when I might 
ha' shown myself honourable ! how unluckily it 
happened, that I should purchase the day before 
for a little part, and undo a great deal of honour ! 
Servilius,. now, before the gods, I am not able 
to do, — the more beast, I say : — I was sending to 
use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can 
witness ; but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, 
I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to 
his good lordship; and I hope his honour will 
conceive the fairest of me, because I have no 
power to be kind : and tell him this from me, I 
count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I 
cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. 
Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to 
use mine own words to him? 

Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 

Luc. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. 
[Exit Servilius. 
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed ; 



And he that's once denied will hardly speed. 

[Exit. 

First Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius? 

Sec. Stran. Ay, too well. 70 

First Stran. Why, this is the world's soul ; 
and just of the same piece 
Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in 
My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, 
And kept his credit with his purse, 
Supported his estate ; nay, Timon's money 
Has paid his men their wages : he ne'er drinks, 
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip ; 
And yet — O, see the monstrousness of man 
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape ! — 80 
He does deny him, in respect of his, 
What charitable men afford to beggars. 

Third Stran. Religion groans at it. 

First Stran. For mine own part, 

I never tasted Timon in my life, 
Nor came any of his bounties over me, 
To mark me for his friend ; yet r I protest, 
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue 
And honourable carriage, 
Had his necessity made vise of me, 
I would have put my wealth into donation, 90 
And the best half should have return'd to him, 
So much I love his heart : but, I perceive, 
Men must learn now with pity to dispense ; 
For policy sits above conscience. [Exe?mt. 

Scene III. A room in Semfironius' house. 
E?iter Sempronius, and a Servant <7/Timon's. 
Sem. Must he needs trouble me in 't, — hum ! 

— 'bove all others? 
He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus ; 
And now Ventidius is wealthy too, 
Whom he redeem'd from prison : all these 
Owe their estates unto him. 

Serv. My lord, 

They have all been touch'd and found base metal, 

for 
They have all denied him. 

Sem. How !. have they denied him? 

Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him ? 
And does he send to me? Three? hum ! 
It shows but little love or judgement in him : 10 
Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like 

physicians, 
•(Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure 

upon me? 
Has much disgraced me in't ; I 'm angry at him, 
That might have known my place : I see no sense 

for't, 
But his occasions might have vvoo'd me first; 
For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
That e'er received gift from him : 
And does he think so backwardly of me now, 
That I '11 requite- it last ? No : 
So it may prove an argument of laughter 20 

To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. 
I 'Id rather than the worth of thrice the sum, 
Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ; 
I'd such a courage to do him good. But now 

return, 
And with their faint reply this answer join ; 
Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. 

[Exit. 



Scene hi.] 



TIMON OF A THENS. 



751 



Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly 
villain. The devil knew not what he did when 
he made man politic; he crossed himself by 't : 
and I cannot think but, in the end, the villanies 
of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord 
strives to appear foul ! takes virtuous copies to be 
wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal 
would set whole realms on hre : 
Of such a nature is his politic love. 
This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled, 
Save only the gods : now his friends are dead, 
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
Now to guard sure their master. 40 

And this is all a liberal course allows; 
Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. 

{Exit. 

Scene IV. The same. A hall in Timon's house. 

Enter two Servants (7/"Varko, and the Servant 

^/Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensii s, and 

otJier Servants 0/ Timon's creditors, waiting 

his coming out. 
. First Var. Serv. Well met ; good morrow, 
Titus and Hortensius. 

Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 

Hor. Lucius ! 

What, do we meet together? 

Luc. Serv. Ay, and I think 

One business does command us all ; for mine 
Is money. 

Tit. So is theirs and ours. 



Enter Philotus. 

Luc. Serv. And Sir Philotus too ! 

Phi. Good day at once. 

Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother. 

What do you think the hour? 

Phi. Labouring for nine. 

Luc. Serv. So much? 

Phi. Is not my lord seen yet? 

Luc. Serv. Not yet. 

Phi. I wonder on't ; he was wont to shine at 
seven. 10 

Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter 
with him : 
You must consider that a prodigal course 
Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. 
I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse ; 
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
Find little. 

Phi. I am of your fear for that. 

Tit. I'll show you how to observe a strange 
event. 
Your lord sends now for money. 

Hor. Most true, he does. 

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 

For which I wait for money. 20 

Hor. It is against my heart. 

Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows, 

Timon in this should pay more than he owes : 
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, 
And send for money for 'em. 

Hor. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can 
witness : 
I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, 
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 



First Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand 

crowns: what's yours? 
Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 
First Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep: and it 
should seem by the sum, 30 

Your master's confidence was above mine ; 
Else, surely, his had equall'd. 

Enter Flaminius. 

Tit. One of Lord Timon's men. 

Luc. Serv. Flaminius ! Sir, a word: pray, is 
my lord ready to come forth? 

Flam. No, indeed, he is not. 

Tit. We attend his lordship ; pray, signify so 
much. 

Flam. I need not tell him that ; he knows you 
are too diligent. [Exit. 40 

Enter Flavius in a clonk, muffled. 

Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward muf- 
fled so? 
He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him. 

Tit. Do you hear, sir? 

Sec. Var.Serv. LJy your leave, sir,— 

Flav. What do ye ask of me, my friend ? 

Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 

Flav. Ay, 

If money were as- certain as your waiting, 
'Twere sure enough. 

Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills, 
When your false masters eat of my lord's meat '.' 50 
Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts 
And take down the interest into their gluttonous 

maws. 
You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; 
Let me pass quietly : 

Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end ; 
I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 

Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 

Flav. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you ; 
For you serve knaves. [Exit. 

First Var. Serv. How ! what does his cash- 
iered worship mutter? 61 

Sec. Var.Serv. No matter what ; he's poor, 
and that's revenge enough. Who can speak 
broader than he that has no house to put his head 
in? such may rail against great buildings. 

Enter- Servilius. 

Tit. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know 
some answer. 

Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to 
repair some other hour, I should derive much 
from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans 
wondrously to discontent: his comfortable tem- 
per has forsook him ; he's much out of health, and 
keeps his chamber. 

Luc. Ser?: Many do keep their chambers are 
not sick : 
And. if it be so far beyond his health, 
Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, 
And make a clear way to the gods. 

Ser. Good gods ! 

7V/. We cannot take this for answer, sir. 

Flam. \ Within] Servilius, help! My lord! 
my lord I 



732 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act hi. 



EuterTniovt, in a rage; Flaminius following. 
Tim. What, are my doors opposed against my 
passage ? . 

Have I been ever free, and must my house 
T>e my retentive enemy, my gaol V 
The place which I have feasted, does it now, 
Like all mankind, show mean iron heart. 
Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 
Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 
Luc. Serv. Here's mine. 
Hor. And mine, my lord. 
Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 
Phi. All our bills. 9° 

Tim. Knock me down with 'em : cleave me to 

the girdle. 
Luc. Serv. Alas, my lord,— 
Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 
Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 
Tim. Tell out my blood. 
Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 
Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. What 

yours?— and yours? 
First Var. Serv. My lord,— 
Sec. Var. Serv. My lord,— 
Tim Tear me, take me, and the gods tall 
upon you! [E-vztxoo 

Hor 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw 
their caps at their money : these debts may well 
be called desperate ones, for a madman owe^em. 

Re-enter Timon and F,lavius. 

Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, 
the slaves. 
Creditors? devils! 

Flav. My dear lord,— 

Tim. What if it should be so ? 

Flav. My lord, — 

Tim. I'll have it so. My steward ! 

Flav. Here, my lord. \ to 

Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, 
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius : 
All. sirrah, all : 
I'll' once more feast the rascals. 

Flav. a . O my lord 

You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
There is not so much left, to furnish out 
A moderate table. 

Tim Be't not in thy care ; go, 

I charge thee, invite them all : let in the tide 
Of knaves once more; my cook and 1 11 provide 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. The senate-house. 

The Senate sitting. 
First Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it ; 
the fault's 
Eloody ; 'tis necessary he should die : 
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 

Sec. Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. 

Enter Alcibiades, with Attendants. 
Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the 

senate ! 
First Sen. Now, captain ? 
Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues ; 
For pity is the virtue of the law, 



And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
It pleases time and fortune to he heavy io 

Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, 
Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
To those that, without heed, do plunge into t. 
He is a man, setting his fate aside, 
Of comely virtues : 

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice— 
An honour in him which buys out his fault- 
But with a noble fury and fair spirit, 
Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, 
He did oppose his foe : \ 2 ° 

And with such sober and unnoted passion 
He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, 
As if he had but proved an argument. 

First Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: 
Your words have took such pains as if they la- 
bour' d 
To bring manslaughter into form and set quar- 
relling ,.-,., j 
Upon the head of valour ; which indeed 
Is valour misbegot and came into the world 
When sects and factions were newly born : 30 
He's truly valiant that can wisely sufter 
The worst that man can breathe, and make his 

wrongs 
His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, 

carelessly, 
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
To bring it into danger. 
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, 
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ! 
A Icib. My lord,— 

First Sen. You cannot make gross sins 

look clear : 
To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 

A Icib My lords, then, under favour, pardon 
me, ' 40 

If I speak like a captain. 

Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, 
And not endure all threats? sleep upon t, 
And let the foes quietly cut their throats, 
Without repugnancy? If there be 
Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
Abroad? why then, women are more valiant 
That stay at home, if bearing carry it, 
And the ass more captain than the lion, the lelon 
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, 50 

If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, 
As you are great, be pi tifully good : 
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? 
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust ; 
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. 
To be in anger is impiety; 
1 But who is man that is not angry? 
Weigh but the crime with this. 

Sec. Sen. You breathe in vain. _ 

Alcib. In vain ! his service done 

At Lacedcemon and Byzantium 
Were a sufficient briber for his life. 
First Sen. What's that? 

Alcib. I say, my lords, he has done fair ser- 
vice, 
And slain in fight many of your enemies : 
How full of valour did he bear himself 
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds ! 
Sec Sen. He has made too much plenty with 



i Scene v.] 



TIMON OF A THENS. 



753 



He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often 
Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner : 
If there were no foes, that were enough 70 

To overcome him : in that beastly fury- 
He has been known to commit outrages, 
And cherish factions : 'tis inferr'd to us, 
His days are foul and his drink dangerous. 

First Sen. He dies. 

Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
My lords, if not for any parts in him — 
Though his right arm might purchase his own 

time 
And be in debt to none — yet, more to move you, 
Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: 
And, for I know your reverend ages love 80 

Security, I '11 pawn my victories, all 
My honours to you, upon his good returns. 
If by this crime he owes the law his life, 
Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore ; 
: For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 

First Sen. We are for law : he dies ; urge it 
no more, 
On height of our displeasure : friend or brother, 
! He forfeits his own blood that spills another. 

Alcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, 
I I do beseech you, know me. 90 

Sec. Sen. How ! 

Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 

Third Sen. What ! 

Alcib. I cannot think but your age has forgot 
me ; 
It could not else be, I should prove so base, 
To sue, and be denied such common grace : 
My wounds ache at you. 

First Sen. Do you dare our anger ? 

'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ; 
We banish thee for ever. 

Alcib. Banish me ! 

Banish your dotage ; banish usury, 
That makes the senate ugly. 100 

First Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens 
contain thee, 
Attend our weightier judgement. And, not to 

swell our spirit, 
He shall be executed presently. 

[Exeunt Senators. 

A Icib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; 
that you may live 
Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
I 'm worse than mad : I have kept back their foes, 
While they have told their money and let out 
Their coin upon large interest, I myself 
Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? 
Is this the balsam that the usuring senate no 
Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment ! 
It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd ; 
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up 
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 
'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds ; 
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. 

[Exit. 
Scene VI. TJie same. A banqueting-room in 

Timon's house. 
Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. 

Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at 

several doors. 

First Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 



Sec. Lord. I also wish it to you. I think this 
honourable lord did but try us this other day. 

First Lord. Upon that were my thoughts 
tiring, when we encountered : I hope it is not so 
low with him as he made it seem in the trial of 
his several friends. 

Sec. Lord. It should not be, by the persua- 
sion of his new feasting. g 

First Lord. I should think so: he hath sent 
me an earnest inviting, which many my near 
occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath 
conjured me beyond them, and I must needs ap- 
pear. 

Sec. Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my 
importunate business, but he would not hear my 
excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of 
me, that my provision was out. 

First Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I 
understand how all things go. 20 

Sec. Lord. Every man here's so. What would 
he have borrowed of you? ' 

First Lord. A thousand pieces. 

Sec. Lord. A thousand pieces ! 

First Lord. What of you ? 

Sec . Lord. He sent to me, sir, — Here he comes. 

Enter Timon and Attendants. 

Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both ; and 
how fare you? 

First Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of 
your lordship. 30 

Sec. Lord. The swallow follows not summer 
more willing than we your lordship. 

Tim. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves win- 
ter; such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, 
our dinner will not recompense this long stay: 
feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will 
fare so harshly o' the trumpet's sound ; we shall 
to 't presently. 

First Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly 
with your lordship that I returned you an empty 
messenger. 41 

Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 

Sec. Lord. My noble lord, — 

Tim. Ah, my good friend, what cheer? 

Sec. Lord. My most honourable lord, I am 
e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this 
other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a 
beggar. 

Tim. Think not on 't, sir. 

Sec. Lord. If you had sent but two hours be- 
fore,— 5 i 

Tim. Let it not cumber your better remem- 
brance. [The banquet b?-ought in.] Come, bring 
in all together. 

Sec. Lord. All covered dishes ! 

First Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 

Third Lord. Doubt not that, if money and the 
season can yield it. 

First L.ord. How do you? What's the news? 

Third Lord. Alcibiades is banished : hear you 
of it? '01 

First and Sec. Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 

Third Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it. 

First Lord. How ! how ! 

Sec. Lord. I pray you, upon what? 

Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 

Third Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's 
a noble feast toward. 



4* 



754 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act in. 



Sec. Lord. This is the old man still. 

Third Lord. Will't hold? will't hold? 70 

Sec. Lord. It does : but time will — and so — 

Third Lord. I do conceive. 

Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as 
he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet 
shall be in all places alike. Make not a city- 
feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree 
upon the first place : sit, sit. The gods require 
our thanks. 

You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 
thankfulness. For your own gifts, make your- 
selves praised : but reserve still to give, lest your 
deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, 
that one need not lend to another; for, were your 
godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake 
the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than 
the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty 
j be without a score of villains : if there sit twelve 
j women at the table, let a dozen of them be — as 
j they are. f The rest of your fees, O gods — the 
j senators of Athens, together with the common lag 
of people — what is amiss in them, you gods, make 
suitable for destruction. For these my present 
friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing 
bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. 

Uncover, dogs, and lap. 

[ The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full 
of warm zuater. 
Some speak. What does his lordship mean? 
Some other. I know not. 
Tint. May you a better feast never behold, 
You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke and luke-warm 

water 
Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ; 100 
Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, 
! Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 
1 Your reeking villany. 

{Throwing the water in their faces. 
Live loathed and long, 
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, 
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, 
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, 
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! 
Of man and beast the infinite malady 
Crust you quite o'er ! What, dost thou go ? 
Soft ! take thy physic first — thou too — and thou ; — 
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none, in 
{Throws the dishes at them, and drives 
them out. 
What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, 
, Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. 

Burn, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated be 
Of Timon man and all humanity ! {Exit. 

Re-enter the Lords, Senators, &°c. 

First Lord. How now, my lords ! 

Sec. Lord. Know you the quality of Lord 
Timon's fury? 

Third Lord. Push ! did you see my cap? 

Fourth Lord. I have lost my gown. 120 

First Lord. He 's but a mad lord, and nought 
but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel th' 
other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat : 
did you see my jewel? 

Third Lord. Did you see my cap? 

Sec. Lord. Here 'tis. 

Fourth Lord. Here lies my gown. 



First Lord. Let's make no stay. 
Sec. Lord. Lord Timon 's mad. 
Third Lord. I feel 't upon my bones. 130 

Fou?'th Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, 
next day stones. {Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Without the zvalls of Athens. 
Enter Timon. 

Tim. Let me look back upon thee. O thou 
wall, 
That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth, 
And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incontin- 
ent ! 
Obedience fail in children ! slaves and fools, 
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
And minister in their steads ! to general filths 
Convert o' the instant, green virginity, 
Do 't in your parents' eyes ! bankrupts, hold fast ; 
Rather than render back, out with your knives, 
And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, 
steal ! - 10 

Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, 
And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed ; 
Thy mistress is o' the brothel ! Son of sixteen, " 
Pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, 
With it beat out his brains ! Piety, and fear, 
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, 
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
Decline to your confounding contraries, • 20 
And let confusion live ! Plagues, incident to men, 
Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
On Athens, ripe for stroke ! Thou cold sciatica, 
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
As lamely as their manners ! Lust and liberty 
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, 
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, 
And drown themselves in riot ! Itches, blains, 
Sow all the Athenian bosoms ; and their crop 
Be general leprosy ! Breath infect breath, 30 
That their society, as their friendship, may 
Be merely poison ! Nothing I'll bear from thee, 
But nakedness, thou detestable town ! 
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans ! 
Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
The gods confound — hear me, you good gods all — 
The Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! 40 
Amen. {Exit. 

Scene II. Athens. A room in Timon's house. \ 

Enter Flavius, with two or three Servants. 

First Serv. Hear you, master steward, where 's | 
our master? 
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? 

Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say ! 
to you? 
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
I am as poor as you. 

First Serv. Such a house broke ! 

So noble a master fall'n ! All gone ! and not 
One friend to take his fortune by the arm, 



Scene ii.] 



T/.VO.Y OF ATHENS. 



755 



And go along with him ! 

Sec. Serv. As we do turn our backs 

From our companion thrown into his grave, 
So his familiars to his buried fortunes 10 

Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, 
Like empty purses pick'd ; and his poor self, 
A dedicated beggar to the air, 
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty. 
Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. 

Enter other Servants. 
Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 

Third Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's 

livery ; 
That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark, 
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, 20 
Hearing the surges threat : we must all part 
Into this sea of air. 

Flav. Good fellows all, 

The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. 
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, 
Let 's yet be fellows ; let 's shake our heads, 

and say, 
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
' We have seen better days.' Let each take some ; 
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word 

more : 
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 

[Sei'vants embrace, and ftart several ivays. 
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! 30 
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, 
Since riches point to misery and contempt? 
Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live 
But in a dream of friendship? 
To have his pomp and all what state compounds 
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? 
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, 
Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood, 
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good ! 
Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? 40 
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. 
My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, 
Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes 
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord ! 
He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat 
Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to 
Supply his life, or that which can command it. 
I '11 follow and inquire him out: 
I'll ever serve his mind with my best will : 
Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. 50 

[Exit. 

Scene III. Woods and cave, near the sea-shore. 
E nter Timon, from the cave. 
Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the 

earth 
Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, 
| Whose procreation, residence, and birth, 

Scarce is dividant, touch them with several 

fortunes ; 
The greater scorns the lesser : not nature, 
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great 

fortune, 
Rut by contempt of nature. 
Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord ; 
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 10 



The beggar native honour. 

It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, 

The want that makes him lean. Who dares, 

who dares, 
In purity of manhood stand upright, 
And say ' This man's a flatterer'? if one be, 
So arc they all ; for every grise of fortune 
Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate 
Ducks to the golden fool : all is oblique , 
There's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd 20 
All feasts, societies, and throngs of in :n ! 
His sem himself, Timon disdains: 

Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me 

roots ! [Dig 

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
With thy most operant poison ! What is here? 
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, 
I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens ! 
Thus much of this will make black white, foul 

fair, 

right, base noble, old young, coward 

valiant. 
Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? 

Why, this 30 

Will lug your priests and servants from your 

sides, 
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads : 
This yellow slave 

Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, 
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves 
And give them title, knee and approbation 
With senators on the bench : this is it 
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ; 
She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores 
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and 

spices 40 

To the April Aa.y again. Come, damned earth, 
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
Do thy right nature. [March afar off.] Ha ! 

a drum? Thou'rt quick, 
But yet I'll bury thee : thou'lt go, strong thief, 
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. 
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. 

[Keeping some gold. 

Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in 
warlike manner; Phrynia and Ti.ma 
A Icib. What art thou there? speak. 
Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw 
thy heart, 
For showing me again the eyes of man ! 50 

A lcil>. What is thy name I Is man so hateful 
to thee, 
That art thyself a man? 

Tim. I am Misanthropes, and hate mankind. 
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, 
That I might love thee something. 

A Icib. I know thee well ; 

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
Tim. I know thee too; and more than that I 
know thee, 
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: 
»US canons, civil laws are cruel ; 60 

Then what should war be? This fell whore 

of thine 
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 

48-2 



756 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act iv. 



For all her cherubin look. 
Phry. Thy lips rot off! 

Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
To thine own lips again. 

Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this 

change ? 
Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light 
to give: 
But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
There were no suns to borrow of. 

Alcib. Noble Timon, 

What friendship may I do thee ? 

Tim. None, but to 70 

Maintain my opinion. 
Alcib. What is it, Timon? 

Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform 
none : if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague 
thee, for thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, 
confound thee, for thou art a man ! 
Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy 

miseries. 
Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had pros- 
perity. 
Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed 

time. v 

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of 
• harlots. 

Timau. Is this the Athenian minion, whom 
the world 80 

Voiced so regardfully? 
- Tim. Art thou Timandra? 

Timan. Yes. 

Tim. Be a whore still: they love thee not 
that use thee ; 
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves 
For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked 

youth 
To the tub-fast and the diet. 

Timan. Hang thee, monster ! 

Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for 
his wits 
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. 
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, go 

The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
In my penurious band : I have heard, and 

grieved, 
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour 

states, 
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — 
Tim. I prithee, beat thy drum, and get 

thee gone. 
Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear 

Timon. 
Tim. How dost thou pity him whom thou 
dost trouble? 
! I had rather be alone. 

A Icib. Why, fare thee well : 

Here is some gold for thee. 

Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it. 100 

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on 

a heap, — 
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? 
A Icib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 

Tim. The gods confound them all in thy 
conquest; 
And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ! 
Alcib. Why me, Timon? 



Tim. That, by killing of villains, 

Thou wast born to conquer my country. 
Put up thy gold : go on, — here's gold, — go on ; 
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison 
In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: no 
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard ; 
He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit 

matron ; 
It is her habit only that is honest, 
Herself's a bawd : let not the virgin's cheek 
Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those milk- 
paps, 
That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 
Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 
But set them down horrible traitors : spare not 

the babe, 
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 

mercy ; 
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle " 120 

Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, 
And mince it sans remorse : swear against objects ; 
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes ; 
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor 

babes, 
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, 
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy 

soldiers : 
Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent, 
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. 
Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold 

thou givest me, 
Not all thy counsel. 130 

Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's 

curse upon thee! 
Phr. and Timan. Give us some gold, good 

Timon : hast thou more ? 
Tim. ■ Enough to make a whore forswear her 

trade, 
fAnd to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you 

sluts, 
Your aprons mountant : you are not oathable, — 
Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear 
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues 
The immortal gods that hear you, — spare your 

oaths, 
I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still; 
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; 141 
Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 
And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six 

months, 
Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin 

roofs 
With burthens of the dead; — some that were 

hang'd, 
No matter : — wear them, betray with them : whore 

still; 
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : 
A pox of wrinkles ! 

P/ir. and Timan. Well, more gold : what 

then? , -• • 

Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. 150 

Tim. Consumptions sow ' ■■ 

In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, 

And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's 

voice, 
That he may never more false title plead, ' « 

Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen, 



Scene hi.] 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



757 



That scolds against the quality of flesh, 
And not believes himself: down with the nose, 
Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
Of him that, his particular to foresee, 
Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-patc 
ruffians bald ; 160 

And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
Derive some pain from you : plague all ; 
That your activity may defeat and quell 
The source of all erection. There's more gold : 
Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
And ditches grave you all ! 

Phr. and Timan. More counsel with more 
money, bounteous Timon. 

Tim. More whore, more mischief first ; I have 
given you earnest. 

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens! 
Farewell, Timon : 
If I thrive well, I '11 visit thee again. 170 

Tim. If I hope well, I 'II never see thee more. 

Alcib. I never did thee harm. 

Tim. Yes, thou spokest well of me. 

Alcib. Call'st thou that harm? 

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and 
take 
1 Thy beagles with thee. 

A Icib. We but offend him. Strike ! 

[Drum beats. Exeunt A Icibiades, 

Pluynia, and Timandra. 

Tim. That nature, being sick of man's un- 
kindness, 
Should yet be hungry ! Common mother, thou, 
! . , {Digging: 

Whose womb immeasurable, and infinite breast, 
Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle, 
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff 'd, 
Engenders the black toad and adder blue, 181 
The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, 
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven 
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ; 
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, 
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! 
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, 
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! 
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; 
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
Hath to the marbled mansion all above 191 

Never presented ! — O, a root, — dear thanks ! — 
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas ; 
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts 
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
That from it all consideration slips ! 

Enter Apemantus. 
More man? plague, plague ! 

Apem. I was directed hither: men report 
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. 

Tim. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep 

a dog, 200 

Whom I would imitate : consumption catch thee ! 

Apem. This is in thee a nature but infected ; 
A poor unmanly melancholy sprung 
From change of fortune. Why this spade ? this 

place ? 
This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? 
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft ; 
Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot 
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, 
By putting on the cunning of a carper. 



Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 210 
By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
And let his very breath, whom thou 'It observe, 
Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain, 
And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; 
Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid 

welcome 
To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just 
That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, 
Rascals should have t. Do not assume my like- 
ness. 

Tim. Were I like thee, I 'Id throw away my- 
self. 

A pent. Thou hast cast away thyself, being 
like thyself; 220 

A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st 
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, 
Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd 

trees, 
That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, 
And skip where thou point'st out? will the cold 

brook, 
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, 
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures 
Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, 
To the conflicting elements exposed, 230 

Answer mere nature ; bid them flatter thee ; 
O, thou shalt find — 

Tim. A fool of thee : depart. 

Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 

Tim. I hate thee worse. 

Apem. Why? 

Tim. Thou flattcr'st misery. 

Apem. I flatter not ; but say thou art a caitiff. 

Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? 

Apem. To vex thee. 

Tim. Always a villain's office or a fool's. 
Dost please thyself in 't? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. What ! a knave too? 

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou 240 
Dost it enforcedly ; thou'ldst courtier be again, 
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : 
The one is filling still, never complete ; 
The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, 
Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
Worse than the worst, content. 
Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. 

Tim. Not by his breath that is more miserable. 
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 250 
With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, pro- 
ceeded 
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
To such as may the passive drugs of it 
Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged 

thyself 
In general riot : melted down thy youth 
In different beds of lust ; and never learn'd 
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
Who had the world as my confectionary, 260 

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of 

men 
At duty, more than I could frame employment. 
That numberless upon me stuck as leaves 



75* 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act iv. 



Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare 
For every storm that blows : I, to bear this, 
That never knew but better, is some burden : 
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou 
hate men? 269 

They never flatter'd thee : what hast thou given? 
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, 
Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff 
To some she beggar and compounded thee 
I Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone ! 
! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, 
Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. 

Apem. Art thou proud yet ? 

Tint. Ay, that I am not thee. 

Apem. ' I, that I was 

No prodigal. 

Tim. I, that I am one now : 

Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
I 'Id give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. 
That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 281 
Thus would I eat it. \Eati71g a root. 

Ape?n. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 

{.Offei'itig him a j-oot. 

Tim. First mend my company, take away 
thyself. 

Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the 
lack of thine. 

Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
If not, I would it were. 

Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens? 

Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou 
wilt, 
Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have. 

Apetii. Here is no use for gold. 

Tim. The best and truest ; 290 

For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 

Apem. Where liest o' nights, Timon? 

Tim. Under that's above me. 

Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? 

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, 
rather, where I eat it. 

Tim. Would poison were obedient and knew 
my mind ! 

Apem. Where wouldst thou send it? 

Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 299 

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never 
knewest, but the extremity of both ends : when 
thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they 
mocked thee for too much curiosity ; in thy rags 
thou knowest none, but art despised for the con- 
trary. There 's a medlar for thee, eat it. 

Tim. On what I hate I feed not. 

Apem. Dost hate a medlar? 

Tint. Ay, though it look like thee. 

Apetu. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, 
thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. 
What man didst thou ever know unthrift that 
j was beloved after his means? 

Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest 
| of, didst thou ever know beloved ? 

Apem. Myself. 

Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some 
means to keep a dog. 

Apem. What things in the world canst thou 
nearest compare to thy flatterers? 319 

Tim. Women nearest ; but men, men are the 
things themselves. What wouldst thou do with 



the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? 

Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the 
men. 

Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the 
confusion of men, and remain a beast with the 
beasts? 

Apem. Ay, Timon. 

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods 
grant thee t' attain to ! If thou wert the lion, the 
fox would beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, 
the fox would eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the 
lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou 
wert accused by the ass : if thou wert the ass, thy 
dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst 
but as a breakfast to the wolf : if thou wert the 
wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft 
thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert 
thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound 
thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy 
fury : wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by 
the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be 
seized by the leopard : wert thou a leopard, thou 
wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kind- 
red were jurors on thy life : all thy safety were 
remotion and thy defence absence. What beast 
couldst thou be, that were not subject to a 
beast? and what a beast art thou already, that 
seest not thy loss in transformation ! 349 

Apem. If thou couldst please me with speak- 
ing to me, thou mightsthave hit upon it here : the 
commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of 
beasts. 

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that 
thou art out of the city? 

Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter: 
the plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear 
to catch it and give way : when I know not what 
else to do, I '11 see thee again. 359 

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, 
thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beg- 
gar's dog than Apemantus. 

Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. 

Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit 
upon ! 

Apem. A plague on thee ! thou art too bad 
to curse. 

Ti)u. All villains that do stand by thee are 
pure. 

Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou 
speak'st. 

Thn. If I name thee. 
I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. 

Apem. I would my tongue could rot them off! 

Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! 371 
Choler does kill me that thou art alive ; 
I swound to see thee. 

Apem. Would thou wouldst burst ! 

Tim. Away, 

Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry I shall lose 
A stone by thee. \Throws a stone at him. 

Apem. Beast ! 

Tim. Slave ! 

Apem. Toad ! 

Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 

I am sick of this false world, and will love nought 
Rut even the mere necessities upon't. 
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ; 
Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
Thy grave-stone daily : make thine epitaph, 380 



ScEXE III.] 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



759 



That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
{To the gold] thou sweet king-killer, and dear 

divorce 
'Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler 
Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars ! 
Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, 
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
That lies on Dian's lap ! thou visible god, 
That solder'st close impossibilities, 
And makest them kiss ! that spcak'st with every 

tongue, 
To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts ! 390 
Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue 
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
May have the world in empire ! 

Apem. Would 'twere so ! 

But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold: 
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 

Tint. Throng'd to ! 

Apem. Ay. 

Tint. Thy back, I prithee. 

Apem. Live, and love thy misery. 

Tim. Long live so, and so die. {Exit Ape- 
mautus. \ I am quit 
Moe things like men ! Eat, Timon, and abhor 
them. 



Enter Banditti. 

First Ban. Where should he have this gold ? 
Tt is some poor fragment, some slender orl of his 
remainder : the mere want of gold, and the fall- 
ing-from of his friends, drove him into this melan- 
choly. 

Sec. Ban. It is noised he hath a mass of trea- 
sure. 

T/iird Ban. Let us make the assay upon him : 
if he care not for't, he will supply us easily ; if 
he covetously reserve it, how shall 's get it? 

Sec. Ban. True; for he bears it not about 
him, 'tis hid. 

First Ban. Is not this he? 410 

Banditti. Where? 

Sec. Ban. 'Tis his description. 

Third Ban. He ; I know him. 

Banditti. Save thee, Timon. 

Tun. Now, thieves? 

Banditti. Soldiers, not thieves. 

Tim. Both too ; and women's sons. 

Banditti. We are not thieves, but men that 
much do want. 

Tint. Your greatest want is, you want much 
of meat. 
Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath 
roots ; 420 

Within this mile break forth a hundred springs ; 
The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips ; 
The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
Lays her full mess before you. Want! why 
want? 

First Ban. We cannot live on grass, on ber- 
ries, water, 
As beasts and birds and fishes. 

Tint. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, 
and fishes ; 
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con 
That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not 
In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft 430 
In limited professions. Rascal thieves, 



Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the 

grape, 
Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, 
And so 'scape hanging : trust not the physician ; 
His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
More than you rob: take wealth and lives to- 
gether ; 
Do villany, do, since you protest to do't. 
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: 
The sun's a thief, and with his great attr. 
Robs the vast sea ; the moon 's an arrant thief, 440 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, 
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrement: each thing's a thief: 
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough 

power 
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not you: 

away, 
Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut 

throats : 
All that you meet are thieves : to Athens go, 
Break open shops ; nothing can you steal, 450 
But thieves do lose it : steal no less for this 
I give you ; and gold confound you howsoe'er ! 
Amen. 

Third Ban. Has almost charmed me from my 
profession, by persuading me to it. 

First Ban. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that 
he thus advises us ; not to have us thrive in our 
mystery. 

Sec. Ban. I '11 believe him as an enemy, and 

give over my trade. 460 

First Ban. Let us first see peace in Athens : 

there is no time so miserable but a man may he 

true. {Exeunt Banditti. 

Enter F lav us. 

Flav. O you gods ! 
Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? 
Full of decay and failing? O monument 
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
What an alteration of honour 
Has desperate want made ! 

What viler thing upon the earth than friends 470 
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends ! 
How rarely does it meet with this time's 
When man was wish'd to love his enemies! 
Grant I may ever love, and rather 
Those that would mischief me than those that 

do! 
Has caught me in his eye : I will present 
My honest grief unto him ; and, as my lord, 
Still serve him with my life. My dearest master ! 

Tint. Away! what art thou? 

Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 

Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all 
men ; 480 

Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have 
forgot thee. 

Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. 

Tim. Then I know thee not: 
I never had honest man about me, I ; all 
I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. 

Flav. The gods arc witness. 
Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. 



y6o 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act iv. 



Tun. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. 

Then I love thee, 
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 490 
Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give 
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping: 
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 

weeping ! 
Flav. 1 beg of you to know me, good my lord, 
To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth 

lasts 
To entertain me as your steward still. 

Tim. Had I a steward 
So true, so just, and now so comfortable? 
It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. 
Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man 500 
Was born of woman. 
I Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
I You perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
; One honest man — mistake me not — but one ; 
No more, I pray, — and he's a steward. 
How fain would I have hated all mankind ! 
And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, 
I fell with curses. 

Methinks thou art more honest now than wise ; 
For, by oppressing and betraying me, 510 

Thou mightst have sooner got another service : 
For many so arrive at second masters, 
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true — 
For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure — ■ 
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, 
If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal 

gifts, 
Expecting in return twenty for one ? 
Flav. No, my most worthy master ; in whose 

breast 
Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late : 
You should have fear'd false times when you did 

feast : 520 

Suspect still comes where an estate is least. 
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely 

love, 
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, 
Care of your food and living ; and, believe it, 
My most honour'd lord, 
For any benefit that points to me, 
Either in hope or present, I 'Id exchange 
For this one wish, that you had power and wealth 
To requite me, by making rich yourself. 

Tun. Look thee, 'tis so ! Thou singly honest 

man, 530 

Here, take : the gods out of my misery 
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and 

happy ; 
But thus condition'd : thou shalt build from men : 
Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, 
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, 
Ere thou relieve the beggar ; give to dogs 
What thou deny' st to men; let prisons swallow 

'em, 
Debts wither 'em to nothing ; be men like blasted 

woods. 
And may diseases lick up their false bloods ! 
And so farewell and thrive. 

Flav. O, let me stay, 540 

And comfort you, my master. 

Tim. If thou hatest curses, 

Stay not ; fly, whilst thou art blest and free : 
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 

[Exit Flavins. Timon retires to his cave. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. The woods. Before Timon' s cave. 

Enter Poet and Painter ; Timon watching (hem 
from his cave. 

Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot 
be far where he abides. 

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the 
rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold? 

Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it ; Phrynia 
and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise en- 
riched poor straggling soldiers with great quan- 
tity : 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty 
sum. 

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but 
a try for his friends. n 

Pain. Nothing else : you shall see him a palm 
in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. 
Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to 
him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show 
honestly in us; and is very likely to load our 
purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just 
and true report that goes of his having. 

Poet. What have you now to present unto him? 

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : 
only I will promise him an excellent piece. 21 

Poet. I must serve him so too, tell him of an 
intent that's coming toward him. 

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the 
very air o' the time : it opens the eyes of expect- 
ation : performance is ever the duller for his act; 
and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of peo- 
ple, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To 
promise is most courtly and fashionable : perform- 
ance is a kind of will or testament which argues 
a great sickness in his judgement that makes it. 
[Timon comes from his cave, behind. 

Tim. [Aside'] Excellent workman ! thou canst 
not paint a man so bad as is thyself. 

Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have 
provided for him : it must be a personating of 
himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, 
with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that fol- 
low youth and opulency. 

Tim. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a 
villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine 
own faults in other men ? Do so, I have gold for 
thee. 

Poet. Nay, let's seek him: 
Then do we sin against our own estate, 
When we may profit meet, and come too late. 

Pain. True ; 
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, 
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. 
Come. 

Tun. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What 
a god's gold, 50 

That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple 
Than where swine feed ! 
'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the 

foam, 
Settlest admired reverence in a slave : 
To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye 
Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey ! 
Fit I meet them. [Coming forward. \ 

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! 

Pain. Our late noble master ! • 

Tim. Have I once lived to see two honest men ? ' 



Scene i.] 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



761 



Poet. Sir, 60 

Having often of your open bounty tasted, 
Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, 
Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits ! — 
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough : 
What ! to you, 

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
To their whole being ! I am rapt and cannot cover 
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
With any size of words. 

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better : 
You that are honest, by being what you are, 71 
Make them best seen and known. 

Pain. He and myself 

Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, 
And sweetly felt it. 

Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 

Pain. We are hither come to offer you our 
service. 

Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I 
requite you? . 

Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. 

Both. What we can do, we '11 do, to do you 
service. 

Tim. Ye 're honest men: ye've heard that I 
have gold ; 
I am sure you have : speak truth ; ye 're honest 
men. So 

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord ; but therefore 
Came not my friend nor I. 

Tim. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a 
counterfeit 
Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best ; 
Thou counterfeits most lively. 

Pain. So, so, my lord. 

Tim. E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy 
fiction, 
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth 
That thou art even natural in thine art. 
But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, 
I must needs say you have a little fault : 90 

Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I 
You take much pains to mend. 

Both. Beseech your honour 

To make it known to us. 

Tim. You'll take it ill. 

Both. Most thankfully, my lord. 

Tim. Will you, indeed? 

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 

Tim. There's never a one of you but trusts a 
knave, 
That mightily deceives you. 

Both. Do we, my lord ? 

'Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis- 
semble, 
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, 
Keep in your bosom : yet remain assured 100 
That he 's a made-up villain. 

Pain. I know none such, my lord. 

Poet. Nor I. 

Tim. Look you, T love you well ; I '11 give you 
gold, 
Rid me these villains from your companies: 
Hangthemor stab them, drown them in a draught, 
Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
I '11 give you gold enough. 

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. 

Tim. You that way and you this, but two in 
company ; 



Each man apart, all single and alone, no 

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
If where thou art two villains shall not be, 
Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside 
But where one villain is, then him abandon. 
Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, 

ye slaves : 
[ To Painter] You have work'd for me ; there 's 

payment for you : hence ! 
[ To Poet] You are an alchemist; make gold of 

that. 
Out, rascal dogs ! [Beats them out, and then 
retires to his cave. 

Enter Flavius and two Senators. 

Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with 
Timon ; 
For he is set so only to himself 120 

That nothing but himself which looks like man 
Is friendly with him. 

First Sen. Bring us to his cave : 

It is our part and promise to the Athenians 
To speak with Timon. 

Sec. Sen. At all times alike 

Men are not still the same : 'twas time and griefs 
That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, 
Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
The former man may make him. Bring us to him, 
And chance it as it may. 

Flav. Here is his cave. 129 

Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon ! 
Look out, and speak to friends : the Athenians, 
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : 
Speak to them, noble Timon. 

Timon comes from his cave. 

Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn ! Speak, 
and be hang'd : 
For each true word, a blister ! and each false 
Be as a cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, 
Consuming it with speaking ! 

First Sen. Worthy Timon, — 

Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of 
Timon. 

First Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, 
Timon. 

Tun. I thank them; and would send them 
back the plague, 140 

Could I but catch it for them. 

First Sen. O, forget 

What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
The senators with one consent of love 
Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought 
On special dignities, which vacant lie 
For thy best use and wearing. 

Sec. Sen. They confess 

Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross : 
Which now the public body, which doth seldom 
Play the recanter, feeling in itself 
A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 150 

Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon ; 
And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render. 
Together with a recompense more fruitful 
Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; 
Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth 
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs 
And write in thee the figures of their love, 
Ever to read them thine. 

Tim. You witch me in it : 



762 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



[Act v. 



' Surprise me to the very brink of tears : 

Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, 160 
And I '11 beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 
First Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return 
with us 
And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take 
I The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
; Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name 
i Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back 
I Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, 
i Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
■! His country's peace. 

Sec. Sen. And shakes his threatening sword 
! Against the walls of Athens. 

First Sen. Therefore, Timon, — 170 

Tim. Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; 
thus: 
j If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, 
' Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, 
I That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair 

Athens, 
■ And take our goodly aged men by the beards, 
! Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
i Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, 
I Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, 
1 In pity of our aged and our youth, 
j I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, 1S0 
And let him take't at worst; for their knives care 

not, 
While you have throats to answer : for myself, 
j There's not a whittle in the unruly camp 
But I do prize it at my love before 
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you 
To the protection of the prosperous gods, 
As thieves to keepers. 

Flav. Stay not, all's in vain. 

Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph ; 
It will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness 
Of health and living now begins to mend, 190 
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still ; 
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, 
And last so long enough ! 

First Sen. We speak in vain. 

Tim. But yet I love my country, and am not 
One that rejoices in the common wreck, 
As common bruit doth put it. 

First Sen. That's well spoke. 

Tim. Commend me to my loving country- 
men, — 
First Sen. These words become your lips as 

they pass thorough them. 
Sec. Sen. And enter in our ears like great 
triumphers 
In their applauding gates. 

Tim. Commend me to them, 200 

And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, 
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 

them: 
I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 
First Sen. I like this well ; he will return again. 
Tint. I have a tree, which grows here in my 
close, 
That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
And shortly must I fell it : tell my friends, 210 
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree 
From high to low throughout, that whoso please 



To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
And hang himself. I pray you, clo my greeting. 

Flav. Trouble him no further ; thus you still 
shall find him. 

Tim. Come not to me again : but say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; 
Who once a day with his embossed froth 220 

The turbulent surge shall cover : thither come, 
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. 
Lips, let sour words go by and language end : 
What is amiss plague and infection mend ! 
Graves only be men's works and death their gain ! 
Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 
[Retires to his cave. 

First Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
Coupled to nature. 

Sec. Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us return, 
And strain what other means is left unto us 230 
In our dear peril. 

First Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Before the walls of Athens. 
Enter two Senators and a Messenger. 
First Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd : 
are his files 
As full as thy report? 

Mess. I have spoke the least : 

Besides, his expedition promises 
Present approach. 

Sec. Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring 

not Timon. 
Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; 
Whom, though in general part we were opposed, 
+Yet our old love made a particular force, 
And made us speak like friends : this man was 

riding 
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, 10 

With letters of entreaty, which imported 
His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
In part for his sake moved. 
First Sen. Here come our brothers. 

Enter the Senators from Timon. 
Third Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him 
expect. 
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
Doth choke the air with dust : in, and prepare : 
Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes the snare. 

[Exeioit. 

Scene III. The woods. Ti;non's cave, and a 
rude tomb seen. 

Enter a Soldier, seeking- Timon. 

Sold. By all description this should be the place. 

Who 's here ? speak, ho ! No answer ! What is 

this? 
Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span : 
Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man. 
Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this 

tomb 
I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax: 
Our captain hath in every figure skill, 
An aged interpreter, though young in days : 
Before proud Athens he's set down by this, 
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit. 10 



Scene iv.] 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



7'?. 



Scene IV. Before the walls of A tJicns. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades with his 

powers. 
Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 
Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. 

Enter Senators on the walls. 
Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time 
With all licentious measure, making your wills 
The scope of justice; till now myself and such 
As slept within the shadow of your power 
Have wander'd with our traversed arms and 

breathed 
Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, 
When crouching marrow In the bearer strong 
Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong 
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, n 
And pursy insolence shall break his wind 
With fear and horrid flight. 

First Sen. Noble and young, 

When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, 
Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, 
We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, 
To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
Above their quantity. 

Sec. Sen. So did we woo 

Transformed Timon to our city's love 
By humble message and by promised means : 20 
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
The common stroke of war. 

First Sen. These walls of ours 

Were not erected by their hands from whom 
You have received your griefs ; nor are they such 
That these great towers, trophies and schools 

should fall 
For private faults in them. 

Sec. Sen. Nor are they living 

Who were the motives that you first went out ; 
Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess 
Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 
Into our city with thy banners spread: 30 

By decimation, and a tithed death — 
1 f thy revenges hunger for that food 
Which nature loathes — take thou the destined 

tenth, 
And by the hazard of the spotted die 
Let die the spotted. 

First Sen. All have not offended ; 

For those that were, it is not square to take 
On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands, 
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, 
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: 
Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin 40 

Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall 
With those that have offended ; like a shepherd, 



Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, 
But kill not all together. 

Sec. Sen. What thou wilt, 

Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile 
Than hew to 't with thy sword. 

First Sen. Set but thy foot 

Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope ; 
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, 
To say thou'lt enter friendly, 

Sec. Sen. Throw thy glove, 

Or any token of thine honour else, 50 

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress 
And not as our confusion, all thy powers 
Shall make their harbour in our town, till wc 
Have seal'd thy full desire. 

A Icib. Then there 's my glove : 

Descend, and open your uncharged ports : 
Those enemies of Timon's and mine own 
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof 
Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears 
With my more noble meaning, not a man 
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream 60 
Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 
But shall be render'd to your public laws 
At heaviest answer. 

Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. 

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 

[The Senators descend, and open the gates. 

Enter Soldier. 
Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead ; 
Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea ; 
And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which 
Witli wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
Alcib. {Reads thcepitaph] ' Here liesa wretched 

corse, of wretched soul bereft : 70 

Seek not my name : a plague consume you wicked 

caitiffs left ! 
Here lie I, Timon ; who, alive, all living men did 

hate: 
Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not 

here thy gait.' 
These well express in thee thy latter spirits : 
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets 

which 
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
Is noble Timon : of whose memory 80 

Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, 
And I will use the olive with my sword, 
Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, 

make each 
Prescribe to other as each other's leech. 
Let our drums strike. [Exeunt. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Julius Caesar. 

Octavius Caesar, \ triumvirs after the 

Marcus Antonius, > death of Julius 

M. jEmilius Lepidus, J Caesar. 

Cicero, j 

Publius, } senators. 

Popilius Lena, ) 

Marcus Brutus, ^ 

Cassius, 

Casca, 

Trebonius, I conspirators against 

Ligarius, f Julius Cassar. 

Decius Brutus, 

Metellus Cimber, 

ClNNA, J 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 
Artemidorus of Cnidos, a teacher of Rhe- 
toric. 
A Soothsayer. 
Cinna, a poet. Another Poet. 



friends to Brutus and 
Cassius. 



servants to Brutus. 



Lucilius, 
Titinius, 

Messala, 

Young Cato 

volumnius, 

Varro, 

Clitus, 

Claudius, 

Strato, 

Lucius, 

Dardanius, J 

Pindarus, servant to Cassius. 

Calpurnia, wife to Csesar. 
Portia, wife to Brutus. 

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c 

Scene: Rome: the neighbotirhood of Sardis: 
the neighbouriiood of Philipfii. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Rome. A street. 

Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain 
Commoners. 

Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get 
you home : 
Is this a holiday? what ! know you not, 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
Upon a labouring day without the sign 
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? 

First Com. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy 
rule? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? 
You, sir, what trade are you ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work- 
man, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. n 

Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me 
directly. 

Sec. Com. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may 
use with a safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, 
a mender of bad soles. 

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
knave, what trade? 

Sec. Com. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not 
out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend 
you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that? mend me, 
thou saucy fellow ! 21 

Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with 
the awl : I meddle with no tradesman's matters, 
nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, in- 
deed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when they are 
in great danger, I recover them. As proper men 



as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon 
my handiwork. 30 

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to- 
day? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, 
to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, 
we make holiday, to see Cassar and to rejoice in 
his triumph. 

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest 
brings he home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot- wheels? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense- 
less things ! 40 
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation, 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Have you not made an universal shout, 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 50 
To hear the replication of your sounds 
Made in her concave shores ? 
And do you now put on your best attire? 
And do you now cull out a holiday? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 
Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 60 

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this 
fault, 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 



Scene i.] 



JULIUS CAUSAE. 



765 



Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 

[Exeunt all the Commoners. 
See, whether their basest metal be not moved ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
This way will I : disrobe the images, 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 70 

IMar. May we do so? 
You know it is the feast of Lupercal. 

Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's 

wing 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, 
Who else would soar above the view of men 79 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A public place. 

Flourish. Enter Cesar ; Antony, for the 

course; Calpurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, 

Brutus, Cassius, and Casca ; a great crcnvd 

following, among the7>i a Soothsayer. 

Cces. Calpurnia! 

Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. 

Cces. Calpurnia ! 

Cal. Here, my lord. 

Cess. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
When he doth run his course. Antonius ! 

Ant. Caesar, my lord? 

Cces. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
To touch Calpurnia ; for our elders say, 
The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
Shake off their sterile curse. 

Ant. I shall remember: 

When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform*d. 10 

Cces. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. 

[Flourish. 

Sooth. Caesar! 

Cces. Ha! who calls? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still: peace yet 
again ! 

Cces. Who is it in the press that calls on me ? 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 
Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

Cces. What man is that? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides 
of March. 19 

Cces. Set him before me ; let me see his face. 

Cos. Fellow, come from the throng ; look upon 
Caesar. 

Cces. What say'st thou to me now? speak 
once again. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

Cces. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him : pass. 

[Sennet. Exeutit all except 

Brutus and Cassius. 

Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? 

Bru. Not I. 

Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some 
part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 30 



I '11 leave ycu. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
And show of love as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceived : if I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
Of late with passions of some difference, 40 

Conceptions only proper to myself, 
Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviours ; 
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved — 
Among which number, Cassius, be you one — ■ 
Nor construe any further my neglect, 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 
Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
passion ; 
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 50 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 

Bru. No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not itself, 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'Tisjust: 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus 60 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, 
Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me? 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to 
hear : 
And since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 70 
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 
Were I a common laugher, or did use 
To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester; if you know 
That I do fawn on men and hug them hard 
And after scandal them, or if you know 
That I profess myself in banqueting 
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 

[Flourish, and shout. 
Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, 
the people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? So 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 
Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him 
well. 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me? 
If it be aught toward the general good, 
Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, 
And I will look on both indifferently, 
For let the gods so speed me as I love 
The name of honour more than I fear death. 89 
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 



Well, honour is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : 
We both have fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he : 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, ioo 

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now 
| Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
' And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, 
' Accoutred as I was, I plunged in 
| And bade him follow; so indeed he did. 
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
| With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 
i And stemming it with hearts of controversy; 
But ere we could arrive the point proposed, no 
Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' 
I I, as ./Eneas, our great ancestor, 
i Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
i The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of 

Tiber 
, Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 
| Is now become a god, and Cassius is 

A wretched creature and must bend his body, ' 
I If Caesar carelessly but nod on him._ 
i He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And when the fit was on him, I did mark 120 
1 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : 
j His coward lips did from their colour fly, 
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the 
world 
I Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 
Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans 
Mark him and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas, it cried ' Give me some drink, Titinius,' 
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world 130 

And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish. 

Bru. Another general shout ! 
I do believe that these applauses are 
For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow 
world 
Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 140 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus and Caesar : what should be in that ' Caesar' ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than 

yours? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
.Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 149 
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed ! 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was famed with more than with one man ? 
When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? 
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, 



When there is in it but one only man. 
O, you and I have heard our fathers say, 
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 160 
As easily as a king. 

Bru. Thatyoudolove me, I am nothing jealous ; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim : 
How I have thought of this and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further moved. What you have said 
I will consider ; what you have to say 
I will with patience hear, and find a time 169 

Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this : 
Brutus had rather be a villager 
Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 

Cas. I am glad that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much show of fire from 
Brutus. 

Bru. The games are done and Caesar is re- 
turning. 

Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 180 
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 

Re-enter Caesar and his Train. 

Bru. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Cas. Antonius ! 190 

Ant. Caesar? 

Cess. Let me have men about me that are fat : 
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o 'nights ; 
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar ; he 'snot dangerous ; 
He is a noble Roman and well given. 

Cces. Would he were fatter ! But I fear him 
not: 
Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
I do not know the man I should avoid 200 

So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 
He is a great observer and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men ; he loves no plays, 
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music ; 
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort 
As if he mock'd himself and scorn' d his spirit 
That could be moved to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 210 

I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
Than what I fear ; for always I am Caesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 

[Sennet. Exe:mt Ccesar and all his 
Train, but Casca. 

Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak ; would you 
speak with me? 

Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced 
to-day, 



Scene ii.] 



JULIUS CsESAR. 



767 



That Caesar looks so sad. 

Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not ? 

Bru. I should not then ask Casca what had 
chanced. 219 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him : 
and being offered him, he put it by with 1 
of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a- 
shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cos. They shouted thrice : what was the last 
cry for? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice ? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by 
thrice, every time gentler than other, and at 
every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. 

Cos. Who offered him the crown ? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner "fit, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the 
manner of it : it was mere foolery ; I did not mark 
it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 
'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coro- 
nets; — and, as I told you, he put it by once : but, 
for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have 
had it. Then he offered it to him again ; then he 
put it by again : but, to my thinking, he was very 
loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered 
it the third time ; he put it the third time by : and 
still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted ami 
clapped their chapped hands and threw up their 
sweaty night-caps and uttered such a deal of 
stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown 
that it had almost choked Caesar ; for he swounded 
and fell down at it : and for mine own part, I 
durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and 
receiving the bad air. 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you : what, did Caesar 
swound ? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling sickness. 

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I 
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that; 
but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag 
people did not clap him and hiss him, according 
as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to 
do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he 
perceived the common herd was glad he refused 
the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and 
offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a 
man of any occupation, if I would not have taken 
him at a word, I would I might go to hell among 
lies. And so he fell. When. he came to 
himself again, he said, If lie had done or said any 
tiling amiss, he desired their worships .u think it 

infirmity. Three or four wenche . 
I stood, cried 'Alas, good soul !' and forgave him 
with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be 
taken of them ; if Cajsar had stabbed their 
mothers, they would have done no less. 

Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away? 

Casca. Ay. 280 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 



Cas. To what effect? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look 
you i' the face again : but those that understood 
him smiled at one another and shook their heads : 
but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I 
could tell you more news too: Marullus and 
Flavins for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are 
put to silence. Fare you well. There v. 
foolery yet, if I could remember it. 291 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, t 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold 
and your dinner worth the eating. 

Cas. Good: I will expect you. 

Do so. Farewell, both. [Exit. 

/>';-.'.'. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! 
He was quick mettle when lie wont to school. 300 

Cas. So is he now in execution 
Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
Which gives men stomach to digest his 
With better appetite. 

Bru. Andsoitis. For this time I will leave you: 
To-morrow, if you please to speak, with me, 
I will come home to you; or, if you will. 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 310 

Cas. I will do so : till then, think of the world. 
[Exit Brutus. 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, 1 see, 
Thy honourable metal may be wrought 
From that it is disposed : therefore it is meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes ; 
For who so firm that cannot be seduced? 
C?esar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus : 
If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, 
He should not humour me. I will this night, 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 32c 
As if they came from several citizens, 
Writings all tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely 

's ambition shall be glanced at : 
And after this let Caesar seat him sure ; 
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. 

[Exit. 

Scene III. The same. A street. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter, /rem of>f>osite 
sides, Casca, with his sword 'dra wn , and Cicero. . 
Cic. Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar 1 

home? 
Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? ; 
Arc not you moved, when all the sway 

of earth 
Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, 
1 have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have 
The ambitious ocean swell and rage and f 
To be exalted with the threatening clouds : 
But never till to-night, never till 1 
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 10 

Either there is a civil strife in heaven, 
1 )r eke the world, too saucy with the gods, 
Incenses them to send destruction. 

Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? 
Casca. A common slave — you know him well 

by sight — 



768 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



[Act i. 



Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn 
Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand, 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Besides — I ha' not since put up my sword — 
Against the Capitol I met a lion, 20 

Who glared upon me, and went surly by, 
Without annoying me : and there were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, 
Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw 
Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. 
And yesterday the bird of night did sit 
Even at noon-day upon the market-place, 
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
'These are their reasons; they are natural;' 30 
For, I believe, they are portentous things 
Unto the climate that they point upon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
But men may construe things after their fashion, 
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? 

Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. 

Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed 
sky 
Is not to walk in. 

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. {Exit Cicero. 40 

Enter Cassius. 

Cas. Who's there? 

Casca. A Roman. 

Cas. Casca, by your voice. 

Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night 
is this ! 

Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 

Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? 

Cas. Those that have known the earth so full 
of faults. 
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
Submitting me unto the perilous night, 
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, 
Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone ; 
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
The breast of heaven, I did present myself 51 
Even in the aim and very flash of it. 

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt 
the heavens ? 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble, 
When the most mighty gods by tokens send 
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 

Cas. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks 
of life 
That should be in a Roman you do want, 
Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze 
And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, 60 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
But if you would consider the true cause 
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, 
Why old men fool and children calculate, 
Why all these things change from their ordinance 
Their natures and preformed faculties 
To monstrous quality, — why, you shall find 
That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, 
To make them instruments of fear and warning 70 
Unto some monstrous state. 
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
Most like this dreadful night, 



That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 1 

As doth the lion in the Capitol, 

A man no mightier than thyself or me 

In personal action, yet prodigious grown 

And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 

Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean ; is it not, 
Cassius ? 

Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 80 
Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors ; 
But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. 

Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to-mor- 
row 
Mean to establish Caesar as a king ; 
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
In every place, save here in Italy. 

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger 
then ; 
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 90 
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ; 
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ; 
But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
If I know this, know all the world besides, 
That part of tyranny that I do bear 
I can shake off at pleasure. [ Thunder still. 

Casca. So can 1 : 100 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
The power to cancel his captivity. . 

Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? 
Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf, 
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : 
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire 
Begin it with weak straws : what trash is Rome, 
What rubbish and what offal, when it serves • 
For the base matter to illuminate no 

So vile a thing as Caesar ! But, O grief, 
Where hast thou led me ? I perhaps speak this 
Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, 
And dangers are to me indifferent. 

Casca. You speak to Casca, and to such a man 
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand : 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs, 
And I will set this foot of mine as far 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There 's a bargain made. 120 

Now know you, Casca, I haVe moved already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans 
To undergo with me an enterprise 
Of honourable-dangerous consequence ; 
And I do know, by this, they stay for me 
In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, 
There is no stir or walking in the streets; 
And the complexion of the element 
In favour's like the work we have in hand, 
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 130 

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one 
in haste. 

Cas. 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait ; 
He is a friend. 

Enter Cinna. 
Cinna, where haste you so? 



Scene ii 



JULIUS CESAR. 



769 1 



Cin. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus 
Cimber? 

Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
To our attempts. Am 1 not stay'd for, Cinna? 

Cin. I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is 
this! 
There's two or three of us have seen strange 
sights. 

Cas. Am I not stay'd for? tell me. 

Cin.. Yes, you are. 

O Cassius, if you could 140 

But van the noble Brutus to our party — 

Cas. Be you content: good Ciena, take this 
paper, 
And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, 
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this 
In at his window : set this up with wax 
Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done, 
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
Is J >ecius Brutus and Trebonius there? 

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he's gone 
To seek you at your house. Well, I wil! 
And so bestow these ru bade me. 

Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
[Exit Cinna. 
Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day 
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
Is ours already, and the man entire 
Upon the next encounter yields him ours. 

Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's 
hearts : 
And that which would appear offence in us, 
His countenance, like richest alchemy, 
Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 160 

Cas. Him and his worth and our great need 
of him 
You have right well conceited. Let us go, 
For it is after midnight ; and ere day 
Wc will awake him and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Rome. Br ictus's orchard. 

Enter Brutus. 
Bru. What, Lucius, ho ! 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say ! 

I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
When, Lucius, when? awake, I say ! what, 
Lucius ! 

Enter Lucius. 
Luc. Call'd you, my lord? 
Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 

Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be b y his death: and for my part, 

I know no personal cause t<> spurn at him, 11 

the general. He would be crown'd : 
How that might change his nature, there's the 

question. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder : 
And that cra\es wary walking. Crown him? — 

that ;— 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 



Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of 

Caesar, 
I have not known when his affections sway'd 20 
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; 
But when he once attains the upmost round, 
He then unto the ladder turns liis back, 
Looks in the clouds, - egrees 

h he did ascen \x may. 

Then, le-t he may, prevent. And, since the 

quarrel 
Will hear no colour for the thing he is, 
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augment 
Would run to these and these extremities: 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg 

1, would, as his kind, grow mis- 

chievi is, 
And kill him in the shell. 

Re-enter Lt cits. 
Luc. The taper burncth i,i your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint. 1 found 

iper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, 
It did not lie there when I went to bed. 

[Gives liiiu the letter. 
Bru. Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, hoy, the ides of March . 
Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 
Luc. 1 will. sir. 

Bru. The exhalations whizzing in the air 
Give so much light that I may read by them. 

[Opens the letter and r, ads. 
' Brutus, thou slcep'st : awake, and see thyself. 
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress ! 
Brutus, thou sleep'st : awake!' 
Such instigations have been 1 
Where I have took them up. 50 

'Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out : 
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, 

Rome? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated 
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee 

promise ; 
If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Re-em 

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 

[Knocking within. 
Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate; soi 
knocks. [/.' < 

Since Cassius first did whet me against L 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
aiusand the mortal instruments 
Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Re-e- 
Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door. 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bru. Is he alone? 71 



♦Q 



77° 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



[Act ii. 



Luc. No, sir, there are moe with him. 

Bru. Do you know them? 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck' d about 
their ears, 
And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favour. 

Bru. Let 'em enter. [Exit Lucius. 

They are the faction. O conspiracy, 
Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by 

night, 
When evils are most free? O, then by day 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 80 
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, con- 
spiracy ; 
Hide it in smiles and affability: 
For if thou path, thy native semblance on, 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, 

ClNNA, METELLUS ClMBER, ««a?TREBONIUS. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? 

Bru. I have been up this hour, awake all 
night. 
Know I these men that come along with you? 

Cas. Yes, every man of them, and no man 
here 90 

But honours you ; and every one doth wish 
Ycu had but that opinion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 

Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Me- 
tellus Cimber. 

Bru. They are all welcome. 
What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night? 

Cas. Shall I entreat a word? 100 

[Brutus and Cassius whisper. 

Dec. Here lies the east: doth not the day 
break here ? 

Casca. No. 

Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon gray 
lines 
That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 

Casca. You shall confess that you are both 
deceived. 
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, 
Which is a great way growing on the south, 
Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
Some two months hence up higher toward the 

north 
He first presents his fire ; and the high east no 
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 

Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 

Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 

Brie. No, not an oath : if not the face of men, 
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 120 

To kindle cowards and to steel with valour 
The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, 



What need we any spur but our own cause, 

To prick us to redress? what other bond 

Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 

And will not palter? and what other oath 

Than honesty to honesty engaged, 

That this shall be, or we will fall for it? 

Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, 

Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls 130 

That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 

Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain 

The even virtue of our enterprise, 

Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, 

To think that or our cause or our performance 

Did need an oath; when every drop of blood 

That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 

Is guilty of a several bastardy, 

If he do break the smallest particle 

Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 140 

Cas. But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? 
I think he will stand very strong with us. 

Casca. Let us not leave him out. 

Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : 
It shall be said, his judgement ruled our hands; 
Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, 
But all be buried in his gravity. 

Bru. O, name him not : let us not break with 
him : 150 

For he will never follow any thing 
That other men begin. 

Cas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only 
Caesar? 

Cas. Decius, well urged: I think it is not 
meet, 
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Csesar, 
Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means, 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all: which to prevent, 160 

Let Antony and Caesar fall together. 

Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius 
Cassius, 
To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, 
Like wrath hi death and envy afterwards ; 
For Antony is but a limb of Csesar : 
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ; 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, 
And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 170 

Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, 
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; 
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary and not envious : 
Which so appearing to the common eyes, 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 180 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him; 
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm 
When Caesar's head is off. 

Cos. Yet I fear him ; 

For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar — 



Scene i.] 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



771 



Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: 
If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: 
And that were much he should ; for he is giveD 
To sports, to wildness and much com]).; 

Trcb. There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; 
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 191 
{Clock strikes. 
Bru. Peace ! count the clock. 
Cos. The clock hath stricken three. 

Trcb. 'Tis time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whether Ca;sar will come forth to-day, or no; 
For he is superstitious grown of late, 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: 
It may be, these apparent ; 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
And the persuasion of his augurers, 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that : if he be so resolved, 
I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear 
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
Lions with toils and men with flatterers; 
But when 1 tell him ho hates flatterers, 
He says he does, being then most flattered. 
Let me work ; 

For I can give his humour the true bent, 210 

And I will bring him to the Capitol. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch 

him. 
Bru. By the eighth hour : is that the utter- 
most? 
Ciu. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey : 
I wonder none of you have thought of him. 

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him: 
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; 
Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him. 220 
Cas. The morning comes upon 's : we'll leave 
you, Brutus. 
And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all re- 
member 
What you have said, and show yourselves true 
Romans. 
Brit. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes, 
But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
With untired spirits and formal constancy: 
And so good morrow to you every one. 

[Exeunt all but Brutus. 
Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 230 

Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men; 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Enter Portia. 
Por. Brutus, my lord ! 

Bru. Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise 
you now? 
It is not for your health thus to commit 
Your weak condition I id morning. 

Por. Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, 
Brutus, 
Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, 
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, 



Musing and sighing, with your arms across. 240 

And when I ask'd you what the matter « 

You stared upon me with ungentle looks; 

I urged you further ; then you scratch'd your 

head, 
And too impatiently stamp' d with your foot; 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, 
But, with an angry wafturc of your hand, 
Cave sign for me to leave you : so I did ; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal 

it was but an effect of humour, 250 

Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, 
And could it work so much upon your shape 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 
Bru. I am nol well in health, and that is all. 
Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in 
health. 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 
Bru. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. 
Por, Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 261 
["o walk unbraced and suck up the humours 
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, 

ill he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
To dare the vile contagion of the night 
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus ; 
You have some sick offence within your mind, 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
f ought to know of: and, upon my knees, 270 
I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, 
By all your vows of love and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one, 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you: for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not need, if you were gentle 
Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 2S0 
Ts it excepted I should know no secret • 
That appertain to you? Am I yourself 
But, as it were, in sort or limitation, 
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the 

suburbs 
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife, 
\ o .ir to me as arc the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 200 

Por. If this were true, then should 1 know 
this secret. 
I grant I am a woman ; but withal 

a that Lord Brutus took to wife: 
1 grant I am a woman ; but withal 

>*S daughter. 
Think you I am no stronger than my sex, 

so father*d and so husbanded? 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: 
I have made strong proof of my const 

myself a voluntary wound 300 

Here, in the thigh: can I beai that with patience. 
And not my husband's secrets? 



772 



JULIUS CyESAR. 



[Act ii. 



Bru. O ye gods, 

Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 

[Knocking within. 
Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in awhile ; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows : 
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia.} Lucius, 
who 's that knocks? 

Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius. 

Luc. Here is a sick man that would speak 

with you. 310 

Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. 

Bov, stand aside. Caius Ligarius ! how? 

Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble 

tongue. 
Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, 
brave Caius, 
I To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick ! 
Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 

Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 

Lig. By ail the gods that Romans bow before, 
I here discard my sickness ! Soul of Rome ! 321 
Brave son, derived from honourable loins ! 
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up 
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 
And I will strive with things impossible ; 
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? 
Bru. A piece of work that will make sick 

men whole. 
Lig. But are not some whole that we must 

make sick? 
Bru. That must we also. What it is, my 
Caius, 
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 330 

To whom it must be done. 

L ig. Set on your foot, 

And with a heart new-fired I follow you, 
To do I know not what : but it sufficeth 
That Brutus leads me on. 

Bru. Follow me, then. [Exettnt. 

Scene II. Ccesars house. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Cesar, in 

his night-gown. 
Cces. Nor heaven nor earth have been at 
peace to-night : 
Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 
' Help, ho ! they murder Caesar ! ' Who's within? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord ? 

Cces. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice 
And bring me their opinions of success. 

Serv. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Calpurnia. 
Cal. What mean you, Caesar? think you to 
walk forth? 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
Cces. Caesar shall forth: the things that 
threaten'd me 10 

Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see 
The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 



Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, 
Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 
Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their 

dead; 
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, 
In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, 20 | 
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; 
The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, 
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the j 

streets. 

Caesar ! these things are beyond all use, 
And I do fear them. 

Cces. What can be avoided 

Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods ? 
Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions 
Are to the world in general as to Caesar. 

Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets 
seen ; 30 

The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
princes. 

Cces. Cowards die many times before their 
deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; 
Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
Will come when it will come. 

Re-enter Servant. 

What say the augurers ? 

Serv. They would not have you to stir forth 
to-day. 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
They could not find a heart within the beast. 40 

Cass. The gods do this in shame of cowardice : 
Caesar should be a beast without a heart, 
If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
No, Caesar shall not : danger knows full well 
That Caesar is more dangerous than he : 
We are two lions litter'd in one day, 
And I the elder and more terrible : 
And Caesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas, my lord, 

Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day : call it my fear 50 

That keeps you in the Uouse, and not your own. 
We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house; 
And he shall say you are not well to-day : 
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 

Cces. Mark Antony shall say I am not well ; 
And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 

Enter Decius. 
Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
Dec. Caesar, all hail ! good morrow, worthy 
Caesar : 

1 come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cces. And you are come in very happy time, 60 
To bear my greeting to the senators 
And tell them that I will not come to-day : 
Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser : 
I will not come to-day : tell them so, Decius. 

Cal. Say he is sick. 

Cces. Shall Caesar send a lie? 

Have I in conquest stretch'd niine arm so far. 



Scene ii.] 



JULIUS CAESAR. 



773 



To be afeard to tell graybeards the truth? 
Decius, go tell them Cesar will not come. 

Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let mc know some 
cause, 
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 70 

Cces. The cause is in my will: 1 will not 
come ; 
That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
But for your private satisfaction, 
Because I love you, I will let you know : 
Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, 
Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, 
Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it : 
And these does she apply for warnings, and 
portents, 80 

And evils imminent; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted; 
It was a vision fair and fortunate: 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
la which so many smiling Romans bathed, 
Signifies that from you great Rome shall^uck 
Reviving blood, and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. 
This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. 90 

Cces. And this way have you well ex- 
pounded it. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I 
can say: 
And know it now : the senate have concluded 
To give this day a crown to mighty Csesar. 
If you shall send them word you will not come, 
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a 

mock 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 
' Break up the senate till another time. 
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' 
If Csesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 100 
' Lo, Csesar is afraid'? 
Pardon me, Caesar ; for my dear dear love 
To your proceeding bids me tell you this ; 
And reason to my love is liable. 

Ccbs. How foolish do your fears seem now, 
Calpurnia ! 
I am ashamed I did yield to them. 
Give me my robe, for I will go. 

Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, 
Casca, TREBONIUS, and ClKNA. 

And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 

Pub. Good morrow, Caesar. 

Cces. Welcome, Publius. 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? 110 
Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, 
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
What is 't o'clock? 

Bru. Csesar, 'tis strucken eight. 

Cats. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 



Enter Antony. 

See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 

Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. 

Ant. So to most noble Csesar. 

Cars. Bid them prepare within ; 



I am to blame to be thus waited for. 

Now, China: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius ! 

I have an hour's talk in store for you ; 

Remember that you call on me to-day : 

Be near me, that I may remember you. 

Treb. Csesar, I will: [Aside] and so near 
will I be, 
That your best friends shall wish I had been 
further. 
Cces. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine 
with me ; 
And we, like friends, will straightway go to- 
gether. 
Bru. [Aside] That every like is not the same, 
Cesar. 
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A street near the Capitol. 
Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper. 

Art. 'Csesar, beware of Brutus; take heed 
of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye 
to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Me- 
tellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee not: 
thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is 
but one mind in all these men, and it is bent 
against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look 
about you: security gives way to conspiracy. 
The mighty gods defend thee ! Thy lover, 

'Artemidoi;l\s.' 
Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, 11 

And as a suitor will I give him this. 
My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
Out of the teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, O Csesar, thou mayst live ; 
If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. 



Scene IV. Another part of the sam 
before the house of Brutus. 

Enter Portia and Lucius. 

For. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house ; 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : 
Why dost thou stay? 

Luc. To know my errand, madam. 

For. I would have had thee there, and here 
again, 
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. 

constancy, be strong upon ray side, 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue ! 

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
Art thou here yet ? 

Luc. ■ ■".am, what should I do? 10 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
And so return to you, and nothing else? 

Par. Yes, bring mc word, boy, if thy lord look 
well. 
For he went sickly forth: and take good note 
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
Hark, boy ' what noise is that.' 

/. uc. I hear none, madam. 

For. Prithee, listen well ; 

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, 
And the wind brings ii from the I lapitol. 

Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 20 



774 



JULIUS CsESAR. 



[Act 



Enter the Soothsayer. 

Por. Come hither, fellow: which way hast 

thou been ? 
Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. 
Por. What is ' t o' clock ? 

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 

Por. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? 
Sooth. Madam, not yet : I go to take my 
stand, 
To see him pass on to the Capitol. 

Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou 

not? 
Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please 
Caesar 
To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, 
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 30 

Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended 

towards him? 
Sooth. None that I know will be, much that 
I fear may chance. 
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow : 
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, 
Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. [Exit. 
Por. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is ! O Brutus, 40 

The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
Sure, the boy heard me : Brutus hath a suit 
That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. 
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ; 
Say I am merry : come to me again, 
And bring me word what he doth say to thee. 

[Exeunt severally. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the 
Senate sitting above. 

A crowd of 'people; among them Artemidorus 

and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter Cjesau, 

Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus. 

Trebontus, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Po- 

Pilius, PUBLIUS, and others. 

Cces. [Fo the Soothsayer} The ides of March 
are come. 

Sooth. Ay, Caesar ; but not gone. 

Art. Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. 

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 

Art. O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a 
suit 
That touches Caesar nearer : read it, great Caesar. 

Cces. What touches us ourself shall be last 
served. 

Art. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. 

Cces. What, is the fellow mad? 

Pub. Sirrah, give place. 10 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the 
street ? 
Come to the Capitol. 

Caesar goes tip to the Senate-House, the rest 

following. 
Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
Cas. What enterprise, Popilius? 



Pop. Fare you well. 

[Advances to Ccesar. 

Bru. What said Popilius Lena? 

Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might 
thrive. 
I fear our purpose is discovered. 

Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar : mark him. 

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, 20 
Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius, be constant : 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 

Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, 
Brutus, 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony and Frebonins. 

Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 

Bru. He is address'd : press near and second 
him. 

Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your 
ha!hd. 30 

Cces. Are we all ready? What is now amiss 
That Caesar and his senate must redress? 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puis- 
sant Caesar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart, — [Kneeling. 

Cces. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchings and these lowly courtesies 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
Into the law of children. Be not fond, 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood 40 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet 

words, 
Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning 
Thy brother by decree is banished : 
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my 
own, 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear 50 
For the repealing of my banisb'd brother? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, 
Caesar; 
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

Cces. What, Brutus ! 

Cas. Pardon, Caesar ; Caesar, pardon : 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Cces. I could be well moved, if I were as you ; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 
But I am constant as the northern star, 60 

Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, 
They are all fire and every one doth shine, 
But there's but one in all doth hold his place : 
So in the world ; 'tis furnish' d well with men, 
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
Yet in the number I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 



Scene i.] 



JULIUS C.JiSAR. 



Unshaked of motion: and that I am lie, 70 

Let me a little show it, even in this ; 
That I was constant Cimher should be banish'd, 
And constant do remain to keep him so. 
Cin. O Caesar,— 

Cess. Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? 

Dec. Great Caesar, — 

Cas. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? 

Casca. Speak, hands, for me ! 
[Casca Jirst, then the other Co'>s/>iratprs and 
Marcus Brutus stab Cwsar. 
Cces. Et tu, Brute ! Then fall, I 
Cin. Liberty ! freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! 
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 
'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' 81 
Bru. People and senators, be not affrighted; 
Fly not; stand still : ambition's debt is paid. 
Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 
Dec. And Cassius too. 

Bru. Where's Publius? 

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 
Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
Caesar's 
Should chance — 
Bru. Talk not of standing. Publius, good 
cheer ; 
There is no harm intended to your person, 90 
Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius. 
Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the 
people, 
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 
Bru. Do so : and let no man abide this deed, 
But we the doers. 

Re-enter Trebonius. 

Cas. Where is Antony? 

Tre. Fled to his house amazed : 
Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run 
As it were doomsday. 

Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures: 

That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 100 

Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of 
life 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: 
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abrii 
His time of fearing death. Sto >p. Romans, stoop. 
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmeai our swords: 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty !' no 

Cas. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages 
hence 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over 
In states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 

Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in 
sport, 
That now on Pompey's basis lies along 
No worthier than the dust ! 

Cas. So oft as that shall be, 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave their country liberty. 

Dec. What, shall we forth! 

Cas. Ay. every man away: 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 120 
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 



Enter a Servant. 

Bru. Soft! who comes here? A friend of 
Antony's. 

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me 
kneel; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ; 
And, being prostrate, thus lie bade me say: 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and h 
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: 
Say I love Brutus, and 1 honour him ; 
Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 130 

May safely come to him, and be resolved 
! tow c ssar h ith des< rved to lie in d 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
So well as Brutus living: but will follow 
The fortunes and affai Brutus 

Thorough the hazards of this untrod state 
With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
I never thought him w 

Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 140 
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honour, 
Depart untouch'd. 

Serv. I'll fetch him presentlv. [Exit. 

Bru. I know that we shall have him well to 
friend. 

Cas. I wish we may: but yet have I a mind 
That fears him much ; and my misgiving still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 

Bru. But here comes Antony. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Welcome. Mark Antonv. 

Ant. O mighty Caesar ! dost thou lie so low ? 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. 
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 151 

Who else must be let blood, who else is rank : 
If I myself, there is no houi so lit 
As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument 
( )f half that worth as those your swords, made rich 
With the most noble blond' of all this world, 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me h 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and 

smoke, 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die: 1^.0 

No jilac-- will please me so. no mean of death, 
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, 
The choice and master spirit 

Bru. O Antony, beg not your death of us. 
Though now we musr [y an 1 cruel, 

As, by our hands and this our present acL 
You see we tin, yet see you but our hands 
And this the bli ■ 1 have dene: 

Our hear y are pitiful : 

And pity to the general wrong of Rome — 170 

As fire drives ou pity — 

Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part. 

To you our -words have L .. Mark 

Antony: 
tOurarms, in strength of malice, and ..ur hearts 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
With all kind loi • erence. 

Cas. Your voice i hall he as strong a- any man's 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient till we have appeased 



776 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



[Act hi. 



The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 1S0 
And then we will deliver you the cause, 
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ; 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Me- 

tellus; 
Yours. Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours ; 
Though last, not least in love, yours, good Tre- 

bonius. 
Gentlemen all, — alas, what shall I say ? 190 

My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
Either a coward or a flatterer. 
That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true : 
If then thy spirit look upon us now, 
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, 
To see thy Antony making his peace, 
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 
Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse? 
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 200 
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
It would become me better than to close 
In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
Pardon me, Julius ! Here wast thou bay'd, brave 

hart; 
Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand, 
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 

world, thou wast the forest to this hart ; 
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. 
How like a deer, strucken by many princes, 
Dost thou here lie ! 210 

Cas. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius: 

The enemies of Caesar shall say this ; 
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 

Cas. I blame you not for praising Csesar so ; 
But what compact mean you to have with us? 
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 
Or shall we on, and not depend on you? 

Ant. Therefore 1 took your hands, but was, 
indeed, 
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
Friends am I with you all and love you all, 220 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons 
Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
Our reasons are so full of good regard 
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That's all I seek: 

And am moreover suitor that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 230 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word with you. 

[Aside to Bra.] You know not what you do : do 

not consent 
That Antony speak in his funeral : 
Know you how much the people may be moved 
By that which he will utter? 

Bru. By your pardon ; 

1 will myself into the pulpit first, 

And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 



He speaks by leave and by permission, 

And that we are contented Caesar shall 240 

Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. 

It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 

Cas. I know not what may fall , I like it not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's 
body. 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, 
And say you do 't by our permission ; 
Else shall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral : and you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto 1 am going, 250 

After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so; 

I do desire no more. 

Bra. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

[Exeunt all but Antony. 

Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of 
earth, 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
That ever lived in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 259 

Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue — 
A curse shall light upon the t limbs of men ; 
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use 
And dreadful objects so familiar 
That mothers shall but smile when they behold 
Their infants quarter d with the hands of war; 
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds : 
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 270 

With Ate by his side come hot from hell, 
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
Cry ' Havoc,' and let slip the clogs of war ; 
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
With carrion men, groaning for burial. 

Enter a Servant. 

You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. 

Sei-v. He did receive his letters, and is coming ; 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth — 23o 
O Caesar! — [Seeing the body. 

A ?it. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes, 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
Began to water. Is thy master coming? 

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues 
of Rome. 

A fit. Post back with speed, and tell him what 
hath chanced : 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 289 

Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile ; 
Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place : there shall I try, 
In my oration, how the people take 
The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 
According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt with Ccesar's 

body. 



Scene ii.] 



JULIUS CESAR. 



777 



Scene II. The Forum. 

Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng 
of Citizens. 

Citizens. We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. 

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
friends. 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. 

Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here ; 
Those that will fallow Cassius, go with him ; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 

First Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 

Sec. Cit. I will hear Cassius; and compare 

their reasons, 

When severally we hear them rendered. 10 

[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. 

Brutus goes into the pulpit. 

Third. Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : 
silence ! 

Bru. Be patient till the last. 
Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my 
cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe 
me for mine honour, and have respect to mine 
honour, that you may believe : censure me in 
your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you 
may the better judge. If there be any in this 
assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say, 
that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. 
If then that friend demand why Brutus rose 
against Csesar, this is my answer: — Not that I 
loved Csesar less, but that I loved Rome more. 
Had you rather Caesar were living and die all 
slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free 
men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as 
he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, 
I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I slew 
him. There is tears for his love ; joy for his for- 
tune ; honour for his valour; and death fir his 
ambition. Who is here so base that would be a 
bondman? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. 
Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman '.' 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is 
here so vile that will not love his country? If 
any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause 
for a reply. 

All. None, Brutus, none. 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done 
no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. 
The question of his death is enrolled in the Capi- 
tol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was 
worthy, nor his offences enforced, for which he 
suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : 
wli i. though he had no hand in his death, shall 
receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the 
commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With 
this I depart, — that, as I slew my best lover for 
the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for 
myself, when it shall please my country to need 
my death 

All. Live, Brutus! live, live ! 

First Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto 
his house. 

Sec. Cit. (rive him a statue with his ancestors. 



Third Cit. Let him be Caesar. 

Fo:irth Cit. Caesar's better parts 

Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 

First Cit. We 11 bring him to his house 

With shouts and clamours. 

Bru. My countrymen, — 

Sec. Cit. Peace, silence! Brutus speaks. 

First Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 6i 
Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
I to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allow' d to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart. 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 

First Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark 
Antony. 

Third Cit. Let him go up into the public 
chair ; 
We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to 
you. [Goes into the pulpit. 70 

Fourth Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

Third Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 

He finds himself beholding to us all. 

Fourth Cit. "I'were best he speak no harm of 
Brutus here. 

First Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 

Third Cit. Nay. that 's certain : 

We are blest that Rome is rid of him. 

Sec. Cit. Peace ! let us hear what Antony 
can say. 

Art. You gentle Romans. — 

Citizens. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me 
your ears ; 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise hiro. 
The evil that men do lives after them; 80 ' 

The good is oft interred with their bones: 
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault. 
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 
For Brutus is an honourable man ; 
So are they all, all honourable men — 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 90 
But Brutus says he was ambitious; 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
Did this in Caesar seem ambit 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar h ith wept : 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
You all did sec that on the Lupercal 100 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 
And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all ilid love him once, not without cause: 
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for 

him? 
O judgement ! thou art fled to brutish beasts. \oq 
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; 



778 



JULIUS CAESAR. 



[Act hi. 



My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

First Cit. Methinks there is much reason in 

his sayings. 
Sec. Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 

Third Cit. Has he, masters? 

I fear there will a worse come in his place. 
Fourth Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would 
not take the crown ; 
Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 

First Cit. If it be found so, some will dear 

abide it. 
Sec. Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire 
with weeping. 120 

Third Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome 

than Antony. 
Fc?irth Cit. Now mark him, he begins again 

to speak. 
Ant. But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters, if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men : 

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose 130 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

But here 's a parchment with the seal of Caesar ; 

I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament — 

Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read — 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 140 

Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 

Unto their issue. 

Fourth Cit. We'll hear the will : read it, 
Mark Antony. 

All. The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's 
will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must 
not read it ; 
It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 149 
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For, if you should, O, what would come of it ! 

Fourth Cit. Read the will; we'll hear it, 
Antony ; 
You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. 

Ant. Will, you be patient? will you stay 
awhile ? 
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it : 
I fear I wrong the honourable men 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar ; I do fear it. 

Fourth Cit. They were traitors : honourable 
men ! 

A II. The will ! the testament ! 

Sec. Cit. They were villains, murderers : the 
will ! read the will. 160 

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the 
will? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? 



Several Cit. Come down. 

Sec. Cit. Descend. 

Third Cit. You shall have leave. 

[Antony comes do7tm. 
Fourth Cit. A ring ; stand round. 
First Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from 
the body. 169 

Sec. Cit. Room for Antony, most noble Antony. 
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
Several Cit. Stand back ; room ; bear back. 
Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them 
now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
That day he overcame the Nervii : 
Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
See what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 181 

Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty 
heart ; 190 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
First Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 
Sec. Cit. O noble Caesar ! 
Third Cit. O woful day !_ 
Foicrth Cit. O traitors, villains ! 
First Cit. O most bloody sight ! 
Sec. Cit. We will be revenged. 
All. Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! 
Kill ! Slay ! Let not a traitor live ! 

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 210 

First Cit. Peace there ! hear the noble Antony. 
Sec. Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, 
we '11 die with him. 
Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not 
stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honourable : 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it : they are wise and honour- 
able, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is; 221 

But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
That love my friend; and that they know full 

well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him : 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
A6lion, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 



Scene ii.] 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



To stir men's blood : I only speak right on : 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know : 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb 
mouths, 229 

And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
All. We'll mutiny. 

■ First Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
Third Cit. Away, then ! come, seek the con- 
spirators. 
Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me 

speak. 
All. Peace, bo! Hear Antony. Most noble 

Antony ! 
Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know- 
not what: 240 
Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? 
Alas, you know not : I must tell you, then : 
You have forgot the will 1 told you of. 
All. Most true. The will! Let's stay and 

hear the will. 
Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives, 
To every several man, seventy five drachmas. 
Sec. Cit. Most noble Caesar ! We'll revenge 

his death. 
Third Cit. O royal Caesar ! 
Ant. Hear me with patience. 250 

All. Peace, ho! 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks. 
His private arbours and new-planted orchards, 
On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you, 
And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Cte<ar! when conies such another? 

First Cit. Never, never. Come, away, away ! 
We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 260 
Take up the body. 
Sec. Cit. Go fetch fire. 
'Third Cit. Pluck down benches. 
Fourth Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any 

thing. [Exeunt Citizens with the 
Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 
Take thou what course thou wilt ! 

Enter a Servant. 

How now, fellow! 
Scrv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
Ant. Where is he? 

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 
Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 271 
And in this mood will give us any thing. 
Serv. I heard him say, Brutus an.! G 
Are rid like madmen through the gates oi 

Ant. Belike they had some notice of the 
people, 
How I had moved them. Bring me to O ■ 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IIT. A street. 
Enter Cinn a the poet. 
Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with 
Caesar, 



And things unlucky charge my fantasy: 
I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
Yet something leads me forth. 

Enter Citizens. 

First Cit. What is your name? 

See. Cit. Whither are you going? 

Third t 'it. Where do you dwell ? 

Fourth Cit. Are you a married man or a 
bachelor? 

Sec. Cit. Answer every man directly, jo 

First Cit. Ay, and briefly. 

Fourth at. Ay. and wisely. 

'Third Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 

Cin. What is my name? Whither am I 
going? Where do 1 dwell? Am I a married 
man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man 
directly and briefly, wisely and truly: wisely I 
say. I am a bachelor. 

as much as to say, they are 
fools that man}- : you '11 bear me a bang for that, 
I fear. Proceed ; directly. 21 

Cin. 1 >ire<5lly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 

First Cit. As a friend or an enemy ': 

Cin. As a friend. 

Sec. Cit. That matter is answered directly. 

J ottrth Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 

Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 

Third Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 

Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 

First Cit. Tear him to pieces; he's a con- 
spirator. -1 

Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the 
poet. 

Fourth Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear 
him for his bad verses. 

Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

Fourth Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna : 
pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn 
him going. 

Third Cit. Tear him, tear him ! Come, 
brands, ho! fire-brands: to Brutus', toCassius'; 
burn all: some to Decius' house, and some t 1 
Casca's ; some to Ligarius' : away, go ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. A house in Rome. 

Antony, Octavr;s, and Lepidus, seated at a 
table. 
A tit. These many, then, shall die ; their names 

are prick'd. 
Oft. Your brother too must die ; consent you, 

idus? 
Lcf>. I do consent, — 

Oft. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lop. Upon c indition Publius shall not live. 
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 

Ant. He shall not live; look, with a spot I 
damn him. 
But. Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house ; 
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine 
How to cut off some charge in legacies. 

Lep. What, '•hall 1 find you h 10 

Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol. 

I Exit Lepidus. 
Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, 



780 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



[Act iv. 



Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit, 

The three-fold world divided, he should stand 

One of the three to share it? 

Oil. So 3'ou thought him ; 

And took his voice who should be prick'd to die, 
In our black sentence and proscription. 

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than 

vou : 
And though we lay these honours on this man, 
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 20 
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
To groan and sweat under the business, 
Either led or driven, as we point the way; 
And having brought our treasure where we will, 
Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
And graze in commons. 

Ocl. You may do your will ; 

But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and for that 
I do appoint him store of provender : 30 

It is a creature that I teach to fight, 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on, 
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 
He must be taught and train'd and bid go forth ; 
A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 
On abjects, orts and imitations, 
Which, out of use and staled by other men, 
Begin his fashion : do not talk of him, 
But as a property. And now, Octavius, 40 

Listen great things : — Brutus and Cassius 
Are levying powers : we must straight make head : 
Therefore let our alliance be combined, 
tOur best friends made, our means stretch'd; 
And let us presently go sit in council, 
How covert matters may be best disclosed, 
And open perils surest answered. 

Ofl. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 
And bay'd about with many enemies ; 49 

And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, 
Millions of mischiefs. {Exeunt. 

Scene II. Camp near Sardis. Before Bruttcs's 

tent. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and 

Soldiers ; Titinius and Pindarus meeting 

tJiem. 

Bru. Stand, ho ! 

Lucil. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 

Bru. What now, Lucilius ! is Cassius near? 

Lucil. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

Bru. He greets me well. Your master, Pin- 
darus, 
In his own change, or by ill officers, 
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Pin. I do not doubt 10 

But that my noble master will appear 
Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 

Bru. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius ; 
How he received you, let me be resolved. 

Lucil. With courtesy and with respect enough ; 
But not with such familiar instances, 
Nor with such free and friendly conference, 
As he hath used of old. 



Bru. Thou hast described 

A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay, 20 

It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle ; 
But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? 

Lucil. They mean this night in Sardis to be 
quarter'd ; 
The greater part, the horse in general, 
Are come with Cassius. 

Bru. Hark ! he is arrived. 30 

{Low march within. 
March gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassius and his powers. 

Cas. Stand, ho ! 

Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 

First Sol. Stand ! 

Sec. Sol. Stand ! 

Third Sol. Stand ! 

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me 
wrong. 

Bru. Judge me, you gods ! wrong I mine 
enemies? 
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? 

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides 
wrongs ; „ 40 

And when you do them — 

Bru. Cassius, be content ; 

Speak your griefs softly : I do know you well. 
Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
Let us not wrangle : bid them move away ; 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bru. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no 

man 50 

Come to our tent till we have done our conference. 

Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. {Exeunt. 

Scene III. Brutus 's teat. 
Enter Brutus and Cassius. 
Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear 
in this : 
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 
Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a 

case. 
Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 10 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ! 

You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 
Bru. The name of Cassius honours this cor- 
ruption, 



SCEXE III.] 



JUL US CESAR. 



781 



And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cas. Chasti.-.einent ! 

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March 
remember : 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 20 
And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world 
But for supporting robbers, shall we DOW 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus? 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 

I'll not endure it: 3'ou forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 30 

Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. T say you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Brit. Away, slight man '. 

Cas. Is 't possible? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 40 

Cas. O ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure all 
this? ' 

Bru. All this ! ay, more : fret till your proud 
heart break ; 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 

budge ? 
Must I observe you ? must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humour? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this? 50 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : for mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong 
me, Brutus ; 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
Did I say 'better'? 

Bru. If you did. I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have 
moved me. 

Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have 
tempted him. 

Cas. 1 durst not ! 60 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What, durst not tempt him ! 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have dor.e that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror. Cassius, in your threats, 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did .-.end u> you 
For ceriain sums of gold, which you denied me: 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 71 



By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 

From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 

By any indirection : I did s 

To you for gold to pay my le 

Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius? 

Should I have answerM Caius Cas i , 

When Marcus Brutus grows so cov . 

To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 80 

Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; 

Dash him to pieces! 

( 'as. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

! did not : he was but a fool that brought 
.. er back. Brutus hath rived my heart : 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Brit. A flatterer's would not, though they do 
appear 91 

As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world; 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
Set in a note-book, learn' d, and conn'd by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. ( >, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast; within, a heart 101 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: 
If that thou be'si a Roman, take it forth; 
1, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst 

him better 
Than ever thou loved, t Cassius. 

Bru. he your dagger: 

He angry when you will, it shall have scope : 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
() Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 110 

That carries anger as the flint bears fire : 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ul-temper'd, vexeth him? 

Bru. When I spoke that, 1 

Cas. Do you confess so much.'' Give me your 
hand. 

Bru. And my heart too. 

Cas. utus! 

I Bru. What's the matter? 

Cas. Have not you love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash humour which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius; am'., from henceforth, 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He'll think your mother chides, and leave 
you so. 

Poet. [ Within] Let me go in to see the gene- 
ra's ; 
There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet 
They be alone. 

ill not como to them. 

Poet. \Witki>i\ Nothing but death 



7 82 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



[Act iv. 



Enter Vo^t, followed by Lucilius, Titinius, 
and Lucius. 

Cas. How now ! what's the matter? 

Poet. For shame, you generals ! what do you 

mean? 13° 

Love, and be friends, as two such men should be ; 

For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye. 

Cas. Ha, ha ! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 

Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, 

hence ! 
Cas. Lear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. 
Brts. I'll know his humour, when he knows 
his time : 
What should the wars do with these jigging fools? 
Companion, hence ! 

Cas. Awav, away, be gone ! 

{Exit Poet. 

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 

Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 140 

Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala 

with you 

Immediately to us. 

[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. 
Bri{. Lucius, a bowl of wine ! 

Cas. I did not think you could have been so 

angry. 
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
If you give place to accidental evils. 
Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is 

dead. 
Cas. Ha! Portia! 
Bru. She is dead. 
Cas. How 'scaped I killing when I cross'dyou so? 

insupportable and touching loss ! 151 
Upon what sickness ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence, 

And grief that young Oclavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong : — for with her 

death 
That tidings came ;— with this she fell distract, 
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 

Cas. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 

Re-enter Lucius, with wine and taper. 
Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl 
of wine. 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. 
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; 161 

1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. 

Bru. Come in, Titinius ! [Exit Lucius. 

Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. 

Welcome, good Messala. 
Now sit we close about this taper here, 
And call in question our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone? 

Bru. No more, I pray you. 

Messala, I have here received letters, 
That young Oclavius and Mark Antony 
Come down 'upon us with a mighty power, 
Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 170 

Mes. Myselfhave lettersof the selfsame tenour. 

Bru. With what addition? 

Mes. That by proscription and bills of outlawry, 



Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 

Have put to death an hundred senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree; 
Mine speak of seventy senators that died 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 

Cas. Cicero one ! 

Mes. Cicero is dead, 

And by that order of proscription. 180 

Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? 

Bru. No, Messala. 

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? 

Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you? hear you aught of her in 
yours ? 

Mes. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 

Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, 
Messala: 190 

With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should 
endure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bru. Well, toourworkalive. What do you think 
Of marching to Philippi presently? 

Cas. I do not think it good. 

B) u. Your reason ? 

Cas. This it is : 

'Tis better that the enemy seek us : 199 

So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place 
to better. 
The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
Do stand but in a forced affection ; 
For they have grudged us contribution : 
The enemy, marching along by them, 
By them shall make a fuller number up, 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged ; 
From which advantage shall we cut him off, 210 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Plear me, good brother. 

Bru. Under your pardon. You must note 
beside, 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: 
The enemy increaseth every day; 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 220 

Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
On such a.full sea are we now afloat ; 
And we must take the current when it serves, 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 

We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
And nature must obey necessity ; 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say? 

Cas. No more. Good night : 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 230 



Scene hi. J 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



783 



Bru. Lucius! [Enter Lucius.] My gown. 
[Exit Lucius.] Farewell, good Messala: 
Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good .night, and good repose. 

Cas. O my dear brother ! 

This was an ill beginning of the night : 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Every thing is well. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mes. Good night, Lord Brutus. 

Bru. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt all but Brut. is. 

Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. 
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? 
Luc. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? 240 

Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er- 

watch'd. 
Call Claudius and some other of my men ; 
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
Luc. Varro and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro and Claudius. 
Var. Calls my lord? 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep ; 
It may be I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand and watch 

your pleasure. 
Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good 
sirs ; 250 

It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; 
I put it in the pocket of my gown. 

[ Var. and Clau. lie down. 
Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give 

it me. 
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much 
forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 
Luc. Ay, my lord, an't please you. 
Bru. It does, my boy: 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
Luc. It is my duty, sir. 260 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy 
might ; 
I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 
Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
Bru. It was well done ; and thou shalt sleep 
again ; 
I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song. 

This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, 
That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good 
night : 269 

I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee : 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; 
I '11 take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night. 
Let me see, let me see ; is not the leaf tunvd 

down 
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 

Enter the Ghost ^/"C.-esak. 
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? 



I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
That makest my blood cold and my hair t 

■ me what thou art. 281 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
Bru. Why comest thou? 

Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at 
Philippi. 

Well ; then I shall see thee again? 
Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 

Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philipoi, then. 

. Ghost. 
Now I have taken heart thou vanishest : 
111 spirit, 1 would hold more talk with thee. 
Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! 
Claudius! 291 

Luc. The strings, my lord, arc false. 
Bru. He thinks he still is at his instrument. 
Luc. us, awake ! 
Luc. My lord? 
Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so 

criedst out? 
Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
Bru. Yes, that thou didst : didst thou see any 

thing? 
Luc. Nothing, my lord. 

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius 1 
I To Var.] Fellow thou, awake! 301 

Var. My lord/ 
Clau. My lord? 
Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your 

sleep? 
Var. Clau. Did we, my lord? 
Bru. Ay : saw you any thing? 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
Clau. Nor [, my lord. 

Bru. Go and commend me to my brother 
Cassius ; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

/ 'or. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 309 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. The plains of Philippi. 

Enter Octavius, Antony, and their army. 

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered : 
You said the enemy would not come down, 
But keep the hills and upper regions; 

not so : their battles are at hand ; 
They mean to warn us at Philippi here, 
Answering before we d if them. 

Ant. Tut, 1 am in their bosoms, and I know 
Wherefore they do it : they could be content 
To visit other places ; and come d 
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 10 
To fasten in our thought.-, that they have 1 
But 'tis not mj. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Prepare you, generals: 
The enemy comes on in gallant sfc 

Their bloody sign of battle is hun.; 
And something to be done immediately. 



7 8 4 



JULIUS CMS AM.. 



[Act v. 



Ant. 06tavius, lead your battle softly on, 
Upon the left hand of the even field. 

Oct. Upon the right hand I ; keep thou the 

left. 
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 
Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. 20 
[March. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their 

Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and 

others. 

Brtc. They stand, and would have parley. 

Cas. Stand fast, Titinius : we must out and 
talk. 

Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ? 

Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on their 
charge. 
Make forth ; the generals would have some words. 

Oct. Stir not until the signal. 

Bru. Words before blows : is it so, country- 
men ? 

Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 

£ru. Good words are better than, bad strokes, 
Octavius. 

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give 
good words: 30 

Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, 
Crying 'Long live! hail, Caesar!' 

Cas. Antony, 

The posture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
And leave them honeyless. 

Ant. Not stingiess too. 

Bru. O, yes, and soundless too; 
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
And very wisely threat before you sting. 

Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile 
daggers 
Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar : 40 
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 

hounds, 
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet ; 
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind 
Struck Caesar on trie neck. O'you flatterers! 

Cas. Flatterers ! Now, Brutus, thank your- 
self: 
This tongue had not offended so to-day, 
If Cassius might have ruled. 

Oct. Come, come, the cause : if arguing make 
us sweat, 
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
Look ; 50 

I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
When think you that the sword goes up again? 
Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds 
Be well avenged ; or till another Caesar 
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 

Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' 
hands, 
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope ; 

I was not born to die on Erutus' sword. 

Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, 
Young man, thou couldst not die more honour- 
able. 60 

Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such 
honour, 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller ! 

Ant. Old Cassius still ! 



Oct. Come, Anton}', away ! 

Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field; 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

\ Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their army. 

Cas. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow and 
swim bark ! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 

Bru. Ho, Lucilius ! hark, a word with you. 

Lucil. {Standing forth} My lord? 

[Brtitus and Lucilius converse apa>-t7 

Cas. Messala ! 

Mes. [Standing forth] What says my general? 

Cas. Messala, 71 

This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala : 
Be thou my witness that against my will, 
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
Upon one battle all our liberties. 
You know that I held Epicurus strong 
And his opinion : now I change my mind, 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign So 

Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd, 
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands; 
Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
This morning are they fled away and gone ; 
And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites, 
Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us, 
As we were sickly prey : their shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under which 
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 

Mes. Believe not so. 

Cas. I but believe it partly ; 90 

For I am fresh of spirit and resolved 
To meet all perils very constantly. 

Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may, 
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, 
Let's reason with the worst that may befall. '" 
If we do lose this battle, then is this 
The very last time we shall speak together : 
What are you then determined to do? 100 

Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy 
By which I did blame Cato for the death 
Which he did give himself, I know not how, 
But I do find it cowardly and vile, 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
The time of life: arming myself with patience 
To stay the providence of some high powers 
That govern us below. 

Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, 

You are contented to be led in triumph 
Thorough the streets of Rome? no 

Bru. No, Cassius, no : think not, thou noble 
Roman, 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
Fie bears too great a mind. But this same day 
Must end that work the ides of March begun ; 
And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
Therefore our everlasting farewell take: 
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; 
If not, why then, this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; 121 

If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. 



Scene i.] 



JULIUS CsESAR. 



785 



Bru. Why, then, lead on. O, that a man 
might know 
The end of this day's business ere it come! 
But it sufficeth that the day will end, 
And then the end is known. Come, ho ! away ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. The field of battle. 
Alarum. Enter Bkutus and Messala. 
Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these 
bills 
Unto thelegionsontheotherside. [Loud alarum. 
Let them set on at once ; fur 1 perceive 
But cold demeanour in 0<5tavius' wing, 
And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the field. 
Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 
Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly ! 
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy: 
This ensign here of mine was turning back; 
I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 
Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too 
early ; 
Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil, 
Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed. 

Enter Pindarus. 

Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; 
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord : 10 

Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. 

Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, 
Titinius ; 
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ? 

Tit. They are, my lord. 

Cas. Titinius, if thou lovest me, 

Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
And here again ; that 1 may rest assured 
Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 

Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 

[Exit. 

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 20 
My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
And tell me what thou notest about the field. 

[Pindarus ascends the hill. 
This day I breathed first : time is come round, 
And where I did begin, there shall I end ; 
My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news? 

Pin. [A bove\ O my lord ! 

Cas. What news ? 

Pin. [Above] Titinius is enclosed round about 
With horsemen, that make to him on the spur ; 
Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. 
Now, Titinius ! Now some light. O, he lights 
too. 31 

He's ta'en. [Shout.] And, hark! they shout for , 
joy. 

Cas. Come down, behold no more. 
O, coward that 1 am, to live so long, 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 

Pindarus descends. 
Come hither, sirrah : 



In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; 

And then 1 swore thee, saving of thy life, 

That whatsoever 1 did bid thee do, 

Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine 

oath ; 40 

Now be a freeman : and with this good sword. 
That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this 

bosom. 
Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 
And, when my face is covcr'd, as 'tis now. 
Guide thou the sword. [Pindarus stabs him.] 

Ca:sar, thou art revenged, 
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 

Pin. So, I am free; yet would not so have been, 
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius, 
Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
Where never Roman shall take note of him. 50 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Titinius with Messala. 

Mes. It is but change, Titinius; for Ocfbavius 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 

Mes. Where did you leave him? 

Tit. _ All disconsolate, 

With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 

Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? 

Tit. He lies not like the living. U my heart ! 

Mes. Is not that he? 

Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 

But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, 60 

As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set : 
The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ; 
Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds are 

done ! 
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this 
deed. 
O hateful error, melancholy's child, 
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not? O error, boon con- 
ceived, 
Thou never comest unto a happy birth, 70 

But kill'st the mother that engender* d thee! 

Tit. What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pin- 
darus'/ 

Mes. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting tiiis report 
Into his ears; I may say, thrusting it; 
For piercing steel and darts envenomed 
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
As tidings of this sight. 

Tit. Hie yon, Messala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 

[Exit Mei 
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 80 
Did I not meet thy friends'.' and did Dot they 
Put on my brows this wreath of victory, 
And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear 

their shouts! 
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing! 
Rut, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; 
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and 1 
Will do his bidding. BrutUS, come apace, 
And see how I regarded Cains Cassius. 
By your leave, gods : — this is a Roman's part : 89 



7 S6 



JULIUS CMSAR, 



[Act v. 



Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. 
[Kills himself. 

Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, 
young Cato, Stkato, Volumnius, and Lu- 

CILIUS. 

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie ? 

Mes. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. 

Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 

Cato. He is slain. 

Bru. O Julius Csesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. 

Cato. Brave Titinius ! 

Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cas- 
sius ! 

Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these? 
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
It is impossible that ever Rome ioo 

Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more 

tears 
To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body: 
His funerals shall not be in our camp, 
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come; 
And come, young Cato ; let us to the field. 
Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on : 
'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night 
We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exetiut. 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 

Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of hoth 
armies; then Brutus, young Cato, Lu- 
cilius, and others. 
Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your 

heads ! 
Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go 
with me? 
I will proclaim my name about the field : 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 
Brutus, my country's friend; know me for 
Brutus ! [Exit. 

Lucil. O young and noble Cato, art thou 
down? 
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 10 
And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son. 
First Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 
Lucil. Only I yield to die : 

There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight ; 
[Offering money. 
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 

First Sold. We must not. A noble prisoner ! 
Sec. Sold. Room, ho ! Tell Antony, Brutus 

is ta'en. 
First Sold. I'll tell the news. Here comes 
the general. 

Enter Antony. 
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Ant. Where is he? 

Lucil. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough : 
I dare assure thee that no enemy 21 

Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 



When you do find him, or alive or dead, 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 

A?it. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I 
assure you, 
A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe ; 
Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, 
And see whether Brutus be alive or dead ; 30 

And bring us word unto 06tavius' tent 
How every thing is chanced. [Exeicnt. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, 
and Volumnius. 
Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on 

this rock. 
Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my 
lord, 
He came not back : he is or ta'en or slain. 
Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the 
word; 
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. 

[ Whispers. 
Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the 

world. 
Bru. Peace then ! no words. 
Cli. I '11 rather kill myself. 

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius. [Whispers. 

Dar. Shall I do such a deed? 

Cli. O Dardanius ! 

Dar. O Clitus! • 10 

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 
Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. 
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
That it runs over even at his eyes. 

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a 

word. 
Vol. What says my lord ? 
Bru. Why, this, Volumnius : 

The ghost of Csesar hath appear'd to me 
Two several times by night ; at Sardis once, 
And, this last night, here in Philippi fields : 
I know my hour is come. 

Vol. Not so, my lord. 20 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes ; 
Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 

[Low alanmis. 
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
Thou know'st that we two went to school to- 
gether : 
Even for that our love of old, I prithee, 
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
Vol. That 's not an office for a friend, my 
lord. [Alar7ii;i still. 

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying 
here. 30 

Bru. Farewell to you; and you; and you, 
Volumnius. 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
I found no man but he was true to me. 
I shall have glory by this losing day 
More than Oclavius and Mark Antony 
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
So fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 



Scene v.] 



JULIUS CsESAR. 



737 



Hath almost ended his life's history : 40 

Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would 

rest, 
That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 

[Alarum. Cry within, 'Fly, fly, fly!' 
Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 

Brit. Hence! I will follow. 

[Exeunt C/itus, Dardanius, and Volumnius. 
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
Thou art a fellow of a good respert ; 
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it : 
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, 
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Stra 

Stra. Give me your hand first. Fare you 

well, my lord. 
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. [Runs on his 
sword.] Caesar, now be still : =<■ 

I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. [Dies. 

Alarum. Rctrat. Enter Octavius, A 
Messala, Lucilius, and the army. 

Oct. What man is that? 

Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is thy 

master? 
Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, 

Messala : 
The conquerors can but make a fire of him; 



For r.rutus only overcame himself, 

And no man else hath honour by hi death. 

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank 
thee, Brutus, 
That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true. 

Oct. All that served 1'rutus, 1 will entertain 
them. Co 

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? 

Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 

Ocl. Do so, good Messala. 

Mes. How died my master, Strato? 

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 

Mes. Oclavius, then lake him to follow thee, 
That did the latest service to my m; 

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 
All the conspirators s;nc only he 
Did that they did in envy of great Cassar; 70 
He only, in a general honest thought 
And common good tu all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle, and the elements 
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
And say to all the world 'This was a man !' 

Oft. According to his virtue let us use him, 
With all respect and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
Most like a soldier, order'd honour 
So call the held to rest; and let's away. 8c 

To part the glories of this happy day. " [Exeunt. 



= 0-2 



MACBETH. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



his sons. 



Duncan, king of Scotland. 

Malcolm, ' 

DoNALBAIN,. 

Macbeth,] gl f h k; >s _ 

Banquo, ) b 
Macduff, -\ 
Lennox, 

^° ss ' > noblemen of Scotland. 

Menteith, [ 

Angus, 

Caithness,-' 

Fleance, son to Banquo. 

Sivvard, Earl of Northumberland, general 

of the English forces. 
Young Siward, his son. 
Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth. 
Boy, son to Macduff. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. A desert place. 
T/umder and lightning. Enter three Witches. 

First Witch. When shall we three meet again 
In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 

Sec. Witch. When the hurly burly 's done, 
When the battle's lost and won. 

Third Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. 

First Witch. Where the place? 

Sec. Witch. Upon the heath. 

Third Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 

First Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 

Sec. Witch. Paddock calls. 

Third Witch. Anon. 10 

A 11. Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
Hover through the fog and filthy air. \_Exeunt. 

Scene II. A camf> near Forres. 

Alarum within. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, 
Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants, meet- 
ing a bleeding Sergeant. 

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can re- 
port, 

As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 

The newest state. 

Mai. This is the sergeant 

Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 

'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend ! 

Say to the king the knowledge of the broil 

As thou didst leave it. 

Scr. Doubtful it stood ; 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together 

And choke their art. The merciless Macdon- 
wald — 

Worthy to be a rebel, for to that 10 

The multiplying villanies of nature 

Do swarm upon him — from the western isles 



An English Doctor. 
A Scotch Doctor. 
A Soldier. 
A Porter. 
An Old Man. 

Lady Macbeth. 
Lady Macduff. 
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 

Hecate. 
Three Witches. 
Apparitions. 
Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, 
Attendants, and Messengers. 

Scene: Scotland: England. 



Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ; 
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, 
Show'd like a rebel's whore : but all's too weak : 
For brave Macbeth — well he deserves that name — 
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
Which smoked with bloody execution, 
Like valour's minion carved out his passage 
Till he faced the slave ; 20 

t Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to 

him, 
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, 
And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 

Dun. O valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 

Ser. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 

Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, 

So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to 

come 
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark : 
No sooner justice had with valour arm'd 
Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, 
But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, 31 
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men 
Began a fresh assault. 

Dun. Dismay'd not this 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? 

Ser. Yes; 

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 
If I say sooth, I must report they were 
As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so 

they 
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
Or memorize another Golgotha, 40 

I cannot tell. 
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 

Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy 
wounds ; 
They smack of honour both. Go get him sur- 
geons. {.Exit Sergeant, attended. 
Who comes here ? 



Scene it.] 



MACBETH. 



789 



Enter Ross. 

Mai. The worthy thane of Ross. 

Le?i. What a haste looks through his eyes ! 
So should he look 
That seems to speak things strange. 

Ross. God save the king ! 

Dun. Whence earnest thou, worthy thane V 

Ross. From Fife, great king ; 

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky 
And fan our people cold. Norway himself, 50 
With terrible numbers, 
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor 
The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict ; 
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 
Confronted him with self-comparisons, 
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, 
Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, 
The victory fell on us. 

Dun. Great happiness ! 

Ross. That now 

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition : 
Nor would we deign him burial of his men 60 
Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch 
Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall 
deceive 
Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present 

death, 
And with his former title greet Macbeth. 

Ross. I '11 see it done. 

Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath 
won. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A heath near Forres. 
Thunder. Enter tJie three Witches. 

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 

Sec. Witch. Killing swine. 

Third W itch. Sister, where thou? 

First Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in 
her lap, 
And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch' d : — 

'Give me,' quoth I : 
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the 

Tiger : 
But in a sieve I'll thither sail, 
And, like a rat without a tail, 
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 10 

Sec. Witch. I '11 give thee a wind. 

First Witch. Thou 'rt kind. 

Third Witch. And I another. 

First Witch. I myself have all the other, 
And the very ports they blow, 
All the quarters that they know 
I' the shipman's card. 
I will drain him dry as hay : 
Sleep shall neither night nor day 
Hang upon his pent-house lid; 20 

He shall live a man forbid : 
Weary se'nnights nine times nine 
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine : 
Though his bark cannot be lost, 
Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 
Look what I have. 

Sec. Witch. Show me, show me. 

First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 



Wreck'd as homeward he did come. 

[Drum within. 

Third Witch. A drum, a drum ! 30 

Macbeth doth come. 

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
Posters of the sea and land, 
Thus do go about, about : 
Thrice to thine and thrice to mine 
And thrice again, to make up nine. 
Peace! the charm's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and BANQUO. 
Mad. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
JJau. How far is't call'd to Forres? What 
are these 
So wither'd and so wild in their attire, 40 

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught 
That man may question? You seem to under- 
stand me, 
By each at once her chappy finger laying 
Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, 
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
That you are so. 

Macb. Speak, if you can : what are you? 

First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, 

thane of Glamis ! 
Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, 

thane of Cawdor ! 

Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt 

be king hereafter ! 50 

Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem 

to fear 

Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of 

truth, 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner 
You greet with present grace and great prediction 
Of noble having and of royal hope, 
That he seems rapt withal : to me you speak not. 
If you can look into the s<;eds of time, 
And say which grain will grow and which will not, 
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear 60 
Your favours nor your hate. 
First II 'itch. Hail 1 
Sec. Witch. Hail! 
Third Witch. Hail! 

First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
See. Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though 
thou be none : 
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 

First Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! 
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me 
more : 70 

By Sinel's death T know I am thane of Glamis ; 
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
A prosperous gentleman ; and to be king 
Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way r 
With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge 
you. [JVitcAes vanish. 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
And these are of them. Whither are they van- 
ish'd? 80 

Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal 
melted 



79© 



MACBETH. 



[Act 



I As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd ! 
Ban. Were such things here as we do speak 
about? 
I Or have we eaten on the insane root 
I That takes the reason prisoner? 

Macb. Your children shall be kings. 

Ban. You shall be king. 

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too : went it 

not so? 
Ban. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's 
here? 

Enter Ross and Angus. 
Ross. The king hath happily received, Mac- 
beth, 
j The news of thy success ; and when he reads 90 
i Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
i His wonders and his praises do contend 

Which should be thine or his : silenced with that, 
j In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, 
i He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,. 
Strange images of death. As thick as hail 
Came post with post ; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
And pour'd them down before him. 

Ang. We are sent 100 

To give thee from our royal master thanks ; 
Only to herald thee into his sight, 
Not pay thee. 

Eoss. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Caw- 
dor: 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
For it is thine. 

Ban. What, can the devil speak true? 

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives : why do 
you dress me 
In borrow'd robes? 

Ang. Who was the thane lives yet; 

But under heavy judgement bears that life no 
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 

combined 
Vv^ith those of Norway, or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both 
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; 
But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. [A side] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor ! 
The greatest is behind. [To Eoss and A //gits] 

Thanks for your pains. 
[To Ban.] Do you not hope your children shall 
be kings, 
j When those that gave the thane of Cawdor 

to me 
; Promised no less to them? 

Ban. That trusted home 120 

I Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
I Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
The instruments of darkness tell us truths, 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's 
In deepest consequence. 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 

Macb. [Aside] Two truths are told, 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme.' — I thank you, gentlemen. 
[Aside] This supernatural soliciting 130 

Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, 



Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: 
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair 
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
Are less than horrible imaginings : 
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
Shakes so my single state of man that function 
Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is 141 

But what is not. 
Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 

Macb. [Aside] If chance will have me king, 
why, chance may crown me, 
Without my stir. 

Ban. New honours come upon him, 

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their 

mould 
But with the aid of use. 

Macb. [A side] Come what come may, 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your 

leisure. 
Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain 
was wrought 
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your 
pains 150 

Are register'd where every day I turn 
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. 
Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more 

time, 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 
Ban. Very gladly. 

Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Forres. The palace. 

Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donal- 
bain, Lennox, a?id Attendants. 

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
Those in commission yet return'd? 

Mai. My liege, 

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
With one that saw him die : who did report 
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, 
Implored your highness' pardon and set forth 
A deep repentance : nothing in his life 
Became him like the leaving it ; he died 
As one that had been studied in his death 
To throw away the dearest thing he owed, 10 
As 'twere a careless trifle. 

Dun. There 's no art 

To find the mind's construction in the face : 
He was a gentleman on whom I built 
An absolute trust. 

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus. 
O worthiest cousin ! 
I The sin of my ingratitude even now 
! Was heavy on me : thou art so far before 
j That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
I To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less de- 
served, 
I That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
1 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 20 
I More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
j Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe. 



Scene i\\] 



MACBETH. 



79' 



In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
Is to receive our duties ; and our duties 
Are to your throne and state children and servants, 
Which do but what they should, by doing every 
thing 

ard your love and honour. 

Dun. Welcome hither: 

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, 
That hast no less deserved, nor must be known 30 
No less to have done so, let me infold thee 
And hold thee to my heart. 

Ban. There if I grow, 

The harvest is your own. 

Dun. My plenteous joys, 

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
And you whose places are the nearest, know 
We will establish our estate upon 
Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter 
The Prince of Cumberland ; which honour must 
Not unaccompanied invest him only, 40 

Hut signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, 
And bind us further to you. 

Macb. The rest is labour, which is not used 
for you : 
I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful 
The hearing of my wife with your approach; 
So humbly take my leave. 

Dun. My worthy Cawdor! 

[Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! 
that is a step 
On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ; 50 
Let not light see my black and deep desires: 
The eye wink at the hand ; yet let that be, 
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. 

[Exit. 

Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so 
valiant, 
And in his commendations I am fed ; 
It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, 
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
It is a peerless kinsman. {Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene V. Inverness. MacbetWs castle. 
Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
LadyM. ' They met me in the day of success : 
and I have learned by the perfeclest report, they 
have more in them than mortal knowle 1 ge. When 
I burned in desire to question them further, they 
made themselves air, into which they vanished. 
Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came 
missives from the king, who all-hailed me "Thane 
of Cawdor;" by which title, before, these weird 
sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming 
on of time, with " Hail, king that shalt be !" 
This have I thought good to deliver thee, my 
dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not 
lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of 
what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy 
heart, and farewell.' 

Glamis thou art. and Cawdor: and shalt be 
What thou art promised : yet do I fear thynature ; 
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
To catch the nearest way : thou wouidst be great ; 
Art not without ambition, but without 20 



The illness should attend it : what thou wouidst 

highly, 
That wouidst thou holily ; wouidst not play false, 
And yet wouidst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, 

great Glamis, 
That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou 

have it : 
And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, 
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 30 
To have thee crown'd withal. 

Enter a Messenger. 

What is your tidings? 

Mess. The king comes here to-night. 

Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it : 

Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, 
Would have inform'd for preparation. 

Mess. So please you, it is true : our thane is 
coming : 
One of my fellows had the speed of him, 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would make up his me 

Lady M. Give him tending ; 

He brings great news. [Exit Mes 1 

The raven himself is hoarse 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 40 

Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, 
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood; 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse, 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
The effect and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, 
And take my milk for gall, you murdering 

ministers, 
Wherever in your sightless substances 50 

You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 
To cry ' Hold, hold !' 

Enter Macbeth. 
Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter 1 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
This igi t, and I feel now 

The future in the instant 

Macb. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Lady M. And when goes hence? 60 

Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. 

Lady M. O, never 

Shall sun that morrow see ! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men 
May read strange matters. To beguile the time, 
Look like the time ; bear well ir eye, 

Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent 

flower, 
But be the serpent under 't. lie that's coming 
Must be provided for.; and you - Jl put 
This night's great business into my dispatch; 
Which shall to all our nights and .lays to 1 
ilely sovereign SWaj 



792 



MACBETH. 



[Act i. 



Macb. We will speak further. 

Lady M. Only look up clear ; 

To alter favour ever is to fear : 
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Before Macbeth' s castle. 

Hautboys and torches. Enter Duncan, Mal- 
colm, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MAC- 

duff, Ross, Angus, and. Attendants. 

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This guest of summer, 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
By his loved mansiomy, that the heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, 
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird 
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : 
Where they most breed and haunt, I have ob- 
served, 
The air is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Dun. See, see, our honour'd hostess ! 10 

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, 
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you 
How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, 
And thank us for your trouble. 

Lady M. All our service 

In every point twice done and then done double 
Were poor and single business to contend 
Against those honours deep and broad wherewith 
Your majesty loads our house : for those of old, 
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
We rest your hermits. 

Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor? 20 

We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose 
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; 
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp 

him 
To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in 

compt, 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
Still to return your own. 

Dun. Give me your hand ; 

Conduct me to mine host : we love him highly, 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 30 
By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Macbeth 'i castle. 

Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and 
divers Servants with dishes and service, and 
pass over the stage. Then enter Macbeth. 
Maeb. If it were done when 'tis done, then 
'twere well 
It were done quickly : if the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
With his surcease success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
We 'Id jump the life to come. But in these cases 
We still have judgement here ; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
To plague the inventor : this even-handed justice 



Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips. He's here in double trust ; 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject., 
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-off ; 20 

And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur 
To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself 
And falls on the other. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

How now ! what news ? 

Lady M. He has almost supp'd: why have 
you left the chamber? 

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ? 

Lady M. Know you not he has? 30 

Macb. We will proceed no further in this 
business : 
He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
Not cast aside so soon. 

Lady M. Was the hope drunk 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since ? 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
At what it did so freely? From this time 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valour 40 
As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
And live a coward in thine own esteem, 
Letting ' I dare not' wait upon ' I would,' 
Like the poor cat i' the adage? 

Macb. Prithee, peace : 

I dare do all that may become a man ; 
Who dares do more is none. 

Lady M. What beast was't, then, 

That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
And, to be more than what you were, you would 50 
Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
They have made themselves, and that their fit- 
ness now 
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know 
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me : 
I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, 
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you 
Have done to this. 

Macb. If we should fail ? 

Lady M. We fail ! 

But screw 3'our courage to the sticking-place, 60 
And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep — 
Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly invite him — his two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassail so convince 
That memory, the warder of the brain, 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
A limbeck only : when in swinish sleep 



Scene vii.] 



MACBETH. 



793 



Their drenched natures lie as in a death, 
What cannot you and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 70 
His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell? 

Macb. Bring forth men-children only ; 

For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
Nothing but males. Will it not be received, 
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy 

two 
Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, 
That they have done't '.' 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
Upon his death? 

Macb. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 80 

Away, and mock the time with fairest show: 
False face must hide what the false heart doth 
know. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 
Scene I. Court of Macbeth' s castle. 

Enter Banquo, and Fi.eance bearing a torch 
before hi in. 
Ban. How goes the night, boy? 
Fie. The moon is down; I have not heard 

the clock. 
Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 

Ban. Hold, take my sword. There's hus- 
bandry in heaven ; 
Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 
Give me my sword. 
Who's there? - 10 

Macb. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's 
a-bed : 
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices. 
This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
In measureless content. 

Macb. Being unprepared, 

Our will became the servant to defect; 
Which else should free have wrought. 

Ban. All's well. 

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 20 
To you they have show'd some truth. 

Macb. I think not of them : 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
We would spend it in some words upon that 

business, 
if you would grant the time. 

Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, 
when 'tis, 
It shall make honour for you. 
• Ban. So I lose none 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, 



I shall be counsell'd. 

Good repose the while ! 
Ban. Thanks, sir: the like to you ! 30 

[Exeunt Banquo and Fl 
Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is 

ready, 
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 

[Exit Servant. 
Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me 

clutch thee. 
I have thee not, and yet I sec thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sen 
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 
Pro eeding fr >m the heat oppressed brain? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 40 

As tin.', which now 1 draw. 

Thou marshall'st mo the way that I was going; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
Or else worth all the rest; 1 see thee still, 
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of b 
Which was not so before. There 's no such thing : 
It is the bloody business which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. Now o"er the one half-world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 50 
The curtain'd sleep ; witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings, and withcr'd murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy 

pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his 

design 
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set 

earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, 
And take the present horror from the time, 
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he 

lives: 60 

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath 

[A bell rings. 
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. [Exit. 



Scene II. The same. 

Enter Ladv Macbeth. 

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk 
hath made me bold ; 
What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. 

Hark ! Peace ! 
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman. 
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is 

about it : 
The doors are open : and the surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores: I have 

drugg'd their pos 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live or die. 
Macb. [Within\ Who's there? what, ho! 9 
Lady M. Alack, [am afraid they have awaked. 
And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed 
Confounds us. Hark ! I laid their d 
He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept, I had done 't. 



MA CBE TH. 



[Act h. 



Enter Macbeth. 



My husband ! 
Didst thou not 



Mach. I have done the deed. 

hear a noise ? 
Lady M. I heard the owl scream and the 
crickets cry. 
Did not you speak? 
Macb. When? 

Lady M. Now. 

Macb. As I descended? 

Lady M. Ay. 
Macb. Hark ! 
Who lies i' the second chamber ? 
Lady M. Donalbain. 20 

Mac. This is a sorry sight. 

{Looking on his hands. 
Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 
Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and 
one cried ' Murder ! ' 
J That they did wake each other : I stood and heard 
them : 
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodged together. 
Macb. One cried ' God bless us ! ' and ' Amen' 
the other ; 
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. 
Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' 
When they did say ' God bless us ! ' 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 30 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce 
'Amen'? 
I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
After these ways; so, it will make us mad. 

Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep 
no more ! 
Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, 
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, 
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
Chief nourisher in life's feast, — 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Macb. Still it cried ' Sleep no more ! ' to all the 

house : 41 

'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore 

Cawdor 
Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' 
Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, 
worthy thane, 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
They must lie there : go carry them ; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Macb. I '11 go no more : 50 

I am afraid to think what I have done; 
Look on 't again I dare not. 

Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead 
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal ; 
For it must seem their guilt. 

{Exit. Knocking within. 
Macb. Whence is that knocking? 



How is't with me, when every noise appals me? 
What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine 
eyes. 59 

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
Making the green one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady 21 f. My hands are of your colour; but I 

shame 
To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.] I 

hear a knocking 
At the south entry : retire we to our chamber : 
A little water clears us of this deed : 
How easy is it, then ! Your constancy 
Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.] 

Hark! more knocking. 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, 70 
And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know 

myself. [Knocking within. 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou 

couldst! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. 
Knocking within. Enter a Porter. 
Porter. Here 's a knocking indeed ! If a man 
were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turn- 
ing the key. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock, 
knock ! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? 
Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the ex- 
pectation of plenty : come in time ; have napkins 
enow about you ; here you '11 sweat for 't. [Knock- 
ing within.] Knock, knock! Who's there, in 
the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivoc- 
ator, that could swear in both the scales against 
either scale; who committed treason enough for 
God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven : 
O, come in, equivocator. [Knocking within.] 
Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, 
here 's an English tailor come hither, for stealing 
out of a French hose : come in, tailor ; here you 
may roast your goose. [Knocking within.] Knock, 
knock; never at quiet ! What are you? But this 
place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no 
further: I had thought to have let in some of 
all professions that go the primrose way to the 
everlasting bonfire. [Knocking zvi thin.] Anon, 
anon ! I pray you, remember the porter. 

[Oj>ens the gate. 

Enter Macduff and Lennox. 

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
That you do lie so late ? 

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the 
second cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker 
of three things. 

Macd. What three things does drink especially 
provoke? 30 

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and 
urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes ; 
it provokes the desire, but it takes away the per- 
formance : therefore, much drink may be said to 
be an equivocator with lechery : it makes him. 
and it mars him ; it sets him on, and it takes him 
off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes 



Scene hi.] 



MACBETH. 



him stand to, and not stand to ; in conclusion, 
equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the 
lie, leaves him. 40 

Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last 
night. 

Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me : 
but I requited him for his lie ; and. I think, being 
too strong for him, though he took up my legs 
sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. 

Macd. Is thy master stirring? 

Enter Macbeth. 
Our knocking has awaked him ; here he comes. 

Leu. Good morrow, noble sir. 

Macd. Good morrow, both. 

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? 

Macd. N ot yet. 50 

Macd. He did command me to call timely on 
him: 
I have almost slipp'd the hour. 

Miic!'. I '11 bring you to him. 

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you; 
But yet 'tis one. 

Mad'. The labour we delight in physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Macd. I 'il make so bold to call, 

For 'tis my limited service. {Exit. 

Leu. Goes the king hence to-day? 

Macb. He does : he did appoint so. 

Leu. The night has been unruly : where we lay, 
Our chimney.- were blown down ; and, as they say, 
Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams of 
death, 61 

And prophesying with accents terrible 
Of dire combustion and confused events 
New hatch'd to the woeful time : the obscure bird 
Clamour' d the livelong night : some say, the earth 
Was feverous and did shake. 

Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 

Leu. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

Re-enter Macduff. 
Macd. O horror, horror, horror ! Tongue nor 
heart 
Cannot conceive nor name thee ! 

<\ Iacb -\ What's the matter? 70 

Leu. ) ' 

I. Confusion now hath made his master- 
piece ! 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building ! 

Mad'. What is't you say? the life? 

Leu. Mean you his majesty? 
Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy 
your sight 
With a new Gorgon : do not bid me speak ; 
See, and then speak yourselves. 

{Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox. 
Awake, awake ! 
Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason ! 
Banquo and Donalbain 1 Malcolm! awake! 80 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself ! up, up, and see 
The great doom's image ' M dcolm ! I'anquo ! 
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprite.--. 
To countenance this horror ! Ring the bell. 

{Dell rings. 



Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady . M. What's the busi 

That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak ! 

Macd. 1 tie lady, 

'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak : 
The repetition, in a woman's ear, 90 

Would murder as it fell. 

Re-enter Banquo. 

O Banquo, Banquo, 
Our royal master 's murder'd ! 

Lady M. Woe, alas ! 

What, in our house? 

Ban. Too cruel any where. 

Dear Dul , o intradict thyself, 

y it is not so. 

Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross. 

I lad Ibutdiedanhourbeforethischance, 
I had lived a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 
There's nothing serious in m irtality: 
All is but toys : renown and grace is dead; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 100 
Is left this vault to brag of. 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 

Don. What is amiss? 

Macb. re, and do not know't : 

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. 

Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. 

Mai. O, by whom? 

Leu. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had 
done 't : 
Their hands and faces were all badged with blood ; 
So were their daggers, which unwiped we found 
Upon their pillows: 

They stared, and were distracted; no man's life 
Was to be trusted with them. m 

Macb. O, vet I do repent me of my fury, 
That I did kill them. 

Macd. Wherefore did you so? 

Macb. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate 
and furious, 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man : 
The expedition of my violent love 
Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, 
His silver skin laced with his golden blood; 
And his gash'd stabs Iook'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the mu: 
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
Unmannerly breech'd with gore : who could re- 
frain, 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make 's love known? 

Lady M. 1 [elp me hence, ho ! 

Macd. Look to the lady. 

Mai. {Aside to Dc;:.\ Why do we hold our 
tongues, 
That most may claim this argument for ours? 

Don. {Aside to Mai \ What should be spoken 
here, where our fate, 
Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? 

•> ay ; 129 

Our tears arc nol 

Mai. {Aside to /»<•;/.] Nor our strong sorrow 
Upon the foot of motion. 



7 g6 



MACBETH. 



[Act ii. 



Ban. 



Look to the lady : 
[Lady Macbeth is carried ozct. 
And when we have our naked frailties hid, 
That suffer in exposure, let us meet, 
And question this most bloody piece of work, 
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us : 
In the great hand of God I stand ; and thence 
Against the undivulged pretence I fight 
Of treasonous malice. 

Macd. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, 
And meet i' the hall together. 

All. Well contented. 140 

[Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbaiu. 

Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort 
with them : 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
Which the false man does easy. I '11 to England. 

Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in 

blood, 
The nearer bloody. 

Mai. This murderous shaft that's shot 

Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way 
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse ; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 150 

But shift away: there's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Outside MacbetJis castle. 
Enter Ross and an old Man. 
Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember 
well : 
Within the volume of which time I have seen 
Hours dreadful and things strange ; but this sore 

night 
Hath trifled former knowings. 

Ross. Ah, good father, 

Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's 

aft, 
Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis day, 
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp : 
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
That darkness does the face of earth entomb, 
When living light should kiss it? 

Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 10 

Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, 
A falcon, towering in her pride of place, 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. 
Ross. And Duncan's horses — a thing most 
strange and certain — 
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would 

make 
War with mankind. 

Old M. 'Tis said they eat each other. 

Ross. They did so, to the amazement of mine 
eyes 
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac- 
duff. 20 

Enter Macduff. 
How goes the world, sir, now? 



Macd. 



Why, see you not? 



Ross. Is't known who did this more than 
bloody deed? 

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 

Ross. Alas, the day ! 

What good could they pretend ? 

Macd. They were suborn'd : 

Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, 
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
Suspicion of the deed. 

Ross. 'Gainst nature still ! 

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up 
Thine own life's means ! Then 'tis most like 
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 30 

Rlacd. He is already named, and gone to 
Scone 
To be invested. 

Ross. Where is Duncan's body? 

Macd. Carried to Colmekill, 
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, 
And guardian of their bones. 

Ross. Will you to Scone? 

Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. 

Ross. Well, I will thither. 

Macd. Well, may you see things well done 
there : adieu ! 
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 

Ross. Farewell, father. 

Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with 

those 40 

That would make good of bad, and friends of 

foes ! [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Forres. The palace. 
Enter Banquo. 
Ban. Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, 
Glamis, all, 
As the weird women promised, and, I fear, 
Thou play'dst most foully for't : yet it was said 
It should not stand in thy posterity, 
But that myself should be the root and father 
Of many kings. If there come truth from them — 
As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine — 
Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
May they not be my oracles as well, 
And set me up in hope? But hush ! no more. 10 

Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king, 

Lady Macbeth, as queen, Lennox, Ross, 

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. 

Macb. Here's our chief guest. 

Lady M. If he had been forgotten, 

It had been as a gap in our great feast, 
And all-thing unbecoming. 

Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
And I '11 request your presence. 

Ban. Let your highness 

Command upon me ; to the which my duties 
Are with a most indissoluble tie 
For ever knit. 

Macb. Ride you this afternoon? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord. 20 

Macb. We should have else desired your good 
advice, 
Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, 
In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. 
Is't far you ride? 



Scene i.] 



MACBETH. 



797 



Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the 

better, 
I must become a borrower of the night 
For a dark hour or twain. 

Macb. Fail not our feast. 

Ban. My lord, I will not. 

Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are 
bestow'd 30 

In England and in Ireland, not confessing 
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
With strange invention : but of that to-morrow, 
When therewithal we shall have cause of state 
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : adieu. 
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord: our time does call 
upon 's. 

Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure 
of foot ; 
And so I do commend you to their backs. 
Farewell. [E.rit Banquo. 40 

Let every man be master of his time 
Till seven at night: to make society 
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with 
you ! 
[Exeunt all but Macbeth, and an attendant. 
Sirrah, a word with you : attend those men 
Our pleasure? 

Atten. They are, my lord, without the palace 
gate. 

Macb. Bring them before us. 

[Exit Attendant. 

To be thus is nothing ; 

But to be safely thus. — Our fears in Banquo 

Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature 50 

Reigns that which would be fear'd : 'tis much 

he dares; 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
To acl in safety. There is none but he 
Whose being I do fear : and, under him, 
My Genius is rebuked ; as, it is said, 
Mark Antony's was by Cesar. He chid the 

sisters 
When first they put the name of king upon me, 
And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like 
They hail'd him father to a line of kings: 60 

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
Thence to be wrench d with an unlineal hand, 
No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, 
For Banquo's issue have 1 filed my mind ; 
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; 
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel 
Given to the common enemy of man, 
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo 
icings ! 70 

Rather than so, come fate into the list, 
And champion me to the utterance ! Who's there? 

Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. 
Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. 

I Exit A ttendant. 
Was it not yesterday we spoke together ? 
First Mur. It was, so please your highness. 
Macb. Well then, now 

Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know 



That it was he in the times past which held you 
So under fortune, which you thought had been 
Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
In our last conference, pass'd in probation with 
you, 80 

How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the 

instruments, 
Who wrought with them, and all things else that 

might 
To half a soul and to a notion crazed 
Say • Thus did Banquo.' 

First Mur. You made it known to us. 

Macb. 1 did so, and went further, which 
is now 
Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
Your patience so predominant in your nature 
That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd 
To pray for this good man and for his issue, 
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave 
And beggar'd yours fiH- ever? 

First Mur. We are men, my liege. 91 

Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 
As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, 

curs, 
Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept 
All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
The housekeeper, the hunter, every one 
According to the gift which bounteous nature 
Hath in him closed ; whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the bill 100 

That writes them all alike : and so of men. 
Now, if you have a station in the file, 
Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't : 
And I will put that business in your bosoms, 
Whose execution takes your enemy off, 
Grapples you to the heart and love of us, 
Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
Which in his death were perfect. 

Sec. Mur. 1 am one, my liege, 

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
Have so incensed that I am reckless what no 
I do to spite the world. 

First Mur. And I another 

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
That I would set my life on any chance, 
To mend it, or be rid on't. 

Macb. Both of you 

Know Banquo was your enemy. 

Both Mur. True, my lord. 

Macb. So is he mine ; and in such bloody 
distance, 
That every minute of his being thrusts 
Against my near'st of life: and though I could 
With barefaced power sweep him from my sight 
And bid my will avouch it, yet 1 must not, 120 
For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
Whose loves 1 may not drop, but wail his fall 
Who 1 myself struck down; and thence it is, 
That I to your assistance do make love, 
Masking the business from the common eye 
For sundry weighty reasons. 

Sec. Mur. We shall, my lord, 

Perform what you command us. 

First Mur. Though our lives — 

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within 
this hour at most 

I will advise you where to plant yourselves; 
Acquaint you with the perfeel spy o' the time, 130 



798 



MACBETH. 



[Act hi. 



The moment orf 't ; for't must be done to-night, 
And something from the palace ; always thought 
That I require a clearness : and with him — 
To leave no rubs nor botches in the work — 
Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 
Whose absence is no less material to me 
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: 
I '11 come to you anon. 

Both Mur. We are resolved, ray lord. 

Macb. I'll call upon you straight: abide 
within. [Exeunt Murderers. 140 

It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exit. 

Scene II. The palace. 
Enter Lady Macbeth a?ida Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court? 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his 
leisure 
For a few words. 

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, 

Where our desire is got without content: 
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy 
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 
How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone, 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making, 
Using those thoughts which should indeed have 

died 10 

With them they think on? Things without all 

remedy 
Should be without regard: what's done is done. 
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd 

it: 
She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the 

worlds suffer, 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep 
In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, 
Than on the torture of the mind to lie 21 

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; 
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
Can touch him further. 

Lady M. Come on ; 

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks: 
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. 
Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be 

you: 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; 30 

Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue : 
t Unsafe the while, that we 

Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, 
And make our faces vizards to our hearts, 
Disguising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear 

wife ! 
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 



Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not 

eterne. 
Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assail- 
able: 
Then be thou jocund : ere the bat hath flown 40 
His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's sum- 
mons 
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be 

done 
A deed of dreadful note. 

Lady M. What's to be done ? 

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
chuck, 
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; 
And with thy bloody and invisible hand 
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 
Which keeps me pale ! Light thickens ; and the 
crow 50 

Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do 

rouse. 
Thou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still : 
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. 
So, prithee, go with me. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A park near the palace. 
Enter three Murderers. 

First Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 

Third Mur. Macbeth. 

Sec. Mur. He needs not our mistrust, since 
he delivers 
Our offices and what we have to do 
To the direction just. 

First Mur. Then stand with us. 

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day : 
Now spurs the lated traveller apace 
To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
The subject of our watch. 

Third Mur. Hark! I hear horses. 

Ban. [ Within] Give us a light there, ho ! 

Sec. Mur. Then 'tis he : the rest 

That are within the note of expectation 10 

Already are i' the court. 

First Mur. His horses go about. 

Third Mur. Almost a mile: but he does 
usually, 
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
Make it their walk. 

Sec. Mur. A light, a light ! 

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch. 
Third Mur. 'Tis he. 

First Mur. Stand to 't. 
Ban. It will be rain tq-night. 
First Mur. Let it come down. 

[ They set upon Banquo. 
Ban. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, 
fly, fly ! 
Thou mayst revenge. O slave ! 

[Dies. Fleance escapes. 
Third Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 
First Mur. Was't not the way? 

Third Mur. There 's but one down ; the son 

is fled. 
Sec. Mur. We have lost 20 



Scene hi.] 



MACBETH. 



799 



Best half of our affair. 

First 31 ur. Well, let's away, and say how 
much is done. [Ex runt. 

Scene IV. The same. Hail in Hie palace. 

A banquet prepared. Enter Macbe'i I 

MACBETH, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and Attend- 
ants. 

Much. You know your own degrees ; sit down : 
at first 

And last the hearty welcome. 
Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 

And play the humble host. 

< )ur hostess keeps her sure, but in best time 

We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce it for mc, sir, to all our 
friends ; 

For my heart speaks they are welcome. 

First Murderer appears at the door. 
Macb. See, they encounter thee with their 
hearts' thanks. 
Both sides are even : here 1 '11 sit i' the n 
Be large in mirth ; anon we'll drink a mi 
The table round. [Approaching the door.] There's 
blood upon thy face. 
Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 

Macb. 'Tis better thee without than lie within. 
Is he dispatch'd? 

Mar. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did 

for him. 
Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : 
yet he 's good 
That did the like for Fleance : if thou did: t it, 
Thou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scaped. 20 

Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else 
been perfeel, 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, 
As broad and general as the casing air : 
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in 
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's sale? 
Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he 
bides, 
With twenty trenched gashes on his head; 
The least a death to nature. 

Macb. Thanks for that: 

There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's 

fled 
Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 30 
No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to- 
morrow 
We'll hear, ourselves, again. [Exit Murderer. 

Lady M. My royal lord, 

You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold 
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 
'Tis given with welcome : to feed were best at 

home ; 
From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
And health on both ! 

Leu. May't please your highness sit. 

[The Ghost of Banquo enters, and sits in 

Macbeth' s place. 



Macb. Here had we now our country's honour 
roofd, 40 

Were the graced person of our Banquo present; 
iay I rather challenge for unkindnebS 
: ity for mischance ! 
Ross. His absence, sir. 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please 't your 
hig! 

ir royal company. 
. The table's full. 
Len. Here is a place reserved, sir. 

'. Where? 
Here, my gi od 1 : i. What is't that 

Macb. •■ this? 

Lords. . my good lord? 

Thou canst not say I did it : never 
shake 50 

Thy gory locks at me. 
Ross. Gentlemen, rise : his highness is not well. 
Lady M. Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often 
thus, 
And hath been from his youth: pray you 

seat ; 
The fit is momentary; upon a thought 
He will again be well : if much you note him, 
You shall offend him and extend 1 
Feed, and regard him nor. Arc you a man? 
Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on 
that 
Which might appal the devil. 

Lady M. O proper stuff ! 60 

This is the very painting of your fear: 
This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, 
Impostors to true fear, would well become 
A woman's story at a winter'; 
Authorized by her gran dam. Shame itself! 
Why do you make such faces? Wh 
You look but on a stool. 

Macb. Prithee, see there! behold! 1 
how say y 
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. 
Ifcharnt' I our graves must send 71 

Those that we bury back, our monuments 
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost vanishes. 

Lady M. \\ bat, quite unmann'd in folly ': 

' . If I stand here, I saw him. 
v M. Fie, for shame ! 

Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the 
olden time, 
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal ; 
Ay, and since too, murders have boon perl 
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, 
That, when the brains were out, the man 

die, 
And there an end ; but now they rise again, Go 
With tweniy mortal murders on their crowns, 
And push us from our stools : this is more strange 
Than such a murder is. 

.' M. My worthy lord, 

Your noble friends do lack you. 

Macb. I do forget. 

muse at me. my most worthy lV;. 
a strange infirmity, which i 
To those that know me. Come, love and health 

to all ; 
Then 1 '11 sit d iwn. Give me some wine : fill full. 
1 drink to the general joy o' the whole table, 89 - 



8oo 



MACBETH. 



[Act hi. 



And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
Would he were here ! to all, and hirn, we thirst, 
And all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Re-enter Ghost. 
Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the 
earth hide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
Which thou dost glare with ! 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 

But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, ioo 
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ; 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble : or be alive again, 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
+ If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
Unreal mockery, hence ! [Ghost vanishes. 

Why, so : being gone, 
I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. 

Lady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke 
the good meeting, 
With most admired disorder. 

Macb. Can such things be, no 

And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
Without our special wonder? You make me 

strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe, 
When now I think you can behold such sights, 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
When mine is blanch'd with fear. 

Ross. What sights, my lord? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows 
worse and worse ; 
Question enrages him. At once, good night : 
Stand not upon the order of your going, 
But go at once. 

Len. Goodnight; and better health 120 

Attend his majesty ! 

LadyM. A kind good night to all ! 

[Exeunt all but Macbeth and Lady M. 
Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will 
have blood : 
Stones have been known to move and trees to 

speak ; 
Augurs and understood relations have 
By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought 

forth 
The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? 
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 

is which. 
Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies 
his person 
At our great bidding? 

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? 

Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 
There's not a one of them but in his house 131 
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: 
More shall.they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own 

good, 
All causes shall give way : I am in blood 
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, 



Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
Which must be adled ere they may be scann'd. 
Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, 
sleep. 141 

Macb. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and 
self-abuse 
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : 
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. A Heath. 

Thunder. Enter the three Witches, 
meeting Hecate. 

First Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ! you 
look angerly. 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth 
In riddles and affairs of death; 
And I, the mistress of your charms, 
The close contriver of all harms, 
Was never call'd to bear my part, 
Or show the glory of our art ? 
And, which is worse, all you have done 10 

Hath been but for a wayward son, 
Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now: get you gone, 
And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning : thither he 
Will come to know his destiny : 
Your vessels and your spells provide, 
Your charms and every thing beside. 
I am for the air; this night I'll spend 20 

Unto a dismal and a fatal end : 
Great business must be wrought ere noon : 
Upon the corner of the moon 
There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
I'll catch it ere it come to ground : 
And that distill'd by magic sleights 
Shall raise such artificial sprites 
As by the strength of their illusion 
Shall draw him on to his confusion : 
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 30 

His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear : 
And you all know, security 
Is mortals' chiefest enemy. 

[Music and a song within : ' Come away, 
come away,' &c. 
Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 

First VVitch. Come, let's make haste; she'll 
soon be back again. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Forres. The palace. 
Enter Lennox and another Lord. 
Len. My former speeches have but hit your 
thoughts, 
Which can interpret further : only, I say, 
Things have been strangely borne. The gracious 

Duncan 
Was pitied of Macbeth : marry, he was dead : 
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late ; 
Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance 

kill'd, 
For Fleance fled : men must not walk too late. 
Who cannot want the thought how monstrous 



Scene vi.] 



MACBETH. 



801 



It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 
To kill their gracious father? damned fact ! 10 
How it did grie\ c Macbeth ! did he not straight 
In pious rage the two delinquents tear. 
That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? 
Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive 
To hear the men deny 't. So that, I say, 
He has borne all things well: and I do 'think 
That had he Duncan's sons under his key — 
i As, an't please heaven, he shall not — they should 

find 
; What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance. 20 
But, peace ! for from broad words and 'cause he 

fail'd 
His presence at the tyrant'* feast, I hear 
[ 'Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell 
■There he bestows himself? 

Lord. The son of Duncan, 

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
Lives in the English court, and is received 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace 
That the malevolence of fortune nothing 

from his high respect: thither Macduff 
jls gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid 30 
To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: 
That, by the help of these — with Him above 
I To ratify the work — we may again 
! Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, 
; Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, 
Do faithful homage and receive free honours : 
All which we pine for now : and this report 
j Hath so exasperate the king that he 
I Prepares for some attempt of war. 

Len. Sent he to Macduff? 

• Lord. He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, 

not I,' 40 

, The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 

And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the 

time 
J That clogs me with this answer.' 
j Leu. _ And that well might 

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
j His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
Fly to the court of England and unfold 
! His message ere he come, that a swift blessing 
-M oon return to this our suffering country 
] Under a hand accursed ! 

j Lord. I'll send my prayers with him. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

(Scene I. A cavern. In the ?niddle, a boiling 
cauldron. 

Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 
First Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath 

mew'd. 
Sec. Witch. Thrice and once the hedge-pig 
< whined. 

, Third Witch. Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis 
time. 
First II 'itch. Round about the cauldron go ; 
j In the poison'd entrails throw. 
I fToad, that under cold stone 
I Days and nights has thirty one 

Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
I Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. 



All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 10 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 

Sec. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
In the cauldron boil and bake; 
Eye of newt and toe of frog, 
Wool of bat and tongue of dog, 
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing. 
For a charm of powerful trouble, 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble; 20 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Third Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of 
wolf, 
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf 
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, 
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, 
Liver of blaspheming few, 
Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse, 
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, 
Finger of birth-strangled babe 30 

Ditch-de'.iver'd by a "drab, 
Make the gruel thick and slab: 
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
For the ingredients of our cauldron. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Sec. Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
Then the charm is firm and good. 

Enter Hecate to the oilier three Witches. 
Hcc. O, well done ! I commend your pains ; 
And every one shall share i' the gains : 40 

And now about the cauldron sing, 
Live elves and fairies in a ring, 
Enchanting all that you put in. 

[Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' &c. 
[Hecate retires. 
Sec. Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
Something wicked this way comes. 
Open, locks, 
Whoever knocks ! 

Enter Macbeth. 

Macb. How now, you secret, black, and mid- 
night hags! 
What is'tyou do? 

All. A deed without a name. 

Macb. I conjure you, by that which you pro- 
fess, 50 
Howe'er you come to know it, answer me : 
Though you untie the winds and let them fight 
Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown 

down ; 
Though castles topple on their warders' heads; 
Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
Their heads to their foundations; though the 

treasure 
Of nature's gcrmens tumble all together, 
Even till destruction sicken ; answer me 60 

To what I ask you. 

First Witch. Speak. 
Sec. Witch. Demand. 

Third Witch. We'll answer. 

First Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it 
from our mouths, 



802 



MACBETH. 



[Act iv. 



Or from our masters ? 
Macb. Call 'em ; let me see 'em. 

First Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath 
eaten 
Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten 
From the murderer's gibbet throw 
Into the flame. 

A 11. Come, high or low ; 

Thyself and office deftly show ! 

Thunder. First Apparition : an armed Head. 
Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, — 
First Witch. He knows thy thought : 

Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 70 

First App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! 
beware Macduff; 
Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. 
[Descends. 
Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, 
thanks ; 
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : but one word 
more, — 
First Witch. He will not be commanded: 
here 's another, 
More potent than the first. 

Thunder. Second Apparition : a bloody Child. 
Sec. App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! 
Macb. Had I three ears, I 'Id hear thee. 
Sec. App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute ; laugh 
to scorn 
The power of man, for none of woman born 80 
Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends. 

Macb. Then live, Macduff : what need I fear 
of thee? 
But yet I '11 make assurance double sure, 
And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
And sleep in spite of thunder. 

Thunder. Third Apparition : a Child crowned, 
with a tree in his hand. 

What is this 
That rises like the issue of a king, 
And wears upon his baby-brow the round 
And top of sovereignty? 

All. Listen, but speak not to 't. 

Third App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take 
no care 90 

Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until 
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
Shall come against him. [Descends. 

Macb. That will never be : 

Who can impress the forest, bid the tree 
Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! 

good ! 
Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood 
Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth 
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 100 
Throbs to know one thing : tell me, if your art 
Can tell so much : shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this kingdom? 

A II. Seek to know no more. 

Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this, 
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know. 
Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? 
[Hautboys. 



First Witch. Show I 
Sec. Witch. Show! 
Third Witch. Show ! 

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; no 
Come like shadows, so depart ! 

A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in 
his hand; Banquo's Ghost following. 

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; 
down ! 
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy 

hair, 
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. 
A third is like the former. Filthy hags ! 
Why do you show me this? A fourth ! Start, eyes ! 
What, will the line stretch out to the crack of 

doom? 
Another yet ! A seventh ! I'll see no more: 
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass 
Which shows me many more ; and some I see 120 
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry : 
Horrible sight ! Now, I see, 'tis true ; 
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, 
And points at them for his. [Apparitions vanish.] 
What, is this so? 
First Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : but why 
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? 
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, 
And show the best of our delights : 
I '11 charm the air to give a sound, 
While you perform your antic round ; 130 

That this great king may kindly say, 
Our duties did his welcome pay. 

[Music. The Witches dance, and then 
vanish, with Hecate. 
Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this per- 
nicious hour 
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! 
Come in, without there ! 

Enter Lennox. 

Len. What's your grace's will? 

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters? 

Len. No, my lord. 

Macb. Came they not by you ? 

Len. No, indeed, my lord. 

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
And damn'd all those that trust them ! I did hear 
The galloping of horse: who was't came by? 140 

Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring 
you word 
Macduff is fled to England. 

Macb. Fled to England ! 

Len. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. Time, thou anticipatest my dread ex- 
ploits : 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook 
Unless the deed go with it: from this moment 
The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
The firstlings of my hand. And even now, 
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought 

and done : 
The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; 150 

Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
That trace him in his line. No boasting like a 
fool; 



Scene 



MACBETH. 



8o 3 



This deed I 'Jl do before this purpose cool. 

But no more sights .'—Where are these gentlemen 5 

Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Fife. Macduff's castle. 
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross. 
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly 

the land? 
Ross. You must have patience, madam. 
L-Mac*- He had none : 

His flight was madness : when our aftionsdo not, 
Our fears do make us traitors. 
..£ os f- . . You know not 

Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. 
L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave 
his babes, 
His mansion and his titles in a place 
From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not ; 
He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren, ' 
The most diminutive of birds, will fight, io 

j Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
All is the fear and nothing is the love; 
As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
So runs against all reason. 

Ross - My dearest coz, 

Lpray you, school yourself: but for your husband, 
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much 

further ; 
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors 
And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour 
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear 
But float upon a wild and violent sea 21 

Each way and move. I take my leave of you : 
Shall not be long but I 'II be here again : 
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up- 
ward 
To what they were before. My pretty cousin, 
Blessing upon you ! 
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's father- 
less. 
Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort : 
I take my leave at once. [Exit. 

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead : 30 

And what will you do now? How will you live? 
Son. As birds do, mother. 

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? 

Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they. 
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the 
•net nor lime, 
The pitfall nor the gin. 

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they 
are not set for. 
My father is not dead, for all your saying. 

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do 

for a father? 
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at anv 
market. ' 

Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. 
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; and 
yet, i' faith, 
With wit enough for thee. 

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 

L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 

Son. What is a traitor? 

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 



s so is a traitor, 
50 



Son. And be all traitors that do 

L. Macd. Every one that doe: 
and must be hanged. 

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear 
and he? 

L. Macd. Every one. 

Son. Who must hang them? 

L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools, 
for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the 
honest men and hang up them. 

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey' 
But how wilt thou do for a father? 60 

Son. If he were dead, you 'Id weep for him: 
if you would not, it were a good sign that I should 
quickly have a new father. 

L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to you 

known, 
Though in your state of honour I am perfedt 
I doubt some danger does approach vou nearly • 
If you will take a homely man's advi'ce. 
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. 
Io fright you thus, mcthinks, I am too savage- 70 
Io do worse to you were fell cruelty, 
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve 

you ! 
I dare abide no longer. xp r // 

L . Macd. Whither should I fly t 

J have done no harm. But I remember now 
I am in this earthly world ; where to do harm 
Is often laudable, to do good sometime 
Accounted dangerous folly : why then, alas, 
Do I put up that womanly defence, 
To say I have done no harm ? 

Enter Murderers. 

zr- ,„ „ ru . What are these faces? 

first Mur. Where is your husband? 80 

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsandtified 

Where such as thou mayst find him 
First Mur. He's a traitor, i 

Son. Thou best, thou shag-hair'd villain ' 
First Mur. What, you egg! 

,, - [Stabbing turn. 

V oung fry of treachery ! 

_ Son - He has kill'd me, mother : 

Kun away, I pray you ! [Dies. 

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying 'Murder!' 

Exeunt Murderers, following Jicr. 

Scene III. England. Before the King's palace. 
Enter Malcolm and 'Macduff. 
Let us seek out some desolate shade, 



Mai. 

and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd. Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men 
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom : each new morn 
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out 
Like syllable of dokrnr. 

Mai. What I believe I'll wail, 

W hat know believe, and what I can redress, 
As I shall find the time to friend, I will. ' 10 

51 — 2 



804 



MACBETH. 



[Act iv. 



What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. 
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
i Was once thought honest: you have loved him 

well. 
i He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ; but 

something 
i You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom 
! To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb 
To appease an angry god. 

Macd. I am not treacherous. 
Mai. But Macbeth is. 

A good and virtuous nature may recoil 
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your 
pardon ; 20 

That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose : 
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
Though all things foul would wear the brows of 

grace, 
Yet grace must still look so. 

Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mai. Perchance even there where I did find 
my doubts. 
Why in that rawness left you wife and child, 
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, 
Without leave-taking? I pray you, 
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, _ 29 
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, 
Whatever I shall think. 

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 

Great tyranny ! lay thou thy basis sure, 
For goodness dare not check thee : wear thou thy 

wrongs ; 
The title is affeer'd ! Fare thee well, lord : 
I would not be the villain that thou think' st 
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, 
And the rich East to boot. 

Mai. Be not offended : 

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash 40 
Is added to her wounds: I think withal 
There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
And here from gracious England have I offer 
Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
Shall have more vices than it had before, 
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, 
By him that shall succeed. 
Macd. What should he be? 

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 50 
All the particulars of vice so grafted 
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state 
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared 
With my confmeless harms. 

Macd. Not in the legions 

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd 
In evils to top Macbeth. 

Mai. I grant him bloody, 

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, 60 
• In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters, 
Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up 
The cistern of my lust, and my desire 
All continent impediments would o'erbear 
That did oppose my will : better Macbeth 
Than such an one to reign. 



Macd. Boundless intemperance 

In nature is a tyranny; it hath been 
The untimely emptying of the happy throne 
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
To take upon you what is yours : you may 70 
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. 
We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
That vulture in you, to devour so many 
As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 
Finding it so inclined. 

Mai. With this there grows 

In my most ill-composed affection such 
A stanchless avarice that, were I king, 
I should cut off the nobles for their lands, 
Desire his jewels and this other's house: 80 

And my more-having would be as a sauce 
To make me hunger more ; that I should forge 
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, 
Destroying them for wealth. 

Macd. This avarice 

Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root 
Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been 
The sword of our slain kings : yet do not fear; 
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will, 
Of your mere own: all these are portable, 
With other graces weigh'd. go 

Mai. But I have none: the king-becoming 
graces, 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
I have no relish of them, but abound 
In the division of each several crime, 
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on earth. 

Macd. O Scotland, Scotland ! 100 

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
I am as I have spoken. 

Macd. Fit to govern ! 

No, not to live. O nation miserable,, 
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accursed, 
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father 
Wasamostsaintedking : the queen that bore thee, 
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, no 

Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast, 
Thy hope ends here ! 

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me 
From over-credulous haste : but God above 120 
Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and 
Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, 
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, 
At no time broke my faith, would not betray 



Scene hi.] 



MACBETH. 



805 



The devil to his fellow and delight 

No less in truth than life : my first false speaking 

Was this upon myself: what I am truly, 131 

Is thine and my poor country's to command : 

Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, 

Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 

Already at a point, was setting forth. 

Now we 'II together; and the chance of goodness 

Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you 

silent? 
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things 

at once 
'Tis hard to reconcile. 

Enter a Doctor. 

Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes theking forth, 
I pray you ? 140 

Doc~l. Ay, sir ; there are a crew of wretched 
souls 
That stay his cure : their malady convinces 
The great assay of art ; but at his touch — 
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand — ■ 
They presently amend. 

Mai. I thank you, doctor. [Ejvi't Doctor. 

Macd, What's the disease he means? 

Mai. 'Tis cal I'd the evil: 

A most miraculous work in this good king ; 
Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
Himself best knows : but strangely-visited people, 
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 151 
The mere despair of surgery, he cures, 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, 
To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue. 
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, 
And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
That speak him full of grace. 

Enter Ross. 
Macd. See, who comes here? 

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him 
not. 160 

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
Mai. I know him now. Good God, betimes 
remove 
The means that makes us strangers ! 

Ross. Sir, amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 
Ross. Alas, poor country ! 

Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave ; where no- 
thing, 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the 

air 
Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow 

seems 
A modern ecstasy: the dead man's knell 170 

Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's 

lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
Dying or ere they sicken. 

Macd. O, relation 

Too nice, and yet too true ! 

Mai. What's the newest grief? 

Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the 
speaker ; 



Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife? 

Ross. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children ? 

Ross. Well too. 

Macd The tyrant has not batter'd at their 
peace ? 

Ross. No ; they were well at peace when I did 
leave 'em. 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how 
goes't? 1S0 

Ross. When I came hither to transport the 
tidings, 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-4bot : 
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
To doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be 't their comfort 

We are coming thither: gracious England hath 
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; lyo 
An older and a better soldier none 
That Christendom gives out. 

Ross. Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like ! But I have words 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
Where hearing should not latch them. 

Macd. What concern they? 

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief 
Due to some single breast? 

Ross. No mind that's honest 

But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 

Macd. If it be mine, 

Keep it net from me, quickly let me have it. 200 

Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for 
ever, 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Hum ! I guess at it. 

Ross. Your castle is surprised ; your wife and 
babes 
Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner, 
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, 
To add the death of you. 

Mai. Merciful heaven ! 

What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
Give sorrow words : the grief that does not 

speak 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. 

Macd. My children 

Ross. Wife, children, servants, all 211 

That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! 

My wife kill'd too? 

Ross. I have said. 

Mai. Be comforted : 

Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children. All my pretty 
ones? 
Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? 
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam 
At one fell sw 

Mai. Dispute it like a man. 

I shall do so ; 220 
But I must also feel it as a man : 



8o6 



MACBETH. 



[Act v. 



I cannot but remember such things were, 

That were most precious to me. Did heaven 

look on, 
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, 
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am, 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them 

now! 
Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : 

let grief 
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine 



eyes 



And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle 

heavens, 
Cut short all intermission ; front to front 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, 
Heaven forgive him too ! 

Mai. This tune goes manly. 

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer 

you may : 
The night is long that never finds the day. 240 

{Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Dunsinane. Ante-room in tJie castle. 

Enter a Doctor of Physic and a 
Waiting-Gentlewoman. 

Docl. I have two nights watched with you, 
but can perceive no truth in your report. When 
was it she last walked? 

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I 
have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night- 
gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth 
paper, fold it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards 
seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while 
in a most fast sleep. 9 

Docl. A great perturbation in nature, to 
receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the 
effects of watching ! In this slumbery agitation, 
besides her walking and other actual perform- 
ances, what, at any time, have you heard her 
say? 

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after 
her. 

Docl. You may to me: and 'tis most meet 
you should. 

Gent. Neither to you nor any one ; having no 
witness to confirm my speech. 21 

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. 

Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very guise ; 
and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; 
stand close. 

Docl. How came she by that light? 

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by 
her continually ; 'tis her command. 

Docl. You see, her eyes are open. 

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 

Docl. What is it she does now ? Look, how 
she rubs her hands. 31 

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to 



seem thus washing her hands : I have known her 
continue in this a quarter of an hour. 

Lady M. Yet here 's a spot. 

Docl. Hark ! she speaks : I will set down 
what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance 
the more strongly. 

Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — 
One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. — Hell is 
murky ! — Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? 
What need we fear who knows it, when none can 
call our power to account? — Yet who would have 
thought the old man to have had so much blood 
in him. 

Docl. Do you mark that? 

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife : where 
is she now? — What, will these hands ne'er be 
clean? — No more o' that, my lord, no more o' 
that : you mar all with this starting. 50 

Docl. Go to, go to ; you have known what 
you should not. 

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, 
I am sure of that : heaven knows what she has 
known. 

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: 
all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this 
little hand. Oh, oh, oh ! 

Docl. What a sigh is there! The heart is 
sorely charged. 60 

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my 
bosom for the dignity of the whole body. 

Docl. Well, well, well,— 

Gent. Pray God it be, sir. 

Docl. This disease is beyond my practice : 
yet I have known those which have walked in 
their sleep who have died holily in their beds. 

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your 
nightgown ; look not so pale. — I tell you yet 
again, Banquo 's buried ; he cannot come out 
on's grave. 71 

Docl. Even so? 

Lady M. To bed, to bed! there's knocking 
at the gate : come, come, come, come, give me 
your hand. What's done cannot be undone. — To 
bed, to bed, to bed ! {Exit. 

Docl. Will she go now to bed ? 

Gent. Direaiy. 

Docl. Foul whisperings are abroad : unnatural 
deeds 
Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds 80 
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets : 
More needs she the divine than the physician. 
God, God forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night : 
My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight. 
I think, but dare not speak. 

Gent. Good night, good doctor. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene II. The country near Dunsinane. 

Drtim and colours. Enter Menteith, Caith- 
ness, Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers. 

Ment. The English power is near, led on by 
Malcolm, 
His uncle Si ward and the good Macduff: 
Revenges burn in them ; for their dear causes 
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm 



Scene ii.] 



MACBETH. 



807 



Excite the mortified man. 

A fig. Near Birnam wood 

Shall we well meet them; that way are they 
coming. 

Caith. Who knows if Donalbain be with his 
brother? 

Leu. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file 
Of all the gentry : there is Siward's son, 
And many unrough youths that even now 10 

Protest their first of manhood. 

Matt. What docs the tyrant? 

Caith. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies : 
Some say he's mad ; others that lesser hate him 
Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain, 
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
Within the belt of rule. 

Ang. Now does he feel 

His secret murders sticking on his hands; 
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
Those he commands move only in command, 
Nothing in love : now docs he feel his title 20 
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
Upon a dwarfish thief. 

Mcnt. Who then shall blame 

His pester'd senses to recoil and start, 
When all that is within him does condemn 
Itself for being there? 

Caith. Wei!, march we on, 

To give obedience where 'tis truly owed : 
Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, 
And with him pour we in our country's purge 
Each drop of us. 

Lett. Or so much as it needs, 

To dew the sovereign flower and drown the 
weeds. 30 

Make we our march towards Birnam. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

Scene III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle. 
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 

Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them 

fly all : 
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy 

Malcolm? 
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that 

know 
All mortal consequences have pronounced me 

thus: 
'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of 

woman 
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, 

false thanes, 
And mingle with the English epicures: 
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear 
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 10 

Enter a Servant. 

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced 

loon ! 
Where got'st thou that goose look? 
Serv. There is ten thousand — 
Macb. Geese, villain ? 

Serv. Soldiers, sir. 

Macb. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy 
fear, 



Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? 
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey- 
face? 

Serv. The English force, so please you. 

Macb. Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant. 
Seyton ! — I am sick at heart, 
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push .20 
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have lived long enough : my way of life 
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
And that which should accompany old age, 
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, 
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare 

not. 
Seyton ! 

Enter Seyton. 

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? 

Macb. What news more? 30 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was 
reported. 

Macb. I '11 fight till from my bones my flesh 
be hack'd. 
Give me my armour. 

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 

Macb. I'll put it on. 
Send out more horses ; skirr the country round ; 
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine 

armour. 
How does your patient, doctor? 

Deft. Not so sick, my lord, 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
That keep her from her rest. 

Macb. Cure her of that. 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 40 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain 
And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff 
Which weighs upon the heart? 

Docl. Therein the patient 

Must minister to himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none 
of it. 
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff. 
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from 
me. 49 

Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease, 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
That should applaud again. — Pull't off, I say. — 
What rhubarb, t cyme, or what purgative drug, 
Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou 
of them? 

Docl. Ay, my good lord ; your royal prepar- 
ation 
Makes us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. 

1 will not be afraid of death and bane, 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 60 

Docl. [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away 
and clear, 
Profit again should hardly draw me here. 

[Exeunt. 



MACBETH. 



[Act v. 



Scene IV. Comitry near Birnam wood. 

Drum a.7id coloters. Enter Malcolm, old Si- 
ward and his Son, Macduff, Menteith, 
Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross, and Sol- 
diers, marching. 

Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at 
hand 
That chambers will be safe. 

Ment. We doubt it nothing. 

Siw. What wood is this before us? 

Ment. The wood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough 
And bear't before him : thereby shall we shadow 
The numbers of our host and make discovery 
Err in report of us. 

Soldiers. It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other but the confident 
tyrant 
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
Our setting down before 't. 

Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 10 

For where there is advantage to be given, 
Both more and less have given him the revolt, 
And none serve with him but constrained things 
Whose hearts are absent too. 

Macd. Let our just censures 

Attend the true event, and put we on 
Industrious soldiership. 

Siw. The time approaches 

That will with due decision make us know 
What we shall say we have and what we owe. 
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, 
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 20 

Towards which advance the war. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

Scene V. Dunsinane. Within the castle. 

Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with 
drum and colours. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward 
walls; 
The cry is still ' They come : ' our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie 
Till famine and the ague eat them up : 
Were they not forced with those that should be 

ours, 
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, 
And beat them backward home. 

[A cry of women withi?i. 
What is that noise ? 
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 

[Exit. 
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair n 
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir 
As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with 

horrors ; 
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, 
Cannot once start me. 

Re-enter Seyton. 

Wherefore was that cry ? 
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 



Macb. She should have died hereafter; 
There would have been a time for such a word. 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day 20 

To the last syllable of recorded time, 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Thou comest to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly. 

Mess. Gracious my lord, 30 

I should report that which I say I saw, 
But know not how to do it. 

Macb. Well, say, sir. 

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
The wood began to move. 

Macb. Liar and slave ! 

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be 
not so : 
Within this three mile may you see it coming; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Macb. If thou speak'st false, 

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 40 
I care not if thou dost for me as much. 
I pull in resolution, and begin 
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend 
That lies like truth : ' Fear not, till Birnam 

wood 
Do come to Dunsinane : ' and now a wood 
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out ! 
If this which he avouches does appear, 
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. 
I gin to be aweary of the sun, 
And wish the estate o' the world were now un- 
done. 50 
Ring the alarum-bell ! Blow, wind ! come, wrack ! 
At least we'll die with harness on our back. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle. 

Drum and colours. Enter Malcolm, old Si- 
ward, Macduff, and their Army, with 
boughs. 

Mai. Now near enough : your leafy screens 
throw down, 
And show like those you are. You, worthy 

uncle, 
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff and we 
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, 
According to our order. 

Siw. Fare you well. 

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give 
them all breath, 9 

Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 

[Exeu?it. 



Scene vii.] 



MACBETH. 



809 



Scene VII. Another part of the field. 

Alarums. Enter Macbeth. 

Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I can- 
not fly, 
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What 'she 
That was not born of woman? Such a one 
Am I to fear, or none. 

Enter young Siward. 

Yo.Siw. What is thy name? 
Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. 

Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a 
hotter name 
Than any is in hell. 
Macb. My name's Macbeth. 

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pro- 
nounce a title 
More hateful to mine ear. 
Macb. No, nor more fearful. 

Yo.Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with 
my sword 10 

I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st. 

{They fight and young Siward is slain. 
Macb. Thou wast born of woman. 

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. 

{.Exit. 

Alarums. Enter Macduff. 

Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show 
thy face ! 
If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine, 
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me 

still. 
I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms 
Are hired to bear their staves: either thou, Mac- 
beth, 
Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge 
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou^shouldst 
be ; 20 

By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune ! 
And more I beg not. {Exit. Alarums. 

Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 

Siw. This way, my lord ; the castle 's gently 
render'd : 
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ; 
The noble thanes do bravely in the war ; 
The day almost itself professes yours, 
And little is to do. 

Mai. We have met with foes 

That strike beside us. 

Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 

[Exeunt. Alaru/ns. 

Scene VIII. Another part of t)ie field . 
Enter Macbeth. 

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and 
die 
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes 
Do better upon them. 



Enter Macduff. 



Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn ! 

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: 
But get thee back ; my soul is too much charged 
With blood of thine already. 

Macd. I have no words : 

My voice is in my sword : thou bloodier villain 
Than terms can give thee out ! [They fight. 

Macb. Thou losest labour: 

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 
With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: 
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 11 

I bear a charmed lifei which must not yield 
To one of woman born. 

Macd. Despair thy charm ; 

And let the angel whom thou still hast served 
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
Untimely ripp'd. 

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tellsmeso, 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man! 
And be these juggling fiends no more believed, 
That palter with us in a double sense ; 20 

That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee. 

Macd. Then yield thee, coward, 
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: 
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 
'Here may you see the tyrant.' 

Macb. I will not yield, 

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 30 
And thou opposed, being of no woman born, 
Yet I will try the last. Before my body 
I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, 
And damn'd be him that first cries 'Hold, e- 
nough!' [Exeunt, fighting. Alarums. 

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and 
colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Ross, the 
otficr Thanes, and Soldiers. 

Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe 
arrived. 

Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, 
So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 

Ross. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's 
debt: 
He only lived but till he was a man ; 40 

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd 
In the unshrinking station where he fought, 
But like a man he died. 

Siw. Then he is dead? 

Ross. Ay, and brought off the field : your 
cause of sorrow 
Must not be measured by his worth, for then 
It hath no end. 

Siw. I [ad he his hurts before? 

front 

Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he ! 

Had I as many [have hairs, 

I would not wish them to a fairer death: 
And so, his knell is knoll'd. 

Mai. He's worth more sorrow, 50 

And that I '11 spend for him. 

Siw. worth no more : 



MACBETH. 



[Act v. 



They say he parted well, and paid his score : 
And so, God be with him ! Here comes newer 
comfort. 

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head. 

Macd. Hail, king ! for so thou art : behold, 
where stands 
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine : 
Hail, King of Scotland ! 

All. Hail, King of Scotland ! {Flourish. 

Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of 
time 60 

Before we reckon with your several loves, 



And make us even with you. My thanes and 

kinsmen, 
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
In such an honour named. What's more to do, 
Which would be planted newly with the time, 
As calling home our exiled friends abroad 
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
Producing forth the cruel ministers 
Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, 
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 70 
Took off her life ; this, and what needful else 
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
We will perform in measure, time and place : 
So, thanks to all at once and to each one, 
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 

[Flourish. Exewit. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Claudius, king of Denmark. 

Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the 

present king. ' 
Polonius, lord chamberlain. 
Horatio, friend to Hamlet. 
Laertes, son to Polonius. 
Voltimand, 
Cornelius, 
rosencrantz, 

GuiLDENSTERN, ( C0UrtierS - 
OSRIC, 

A Gentleman, J 
A Priest. 
Marcellus,! «- 
Bernardo, ) officers - 
Francisco, a soldier. 



Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. 

Players. 

Two Clowns, grave-diggers. 

Fortinisras, prince of Norway. 

A Captain. 

English Ambassadors. 

Gertrude, queen of Denmark, and mother 

to Hamlet. 
Ophelia, daughter to Polonius. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Mes- 
sengers, and other Attendants. 

Ghost of Hamlet's Father. 
Scene: Denmark. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the 
castle. 

Francisco at his post. Enter to him Bernardo. 
Ber. Who's there? 
Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 

yourself. 
Ber. Long live the king! 
Fran. Bernardo ? 
Ber. He. 
Fran. You come most carefully upon your 

hour. 
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, 

Francisco. 
Fran. For this relief much thanks : 'tis bitter 

cold, 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 
Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 10 

Ber. Well, good night. 
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's 

there? 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier : 

Who hath relieved you? 

Fran. Bernardo has my place. 

Give you good night. [Exit. 

Mar. Holla! Bernardo! 

Ber. Say, 

What, is Horatio there? 

Hor. A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio : welcome, good Mar- 
cellus. 20 



J r ' 



Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to- 
night? 

Ber. I have seen nothing. 

Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, 
And will not let belief take hold of him 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us: 
Therefore I have entreated him along 
With us to watch the minutes of this night; 
That if again this apparition come, 
He may approve our eyes and speak to it. 

Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awhile 

And let us once again assail your ears, 
That are so fortified against our story 
What we have two nights seen. 

Hor. Well, sit we down, 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all, 
When yond same star that's westward from the 

.pole 
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, 
The bell then beating one, — 

Enter Ghost. 



Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it 

comes again ! 40 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that s 

dead. 
Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it, Horatio. 
Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, 

Horatio. 
Hor. Most like : it harrows me with fear and 

wonder. 
Ber. It would be spoke to. 
Mar. Question it, Horatio. 

Hor. What art thou that usurp'st this time of 

night, 
Together with that fair and warlike form 
In which the majesty of buried Denmark 



HAMLET. 



[Act i. 



Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, 
speak ! 

Mar. It is offended. 

Ber. See, it stalks away ! 50 

Hor. Stay ! speak, speak ! I charge thee, 
speak ! {Exit Ghost. 

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 

Ber. How now, Horatio! you tremble and 
look pale : 
Is not this something more than fantasy? 
What think you on't? 

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king? 

Hor. As thou art to thyself: 
Such was the very armour he had on 60 

When he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 
'Tis strange. 

Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this 
dead hour, 
With martial stalk hath he gene by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular thought to work I 
know not ; 
But in the gross and scope of my opinion, 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 

Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he 
that knows, 70 

Why this same strict and most observant watch 
So nightly toils the subject of the land, 
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
And foreign mart for implements of war; 
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
Does not divide the Sunday from the week ; 
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day: 
Who is't that can inform me? 

Hor. That can I ; 

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 80 
Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
Dared to the combat ; in which our valiant Ham- 
let— 
For so this side of our known world esteem'd 

him — 
Did slay this Fortinbras ; who, by a seal'd com- 
pact, 
Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands 
Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror : 
Against the which, a moiety competent 90 

Was gaged by our king ; which had return'd 
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same coven- 
ant, 
And carriage of the article design'd, 
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
Of unimproved mettle hot and full, 
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there 
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes, 
For food and diet, to some enterprise 
That hath a stomach in't ; which is no other — 
As it doth well appear unto our state—! 101 

But to recover of us, by strong hand 
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands 
So by his father lost : and this, I take it, 



Is the main motive of our preparations, 

The source of this our watch and the chief head 

Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 

Ber. I think it be no other but e'en so : 
Well may it sort that this portentous figure 
Comes armed through our watch ; so like the 
king no 

That was and is the question of these wars. 

Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets : 
tAs stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, 
Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands 
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse : 120 
And even the like precurse of fierce events, 
As harbingers preceding still the fates 
And prologue to the omen coming on, 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
But soft, behold ! lo, where it comes again! 

Re-enter Ghost. 
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion ! 
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
Speak to me : 

If there be any good thing to be done, 130 

That may to thee do ease and grace to me, 
Speak to me : {Cock C7-ows. 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
O, speak ! 

Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, 
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 
Speak of it : stay, and speak ! Stop it, Marcellus. 

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan? 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 141 

Ber. 'Tis here ! 

Hor. 'Tis here ! 

Mar. 'Tis gone ! {Exit Ghost. 

We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
To offer it the show of violence ; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock 
crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 150 
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
To his confine : and of the truth herein 
This present objedt made probation. 

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
The bird of dawning singeth all night long : 160 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
No fair}' takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it. 
But. look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill : 



Scene i.] 



HAMLET. 



813 



Break we our watch up ; and by my advice, 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life, 170 

This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? 

Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning 
know 
Where we shall find him most conveniently. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room 0/ state in the castle. 

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, 

Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords, 
and Attendants. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear bro- 
ther's death 
The memory be green, and that it us befitted 
To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe, 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature 
That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The imperial jointress to this warlike state, 
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy, — 10 
With an auspicious and a dropping eye, 
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, 
In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd" 
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along. For all, our thanks. 
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth, 
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 20 

Colleagued with the dream of his advantage, 
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, 
To our most valiant brother. So much for him. 
Now for ourself and for this time of meeting : 
Thus much the business is : we have here writ 
To Norwav, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 30 
His further gait herein ; in that the levies, 
The lists and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject: and we here dispatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway ; 
Giving to you no further personal power 
To business with the king, more than the scope 
Of these delated articles allow. 
Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. 
Cor. 1 In that and all things will we show our 
Vol. 1 duty. 40 

King: We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. 
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? 
You told us of some suit ; what is't, Laertes? 
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And lose your voice : what wouldst thou beg, 

Laertes, 
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
The head is not more native to the heart, 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 



What wouldst thou have, Laertes? 

Laer. My dread lord, 50 

Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
From whence though willingly I came to Den- 
mark, 
To show my duty in your coronation, 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France 
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 
King, Have you your father's leave? What 

says Polonius? 
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my 
slow leave 
By laboursome petition, and at last 
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 60 

I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be 
thine, 
And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 
Ham. \Asidc\ A little more than kin, and 

less than kind. 
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on 

you? 
Ham. Not so, my lord ; I am too much i' the 

sun. 
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids 70 

Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
1 hou know'st 'tis common : all that lives must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
Queen. If it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not 
'seems.' 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 80 

Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, 
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, 
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, 
For they are actions that a man might play : 
Tint I have that within which passeth show; 
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your 
nature, Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father: 
But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound 
In filial obligation for some term 91 

To do obsequious sorrow : but to persever 
In obstinate condolement is a course 
Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief; 
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, 
An understanding simple and unschool'd: 
For what we know must be and is as common 
As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
Why should we in our peevish opposition 100 

Take it to heart? Fie ! 'lis a fault to heaven, 
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
To reason most absurd ; whose common theme 
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 
From the first c >rse till he that died to-day, 
' This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth 
This unprevailing woe, and think of us 



As of a father : for let the world take note, 
You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
And with no less nobility of love no 

Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
In going back to school in Wittenberg, 
It is most retrograde to our desire : 
And we beseech you, bend you to remain 
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
Hamlet : 
I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 
Ha.7)t. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply : 121 
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come ; 
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof, 
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, 
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again, 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

[Exeunt all but Hamlet. 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would 

melt, 

Thaw and resolve itself into a dew ! 130 

: Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 

j His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! God ! 

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, 
I Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
I Fie on't ! ah fie ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
I That grows to seed; things rank and gross in 

nature 
I Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
I But two months dead : nay, not so much, not two : 
! So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
; Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother 140 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
i Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on : and yet, within a month- 
Let me not think on't — Frailty, thy name is 

woman ! — 
A little month, or ere those shoes were old 
With which she follow'd my poor father's body, 
Like Niobe, all tears : — why she, even she — 149 
O God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
Would have mourn'd longer — married with my 

uncle, 
My father's brother, but no more like my father 
Than I to Hercules : within a month : 
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post 
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
It is not nor it cannot come to good : 
But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue. 

Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. 
Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 
Ha?n. I am glad to see you well : 160 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant 

ever. 
Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that 
name with you : 
j And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? 
! Marcellus? 



Mar. My good lord — ■ 

Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good even, 
sir. 
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so, 
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 171 

To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself: I know you are no truant. 
But what is your affair in Elsinore? 
We '11 teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's 
funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- 
student ; 
I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral 
baked meats z8o 

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! 
My father ! — methinks I see my father. 

Hor. Where, my lord ? 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 

Ham. Saw? who? 190 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my father ! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear, till I may deliver, 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
This marvel to you. 

Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
In the dead vast and middle of the night, 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, 
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 200 

Appears before them, and with solemn march 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, dis- 

tilled 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did; 
And I with them the third night kept the watch: 
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 211 
These hands are not more like. 

Ham. But where was this? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
watch'd. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it? 

Hor. My lord, I did ; 

But answer made it none : yet once methought 
It lifted up its head and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak; 
But even then the morning cock crew loud, 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. 'Tis very strange. 220 

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true ; 
And we did think it writ down in our duty 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



815 



To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles mc. 
Hold you the watch to-night? 

b£'} We do, my lord. 

Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 
M^. J Arm - dj my lord . 

Ham From top to toe? 
Mar.) 



Per. 



My lord, from head to foot. 



Ham. Then saw you not his face ? 
Hor. 0, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? 231 

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in 

anger. 
Ham. Pale or red? 
Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amazed you. 
Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? 
Hor. While one with moderate haste might 

tell a hundred. 

^•) Longer, longer. 

Hor. Not when I saw't. 

Ham. His beard was grizzled, — no? 240 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable silver' d. 

Ham. I will watch tb-night ; 

Perchance 'twill walk again. 

Hor. I warrant it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I '11 speak to it, though hell itself should 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue : 250 

I will requite your loves. So, fare you well : 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I '11 visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honour. 

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : farewell. 
[Exeunt all but Hamlet. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well; 
I doubt some foul play: would the night were 

come! 
Till then sit still, my soul : foul deeds will rise, 
Though all the earth o'erwhclm them, to men's 
eyes. [Exit 

Scene III. A room in Polonius' house. 
Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd : farewell : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
But let me hear from you. 

Oph. Do you doubt that? 

Laer. For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour, 
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, 
A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
No more. 

Oph. No more but so? 



Laer. Think it no more : 10 

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes, 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now, 
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch 
The virtue of his will: but you must fear, 
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; 
For he himself is subject to his birth : 
He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 20 
The safety and health of this whole state ; 
And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 
Unto the voicj and yielding of that body 
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says lie loves 

you, 
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it 
As he in his particular act and place 
May give his saying deed ; which is no further 
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, 
If with too credent ear you list his songs, ^o 

Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open 
To his unmaster'd importunity. 
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister, 
And keep you in the rear of your affection, 
Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon : 
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes : 
The canker galls the infants of the spring, 
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed, 40 

And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear : 
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
Whiles, like a puff 'd and reckless libertine, 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 50 
And recks not his own rede. 

Laer. O, fear me not. 

I stay too long : but here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 
A double blessing is a double grace ; 
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for 
shame ! 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
And you are stay'dfor. There; my blessing with 

thee ! 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue. 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 60 

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each nevv-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Be- 
ware 
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, 
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. 
Give every man thy car, but few thy voice ; 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judge- 
ment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 70 



8i6 



HAMLET. 



[Act i. 



But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy ; 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man, 

And they in France of the best rank and station 

f Are of a most selecl and generous chief m that. 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 

This above all : to thine ownself be true, 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. ho 

Farewell: my blessing season this in thee! 

Laer Most humbly do I take my leave, my 
lord. 

Pol. The time invites you ; go ; your servants 

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia ; and remember well 
What I have said to you. 

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock a, 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Laer. Farewell. {Exit. 

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? 
Oph. So please you, something touching the 

Lord Hamlet. 
Pol. Marry, well bethought : 9° 

'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
Have of your audience been most free and boun- 
teous : 
If it be so, as so 'tis put on me, 
And that in way of caution, I must tell you, 
You do not understand yourself so clearly 
As it behoves my daughter and your honour. 
What is between you? give me up the truth. 
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many 
tenders 
Ofhisaffe&ion tome. i°° 

Pol. Aftedtion ! pooh ! you speak like a green 
girl, 
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? 
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should 

think. 
Pol. Marry, I '11 teach you : think yourself a 
baby ; 
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, 
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 
dearly ; 

Or not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 

Running it thus— you'll tender me a fool. 

Oph My lord, he hath importuned me with 
love _ IIQ 

In honourable fashion. 

Pol. Av, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
Oph. And hath given countenance to his 
speech, my lord, 
With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do 
know, 
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
Giving more light than heat, extindtm both, 
Even "in their promise, as it is a-making,_ 
You must not take for fire. From this time 120 
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate 
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, 
Believe so much in him, that he is young, 
And with a larger tether may he walk 
Than may be given you : in few, Ophelia, 



Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers, 

Not of that dye which their investments show, 

But mere implorators of unholy suits, 

Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, 130 

The better to beguile. This is for ail : 

1 would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 

Have you so slander any moment leisure, 

As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. 

Look to 't, I charge you : come your ways. 

Oph. I shall obey, my lord. {Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The platform. 
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, ^z^Marcellus. 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly : it is very cold. 

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. What hour now? 

Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. 

Ham. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not : then it draws 
near the season 
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

[A flotirish of trumpets, and ordnance 
shot off, within. 
What does this mean, my lord? 

Ham. The king doth wake to-night and takes 
his rouse, 
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 

reels ; 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 11 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Hor. Is it a custom? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't: 
But to my mind, though I am native here 
And to the manner born, it is a custom 
More honour'd in the breach than the observance. 
This heavy-headed revel east and west 
Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations : 
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
Soil our addition ; and indeed it takes 20 

From our achievements, though perform'd at 

height, 
The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
So, oft it chances in particular men, 
That for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
As, in their birth — wherein they are not guilty, 
Since nature cannot choose his origin — 
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, 
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, 
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens 
The form of plausive manners, that these men, 30 
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defecT:, 
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace, 
As infinite as man may undergo — 
Shall in the general censure take corruption 
From that particular fault : the dram of feale 
Doth all the noble substance fof a doubt 
To his own scandal. 

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Enter Ghost. 
Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend 

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, 40 
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from 

hell, 
Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 



Scene iv.] 



HAMLET. 



Thou comest in such a questionable shape 
That I will speak to thee : I '11 call thee Hamlet, 
' King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me ! 
Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, 
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, 50 
To cast thee up again. What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of t'ae moon, 
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature 
So horridly to shake our disposition 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we 
do? [Ghost beckons Hamlet. 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 60 

Tt waves you to a more removed ground: 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear? 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
Being a thing immortal as itself? 
It waves me forth again : I '11 follow it. 

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, 
my lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff 70 

That beetles o'er has base into the sea. 
And there assume some other horrible form, 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason 
And draw you into madness ? think of it : 
The very place puts toys of desperation, 
Without more motive, into every brain 
That looks so many fathoms to the sea 
And hears it roar beneath. 

Haui. It waves me still. 

Go on ; I '11 follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 80 

Hor. Be ruled ; you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out, 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. 
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 
By heaven, I '11 make a ghost of him that lets me ! 
I say, away ! Go on ; 1 '11 follow thee. 

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 

Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey 
him. 

Hor. Have after. To what issue will this 
come? 

Mar. Something is rotten in the 
Denmark. 

Hor. Heaven will direct it. 

Mar. Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another part 0/ the platform. 

Enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
If am. Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll 

go no further. 
Ghost. Mark me. 



state of 
90 



I Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost ccme, 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
.Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious 
hearing 
To what 1 shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak ; I am bound to hear, i 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou 
shalt hear. 

Ham. What? 

1 am thy father's spirit, 
1 > im'd for a certain term to wall* the night, 10 
And for the day confined to fast in 
Till the foul crimes done in 1 nature 

Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
! 1 ould a tale unfold whose lightest word 
Woul I harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young 

bio id. 

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 

spheres, 
Thy knotted and combined lochs to part 
And each particular hair to stand an end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine : 20 

But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love — 

Ham. God ! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 
murder. 

Ham. Murder! 

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; 
But this most foul, strange and unnatural. 

Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings 
as swift 
As meditation or the thoughts of love, 30 

May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt; 

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed 
That roots itself in case on Lethe wharf, 
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, 

hear: 
"I'is given out that, sleeping in my orchard, 
A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Rankly abused : but know, thou noble youth, 
The serpent that did sting thy father's life 
Now wears his crown. 

Ham. O my prophetic soul ! 40 

My uncle! 

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate 
beast, 
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, — 
wicked wit and gifts, that have the power 
So to seduce! — won to his shameful lust 
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: 

Hamlet, what a fall here ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 

1 made to her in marriage, and to decline 50 
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But virtue, as it never will be moved, 
Though lewdness court it in i • iven, 

So lust, though to a radiant angel hnk'd, 
Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
And prey on gar 






8i8 



HAMLET. 



[Act i. 



But, soft ! methinks I scent the morning air ; 
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, 
My custom always of the afternoon, 60 

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 
And in the porches of my ears did pour 
The leperous distilment; whose efFeft 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body, 
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset 

j And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 

The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 70 

And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 

Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, 

All my smooth body. 

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand 

Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd : 

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 

Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd, 

! No reckoning made, but sent to my account 

j With all my imperfections on my head : 

O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! So 

If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 

Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 

A couch for luxury and damned incest. 

But, howsoever thou pursuest this aft, 

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 

Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven 

; And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 

, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once ! 

! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
And 'gins to pale his uneffeftual fire : go 

j Adieu, adieu ! Hamlet, remember me. {Exit. 
Hani. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! 
what else? 
And shall I couple hell ? O, fie ! Hold, hold, 

my heart ; 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee ! 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
In this distrafted globe. Remember thee ! 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records, 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
That youth and observation copied there ; 101 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd witl: baser matter; yes, by heaven ! 
O most pernicious woman! 

villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
My tables, — meet it is I set it down, 

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark : 

[ Writing. 
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me.' 111 

1 have sworn 't. 

Hor.'} \- Wit ten\ M Y ^^ m Y l<*d,— 
Mar. {Within} Lord Hamlet, — 

Hor. {Within} Heaven secure him! 

Ham. So be it ! 

Hor. {Within} Hillo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
Mar. How is't, my noble lord? 
Hor. What news, my lord? 



Ham. O, wonderful ! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

Ham. No ; you'll reveal it. 
Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
Mar. Nor I, my lord. 120 

Ha7n. How say you, then; would heart of 
man once think it? 
But you'll be secret? 

Ofay j Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all 
Denmark 
But he 's an arrant knave. 

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come 
from the grave 
To tell us this. 

Ham. Why, right; you are i' the right; 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part : 
You, as your business and desire shall point you ; 
For every man has business and desire, 130 

Such as it is ; and for mine own poor part, 
Look you, I'll go pray. 

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, 
my lord. 

Ham. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily; 
Yes, 'faith, heartily. 

Hor. There 's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, 
Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision here, 
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you : 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O'ermaster 't as you may. And now, good friends, 
As you are friends, scholars and soldiers, 141 

Give me one poor request. 

Hor. What is't, my lord? we will. 

Ham. Never make known what you have 
seen to-night. 

!j/ ' \ My lord, we will not. 

Ham. Nay, but swear 't. 

Hor. In faith, 

My lord, not I. 

Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 

Ham. .Upon my sword. 

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 

Ghost. {Beneath} Swear. 

Ham. Ah, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art thou 
there, truepenny? 150 

Come on — you hear this fellow in the cellarage — 
Consent to swear. 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have 
seen, 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. {Beneat/i} Swear. 

Ham. Hie et ubique? then we'll shift our 
ground. 
Come hither, gentlemen, 
And lay 3'our hands again upon my sword : 
Never to speak of this that you have heard, 
Swear by my sword. 160 

Ghost. {Beneath} Swear. 

Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the 
earth so fast ? 
A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good 
friends. 



Scene v.] 



HAMLET. 



819 



Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous 

strange ! 
Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it 

welcome. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, 

Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
But come ; 

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, 
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 170 

As I perchance hereafter shall think meet 
To put an antic disposition on, 
That you, at such times seeing me. never shall, 
With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, 
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we 

would,' 
Or 'If we list to speak,' or ' There be, an if they 

might,' 
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
That you know aught of me : this not to do, 
So grace and mercy at your most need help you, 
Swear. 181 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 
Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! [They 

sze-ear.] So, gentlemen, 
With all my love I do commend me to you: 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in toge- 
ther ; 
And still 3'our fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, 
That ever I was born to set it right ! 
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. 190 

ACT II. 

Scene I. A room in Folonins house. 

Enter Polonil'S and Reynaldo. 

Pol. Give him this money and these notes, 

Reynaldo. 
Key. I will, my lord. 

Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good 
Reynaldo, 
Before you visit him, to make inquire 
Of his behaviour. 

Rey. My lord, I did intend it. 

Pol. Marry, well said ; very well said. Look 
you, sir, 
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; 
And how, and who, what means, and where they 

keep, 
What company, at what expense ; and finding 
By this encompassment ami drift of question 10 
That they do know my son, come you more nearer 
Than your particular demands will touch it : 
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of 

him; 
As thus, ' I know his father and his friends. 
And in part him :' do you mark this, Reynaldo? 
Rey. Ay, very n \yell, my lord. 
Pol. 'And in part him; but' you may say 
'not well : 
But, if 't be he I mean, he's very wild ; 
Addicted so and so:' and there put on him 19. 
What forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank 
As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ; 



But, sir, such wanton, wild and usual slips 
As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

Rey. As gaming, my lord. 

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quar- 
relling, 
Drabbing: you may go so far. 

Key. My lord, that would dishonour him. 

Pol. 'P'aith, no; as you may season it in the 
charge. 
You must not put another scandal on him, 
That he is open to incontinency ; 31 1 

That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults s > 

quaintly 
That they may seem the taints of liberty, 
The Hash and outbreak of a fiery mind, 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood, 
Of general assault. 

Rey. But, my good lord, — 

Pol. Wherefore should you do this? 

Key. Ay, •..,- 

I would know that. 

Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 

And, I believe, it is a fetch of wit : 
You laying these slight sullies on m 
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 40 
Mark you, 

Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
Having ever seen in the prenominate cri 
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assured 
He closes with you in this consequence ; 
'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman,' 
According to the phrase or the addition 
Of man and country. 

Rey. Very good, my lord. 

Pol. And then, sir, does he this — he does — 
what was 1 about to say? By the mass, 
about to say something : where did I lea\ 

Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend 
or so,' and 'gentleman.' 

Pol. At ' closes in the consequence,' ay, marry ; 
He closes thus: ' I know the gentleman ; 
I saw him yesterday, or t' other day, 
Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as you 

say, 
There was a' gaming ; there o'ertook in ' 1 
There falling out at tennis:' or perchance, 
'I saw him enter such a house of sale,' 60 

Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. 
See you now ; 

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
With windlasses and with assays of bias, 
By indirections find directions out : 
So by my former lecture and advice, 
Shall you my son. You have me, have you not? 

Key. My lord, I has e. 

Pol God be wi' you; fare you well. 

Rey. Good my I 70 

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 

Rey. I shall, my lord. 

Pal. And let him ply his music. 

Rey. Well, my lord. 

Pol. Farewell! \Ex\ 

/inter OrnK.1.1 \. 
How now, Ophelia ! what's the matter? 
Oj>h. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so af- 
frighted ! 



820 



HAMLET. 



[Act ii 



Pol. With what, i' the name of God ? 
Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced ; 
No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, 
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; 80 

Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; 
And with a look so piteous in purport 
As if he had been loosed out of hell 
To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 
Pol. Mad for thy love ? 

Oph. My lord, I do not know; 

Eut truly, I do fear it. 

Pol. What said he? 

Oph. Hetookmebythe wristand held me hard; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
He falls to such perusal of my face 90 

As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ; 
At last, a little shaking of mine arm 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down, 
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound 
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk 
And end his being : that done, he lets me go : 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes; 
For out o' doors he went without their help, 
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 100 
Pol. Come, go with me : I will go seek the 
king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love, 
Whose violent property fordoes itself 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings 
As oft as any passion under heaven 
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry. 
What, have you given him any hard words of late ? 
Oph. No, my good lord, but, as you did com- 
mand, 
I did repel his letters and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. no 

I am sorry that with better heed and judgement 
I had not quoted him : I fear'd he did but trifle, 
And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my jea- 
lousy ! 
By heaven, it is as proper to our age 
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions 
As it is common for the younger sort 
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king: 
This must be known ; which, being kept close, 

might move 
More grief to hide than hate to utter love. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IT. A room in the castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guilden- 
stern, and Attendants. 
King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guild- 
enstern ! 
Moreover that we much did long to see you, 
The need we have to use you did provoke' 
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
Of Hamlet's transformation ; so call it, 
Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man 
Resembles that it was. What it should be, 
More than his father's death, that thus hath put 

him 
So much from the understanding of himself, 
I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, 10 



That, being of so young days brought up with him, 
And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour, 
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
Some little time : so by your companies 
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather, 
So much as from occasion you may glean, 
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
That, open'd. lies within our remedy. 

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd 
of you ; 
And sure I am two men there are not living 20 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
To show us so much gentry and good will 
As to expend your time with us awhile, 
For the supply and profit of our hope, 
Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Ros. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Than to entreaty. 

Gull. But we both obey, 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent 30 
To lay our service freely at your feet, 
To be commanded. 

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guild- 
enstern. 

Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Ro- 
sencrantz : 
And I beseech you instantly to visit 
My too much changed son. Go, some of you, 
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

Guil. Heavens make our presence and our 
practice's 
Pleasant and helpful to him ! 

Queen. Ay, amen ! 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 
some Attendants. 

Enter Polonius. 
Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my good 
lord, 40 

Are joyfully return'd. 

King. Thou still hast been the father of good 

news. 
Pol. Have I, my lord? I assure my good 
liege, 
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
Both to my God and to my gracious king: 
And I do think, or else this brain of mine 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath used to do, that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 49 

King. O, speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 
Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassadors; 
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 
King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring 
them in. [Exit Polonius. 

He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
The head and source of all your son's distemper. 

Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main ; 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 
King. Well, we shall sift him. 

Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand and 
Cornelius. 

Welcome, my good friends ! 

Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? 

Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



2,21 



Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 61 

His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ; 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness: whereat grieved, 
That so his sickness, age and impotence 
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests 
On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; 
Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine 
Makes vow before his uncle never more 70 

To give the assay of arms against your majesty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee, 
And his commission to employ those soldiers, 
So levied as before, against the Polack : 
With an entreaty, herein further shown, 

[Giving a paper. 
That it might please you to give quiet | 
Through your dominions for this enterprise, 
On such regards of safety and allowance 
As therein are set down. 

King. It likes us well ; So 

And at our more consider'd time we'll read, 
Answer, and think upon this busin 
Meantime we thank you for your well-took 

labour : 
Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: 
Most welcome home ! 

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
Pol. This business is well ended. 

My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty is, 
Why day is day, night night, and time is 

time, 
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. 
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, 90 

And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
I will be brief: your noble son is mad : 
Mad call I it ; for, to define true madness, 
What is't but to be nothing else but mad? 
But let that go. 
Queen. More matter, with less art. 

Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true 'tis pity ; 
And pity 'tis 'tis true : a foolish figure ; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant him, then : and now remains 
That we find out the cause of this effect, 101 

Or rather say, the cause of this defect., 
For this effect defective comes by cause : 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I have a daughter — have while she is mine — ■ 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise. 

[Reads. 
'To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most 
beautified Ophelia,' — no 

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; 'beautified' is 
a vile phrase : but you shall hear. Thus : [Rends. 
'In her excellent white bosom, these, Sec' 
Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? 
Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be 
faithful. [Reads. 

'Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 

Doubt that the sun doth move ; 
Doubt truth to be a liar ; 

But never doubt I love. no 

'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; I 



have not art to reckon my groans : but that I love 
thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. 

' Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this 
machine is to him, Hami.kt.' 
This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me, 
And more above, hath his solicitings, 
As they fell out by time, by means and place, 
All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

ed his love? 

Pol. What do you think of me? 

Ring. As of a man faithful and honourable. 

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what 

you think, 131 

When I had seen this hot love on the wing — 
As I perceived it, I must tell you that, 
llefore my daughter told me — what might you, 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
If I had play'd the desk or table-book, 
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, 
< )r look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 
What might you think? No, I went round to work, 
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak : 140 
' Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star; 
This must not be : ' and then I precepts gave her, 
That she should lock herself from his res 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Which done, she took the fruits of my ail 
And he, repulsed — a short tale to make — 
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast, 
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness, 
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension, 
Into the madness wherein now he raves, 150 

And all we mourn for. 

Ki>ig. Do you think 'tis this? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 

Pol. Hath there been such a time — I'd fain 
know that — 
That I have positively said "Tis so,' 
When it proved otherwise ? 

Ring. Not that I know. 

Pol. [Pointing toll is head and sAoulder]Tako 
this from this, if this be otherwise : 
Tf circumstances lead me, I will find 
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 

Ring. How may we try it further? 

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours 
together 160 

Here in the lobby. 

Queen. So he does indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to 
him: 
Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
Mark the encounter : if he love her not 
And be not from his reason tall'n thereon, 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
But keep a farm and carters. 

Ring. We will try it. 

Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch 
comes reading. 

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away : 
I'll board him presently. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 

Enter Hami.f.t, reading. 

ive me leave : 170 
How does my good Lord 11 unlet? 
Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. 



HAMLET. 



[Act ii. 



Pal. Do you know me, my lord? 

Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Hani. Then I would you were so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord ! 

Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world 
goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 

Pol. That's very true, my lord. 180 

Ham. For ff the sun breed maggots in a dead 
dog, being a god kissing carrion, — Have you a 
daughter? 

Pol. I have, my lord. 

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception 
is a blessing : but not as } r our daughter may con- 
ceive. Friend, look to't. 

Pol. [Aside] How say you by that? Still 
harping on my daughter : yet he knew me not at 
first ; he said I was a fishmonger : he is far gone, 
far gone : and truly in my youth I suffered much 
extremity for love ; very near this. I'll speak to 
him again. What do you read, my lord? 

Ham. Words, words, words. 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord? 

Ham. Between who ? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 

Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue 
says here that old men have grey beards, that 
their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick 
amber and plum-tree gum and that they have a 
plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak 
hams: all which, sir, though I most powerfully 
and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to 
have it thus set down, for yourself, sir, should be 
old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. 

Pol. [Aside] Though this be madness, yet 
I there is method in't. Will you walk out of the 
air, my lord? 

Ham. Into my grave. 210 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside] 

How pregnant sometimes his replies are ! a 

happiness that often madness hits on, which 

I reason and sanity could not so prosperously be 

I delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly 

I contrive the means of meeting between him and 

my daughter. — My honourable lord, I will most 

j humbly take my leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any 
thing that I will more willingly part withal : 
except my life, except my life, except my life. 221 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. ' 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosencrantz ^zaT Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet ; there 
he is. 

Ros. [To Polonius] God save you, sir ! 

[Exit Polonius. 

Guil. My honoured lord ! 

R os. My most dear lord ! 

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost 
thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good 
lads, how do ye both ? 230 

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not over-happy ; 
On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 

Ros. Neither, my lord. 

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in 
the middle of her favours? 



Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune ? O, most 
true ; she is a strumpet. What's the news? 240 

Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's 
grown honest. 

Ham. Then is doomsday near : but your news 
is not true. Let me question more in particular : 
v/hat have you, my good friends, deserved at the 
hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison 
hither? 

Guil. Prison, my lord ! 

}Iam. Denmark's a prison. 

Ros. Then is the world one. 250 

Hai/i. A goodly one ; in which there are many 
confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being 
one o' the worst. 

Ros. We think not so, my lord. 

Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for there 
is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes 
it so : to me it is a prison. 

Ros. Why then, your ambition makes it one; 
'tis too narrow for your mind. 259 

Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nut- 
shell and count myself a king of infinite space, 
were it not that I have bad dreams. 

Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition, for 
the very substance of the ambitious is merely the 
shadow of a dream. 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy 
andlighta quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. 

Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our 
monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars' 
shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, 
I cannot*reason. 

Guii 1 We '^ wait upon y° u - 

Ham- No such matter: I will not sort you 
with the rest of my servants, for, to speak to you 
like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. 
But, in the beaten way of friendship, what make 
you at Elsinore? 

Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in 
thanks; but I thank you: and sure, dear friends, 
my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you 
not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a 
free visitation? Come, deal justly with me: 
come, come ; nay, speak. 

Guil. What should we say, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, any thing, but to the purpose. 
You were sent for; and there is a kind of con- 
fession in your looks which your modesties have 
not craft enough to colour : I know the good 
king and queen have sent for you. 291 

Ros. To what end, my lord? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me 
conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by 
the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of 
our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear 
a better proposer could charge you withal, be 
even and direct with me, whether you were sent 
for, or no ? 

Ros. [Aside to Guil.] What say you? 300 

Ham. [Aside] Naj% then, I have an eye of 
you. — If you love me, hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anti- 
cipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy 



I Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



823 



to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of 
late — but wherefore 1 know not — lostall my mirth, 
forgone all custom of exercises ; and indeed it 
goes so heavily with my -disposition that this 
goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile- 
promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, 
look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this 
majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, il 
appears no other thing to me than a foul and 
pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece 
cf work is a man ! how noble in reason ! how infi- 
nite in faculty! in form and moving how express 
and admirable! in action how like an angel! 
in apprehension how like a god ! the b< 
the world! the paragon of animals ! And yet, to 
me, what isthis quintessence of dust? man delights 
not me: no, nor woman neither, though by your 
smiling you seem to say so. 

Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my 
thoughts. 

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 
'man delights not me'? 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in 
man, what lenten entertainment the players shall 
receive from you: we coted them on the way; 
and hither are they coming, to offer you service. 
Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome ; 
his majesty shall have tribute of me ; the adven- 
turous knight shall use his foil and target; the 
lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man 
shall end his part in peace ; the clown shall make 
those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the sere ; 
and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the 
blank verse shall halt for't. What players are 
they? 340 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take delight 
in, the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it they travel? their resi- 
dence, both in reputation and profit, was better 
both ways. 

Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the 
means of the late innovation. 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they 
did when 1 was in the city? are they so fol- 
lowed ? 350 

Ros. No, indeed, are they not. 
• Ham. How comes it? do they grow rusty? 

Rvs. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the 
wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery of chil- 
dren, little eyases, that cry out on the top of 
question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't : 
these are now the fashion, and so berattle the 
common stages — so they call them — that many 
wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and 
dare scarce come thither. 360 

Ham. What, are they children? who main- 
tains 'em? how are they escoted? Will they 
pursue the quality no longer than they can sin^? 
will they not say afterwards, if they should grow 
themselves to common players — as it is most like, 
if their means are no better — their writers do them 
wrong, to make them exclaim against their own 
succe- 

Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on 
both sides; and the nation holds it no sin 
them to controversy: there was. for a while, no 
money bid For argument, unless the poet and the 
player went to cuffs in the question. 
Ham. Is 't possible? 



Gull. O, there has been much throwing about 
of brains. 

Ham. Do the boys carry it away? 

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules and 



his load too. 



379 



Haiti. It is not very strange ; for mine uncle is 
king of Denmark, and those that would make mows 
at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, 
fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in 
Sblood, there is something in this more 
than natural, if philosophy could find it out. 

[Flourish of trumpets within. 

Guil. There are. the players. 

Ham. Gentlemen, 3'ou are welcome to Elsi- 
nore. Your hands, come then : the appurtenance 
of welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me 
comply with you in this garb, lest my extent to 
the players, which, I tell you, must show fairly 
outward, should more appear like entertainment 
than yours. You are welcome : but my uncle- 
father and aunt-mother are deceived. 

Guil. In what, my dear 

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : when the 
wind is southerly 1 know a hawk from a handsaw. 

Eater POLONIUS. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; and you 
too : at each ear a hearer : that great baby you 
see there is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. 

Ros. Happily he's the second time come to 
them ; for they say an old man is twice a 
child. 

Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of 
the players; mark it. You say right, sir : o'Mon- 
rlay morning; 'twas so indeed. 

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
When Roscius was an actor in Rome, — 410 

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz ! 

Pol. Upon mine honour, — 

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, — 

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for 
tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral- 
comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, 
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individ- 
unlimited: Seneca cannot be too 
heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of 
writ and the liberty, these are the only men. 421 

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a 
treasure hadst thou ! 

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord? 

Ham. Why. 

'One fair daughter, and no more, 

The which he loved passing well.' 

Pol. [Aside] Still on my daughter. 

Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I 
have a daughter that 1 love passing well. 431 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows, then, my lord? 

Ham. Why, 

' As by lot, God wot.' 
and then, you know, 

- most like it was,' — 
the first row of the pious chanson will show you 
mire ; for look, where my abridgement comes. 



824 



HAMLET. 



[Act ii. 



Enter four or Jive Players. 

You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all. I am 
glad to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. 
O, my old friend ! thy face is valanced since I 
saw thee last : comest thou to beard me in Den- 
mark? What, my young lady and mistress! 
By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven 
than when I saw you last, by the altitude of a 
chopine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of 
uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring. 
Masters, you are all welcome. We'll e'en to't 
like French falconers, fly at any thing we see : 
we'll have a speech straight: come, give us a 
taste of your quality ; come, a passionate speech. 
First Play. What speech, my lord ? 
Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, 
but it was never acted; or, if it was, not above 
once ; for the play, I remember, pleased not the 
million; 'twas caviare to the general : but it was 
— as I received it, and others, whose judgements 
in such matters cried in the top of mine— ran ex- 
cellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down 
with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, 
one said there were no sallets in the lines to make 
the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase 
that might indidt the author of affectation ; but 
called it an honest method, as wholesome as 
sweet, and by very much more handsome than 
fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved : 'twas 
^Eneas' tale to Dido ; and thereabout of it espe- 
cially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter : if it 
live in your memory, begin at this line: let me 
see, let me see — 471 

'The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcaman beast,' — 
it is not so : — it begins with Pyrrhus : — 
' The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, 
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 
When he lay couched in the ominous horse, 
Hath now this dread and black complexion 

smear' d 
With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot 
Now is he total gules ; horridly trick'd 
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, 
Baked and impasted with the parching streets, 
That lend a tyrannous and damned light 
To their lord's murder : roasted in wrath and 

fire, 
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, 
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
Old grandsire Priam seeks.' 
So, proceed you. 

Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with 
good accent and good discretion. 

First Play. 'Anon he finds him 

Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique sword, 
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 
Repugnant to command : unequal match'd, 
Pyrrhus at Priam drives ; in rage strikes wide ; 
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword 
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless 

Ilium, 
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash 
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear : for, lo ! his sword, 
Which was declining on the milky head 500 
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick : 
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, 
And like a neutral to his will and matter, 



Did nothing. 

But, as we often see, against some storm, 
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, 
The bold winds speechless and the orb below 
As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder 
Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work ; 510 
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
On Mars's armour forged for proof eterne 
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
Now falls on Priam. 
Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you 

gods, 
In general synod, take away her power ; 
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, 
And bowl the round nave down the hill of 

heaven, 
As low as to the fiends ! ' 

Pol. This is too long. 520 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. 
Prithee, say on : he 's for a j ig or a tale of bawdry, 
or he sleeps : say on : come to Hecuba. 

First Play. ' But who, O, who had seen the 
mobled queen — ' 
Ham. 'The mobled queen?' 
Pol. That's good ; 'mobled queen ' is good. 
First Play. ' Run barefoot up and down, 

threatening the flames 
With bisson rheum ; a clout upon that head 
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, 
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 531 
A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ; 
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom 

steep'd, 
'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pro- 
nounced : 
But if the gods themselves did see her then 
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, 
The instant burst of clamour that she made, 
Unless things mortal move them not at all, 
Would have made milch the burning eyes of 
heaven, 540 

And passion in the gods.' 

Pol. Look, whether he has not turned his 
colour and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no 
more. 

Ham. 'Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out the 
rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the 
players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them 
be well used ; for they are the abstract and brief 
chronicles of the time : after your death you were 
better have a bad epitaph than their ill report 
while you live. 551 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to 
their desert. 

Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better: 
use every man after his desert, and who should 
'scape whipping? Use them after your own hon- 
our and dignity : the less they deserve, the more 
merit is in your bounty. Take them in. 
Pol. Come, sirs. 559 

Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play 
to-morrow. {Exit Polonius with all the Players 
but the First.'] Dost thou hear me, old friend; 
can you play the Murder of Gonzago? 
First Play. Ay, my lord. 
Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You 
could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



825 



or sixteen lines, which I would set down and 
insert in't, could you not? 

First Play. Ay, rhy lord. 569 

Ham. Very well. Follow that lord ; and look 

you mock him not. [Exit First Player.} My 

good friends, I'll leave you till night: you arc 

welcome to Elsinore. 

Eos. Good my lord ! 

Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' ye ; [Exeunt 
Rosencrantz and Guildcnsieru.] Now 1 am 

alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous that this player here, 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
That from her working all his visage wann'd, 5S0 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing ! 
For Hecuba ! 

What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
' That he should weep for her ? What would he do, 

Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
. That I have? He would drown the stage with 

tears 
i And cleave the general ear witb horrid speech, 
I Make mad the guilty and appal the free, 590 

1 Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
And can say nothing; no, not for a king, 
Upon whose property and most dear life 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? 
Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' the 
throat, 600 

As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? 
Ha! 

'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be 
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall 
To make oppression bitter, or ere this 
1 should have fatted all the region kites 
With this slave's offal : bloody, bawdy villain ! 
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindlcss vil- 
lain ! 
O, vengeance ! 610 

Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave, 
That I, the son of a dear father murdcr'd, 
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, 
A scullion ! 
Fie upon't! foh ! About, my brain! I 

heard 
That guilty creatures sitting at a play 
Have by the very cunning of the scene 
Been struck so to the soul that pre.^ently 
They have proclaitn'd their malefactions; 
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
With most miraculous organ. I'll have the>e 

players 
Play something like the murder of my father 
Before mine uncle : I '11 observe his 1 00k - : 
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, 
I know my omr>e. The spirit that I have seen 
May be the devil: and the devil hath power 



have 



620 



To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps 
Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 630 

As he is very potent with such spirits, 
Abuses me to damn me : I '11 have grounds 
More relative than this : the play's the thing 
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. 

[Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. A room in the castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, 
Rosencrant/:, and GuiLDENSl 

King. And can you, by no drift of circum- 
stance, 
Get from him why he puts on this confusion, 
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? 

Eos. He docs confess he feels himself dis- 
tracted ; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be 
sounded, 
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 
When we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 

Did he receive you well? 10 

Eos. Most like a gentleman. 

Guil. But with much forcing of his dispos- 
ition. 

Eos. Niggard of question; but, of our demands, 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay him 

To any pastime? 

Eos. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
We o'er-raught on the way : of these we told him ; 
And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
To hear of it : they are about the c< lUrt, 
And, as I think, they have already order 20 

This night to play before him. 

Pol. 'Tis most true : 

And he beseeeb'd me to entreat your majesties 
To hear and see the matter. 

King. Willi all my heart; and it doth much 
content me 
To hear him so inclined. 
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 

Eos. We shall, my lord. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guild 

King. rude, leave us too; 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, 
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 30 

Affront Ophelia: 

Her father and myself, lawful espials. 
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen, 
We may of their encounter frankly : 
And gather by him, as he is behaved, 
If 't be the affliction of his love or no 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I .shall obey you. 

And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish 
That your good beauties be the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your 
virtues 40 

Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
To both your honours. 

Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. 



826 



HAMLET. 



[Act hi. 



Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so 
please yoiij 
We will bestow ourselves. [To Ophelia} Read 

on this book ; 
That show of such an exercise may colour 
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this, — 
'Tis too much proved — that with devotion's visage 
And pious action we do sugar o'er 
The devil himself. 

King. [Aside] O, 'tis too true ! 
How smart a lash that speech doth give my 
conscience ! 50 

The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art, 
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it 
Than is my deed to my most painted word : 

heavy bvsrthen ! 

Pol. I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my 
• lord. [Exeunt King and Polonhcs. 

Enter Hamlet. 

I I am. To be, or not to be : that is the question : 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them? To die : to sleep ; 60 
No more ; and by a sleep to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep ; 
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the 

rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause : there 's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of 
time, 70 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 
tumely, 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death, 
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, puzzles the will 80 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, 
And enterprises of great pith and moment 
With this regard their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. — Soft you now ! 
The fair Ophelia ! Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all my sins remember'd. 

Oph. Good my lord, 90 

How does your honour for this many a day? 

Ham. I humbly thank you ; well, well, well. 

Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours, 
That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 

1 pray you, now receive them. 

Ham. No, not I ; 

I never gave you aught. 
Oph. My honour' d lord, you know right well 
you did ; 



And, with them, words of so sweet breath com- 
posed ■ ' 
As made the things more rich : their perfume lost, 
Take these again ; for to the noble mind 100 
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest? 

Oph. My lord? 

Haul. Are you fair? 

Oph. What means your lordship ? 

Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your 
honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty. 

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better 
commerce than with honesty? no 

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty 
will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a 
bawd than the force of honesty can translate 
beauty into his likeness : this was sometime a 
paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did 
love jrou once. 

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 

Ham. You should not have believed me ; for 
virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we 
shall relish of it: I loved you not. 120 

Oph. I was the more deceived. 

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst 
thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself in- 
different honest ; but yet I could accuse me of 
such things that it were better my mother had 
not borne me : I am very proud, revengeful, am- 
bitious, with more offences at my beck than I 
have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give 
them shape, or time to act them in. What should 
such fellows as I do crawling between earth and 
heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe 
none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's 
your father? 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that 
he may play the fool no where but in's own 
house. Farewell. 

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 

Ham. If thou dost marry, I '11 give thee this 
plague for thy dowry : be thou as chaste as ice, 
as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. 
Get thee to a nunnery, go : farewell. Or, if thou 
wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men 
know well enough what monsters you make of 
them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. 
Farewell. 

Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him ! 

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, 
well enough ; God has given you one face, and 
you make yourselves another: you jig, you 
amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's crea- 
tures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. 
Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad. 
I say, we will have no more marriages : those 
that are married already, all but one, shall live ; 
the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, 
go. . [Exit. 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, 

sword ; 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 160 
The glass of fashion and the mould of form, 
The observed of all observers, quite, quite down ! 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 



Scene r.] 



HAMLET. 



827 



Now see that noble and most sovereign r 

Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; 

That unmatch'd form and feature of blown 

youth 
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me, 
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 

Re-enter King and Polonius. 
King. Love ! his affections do not that way 
tend ; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a litt!". 
Was not like madness. There's something in 

his soul, 
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
doubt the hatch and the disclose 
Will be some danger : which for to prevent, 
I have in quick determination 
Tims set it down : he shall with speed to England, 
For the demand of our neglected tribute: 
I Haply the seas and countries different 
With variable objects shall expel 180 

This something-settled matter in his heart, 
Where -till beating puts him thus 

From fashion of himself. What think you on't? 

Pol. It shall do well : but yet do I believe 
The origin and commencement of his grief 
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia ! 
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said; 
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please ; 
But, if you hold it fit. after the play 
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him igo 
To show- his grief: let her be round with him; 
And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference. If she find him not, 
To England send him, or confine him where 
I Your wisdom best shall think. 

King. It shall be so: 

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A hall in the castle. 
Enter Hamlet and Players. 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I 
pronounced it to you, trippingly on the 
but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, 
I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor 
do not saw the air too much with your hand, 
thus, but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, 
tempest, and, as I may say. the whirlwind of 
passion, you must acquire and beget a tempe- 
rance that m;:' I >. it offends 
me to the soul to hustious periwig-pated 
fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to 
split the ears of the groundlings, who for the m ist 
part are capable of nothing but in ■■■ 
dumb-shows and noise : 1 would have such a 
fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out- 
herods Herod: pray you, avoid it. 

First /Way. I warrant your honour. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your 
own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to 
the word, the word to the action; with this spe- 
cial observance, that you o'erstepnot th< I 
of nature : for any thing so overdone is from the 
purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first 
and now, was and is. to hold, as 'twere, the mirror 
up to nature; to show virtue her own feature. 
scorn her own image, and the very age and body 



of the time his form and pressure. Now this 
overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the 
unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious 
grieve: the censure of the which one must in 
your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of 
others. O, there be players that I have seen 
play, and heard others praise, and that highly, 
not to speak it profane] her having the 

accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, 
pagan, nor man, have so strutted and tx 
that I have thought some of nature's journeymen 
■n and not made them well, they 
imitated humanity so abominably. 

First Play. 1 hope we have reformed that 
indifferently with us, sir. 41 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those 
that play your clowns speak no more than is set 
'own for them: for there be of them that will 
themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of 
barren spectators to laugh too; though, in the 
mean time, some neci ' n of the play 

be then to be considered: that's villanous, and 
shows a most pitiful ambition in the foi 
uses it. Go, make you ready. [Exeunt J Wavers. 

Fitter Polonius, Roskncrantz, and I 

ENSTERN. 

How now, my lord ! will the king hear this piece 
of work ? 

Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 

Ham. Bid the players make haste. [Exit 
■■-.] Will you two help to hasten them'.' 

Guil J ^ e w ^'' mjr ' orc * s 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstem. 

Ham. What ho ! Horatio ! 

F>!ter Horatio. 
Hot. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
Vs e'er my conversation coped withal. 60 

Hor. O, my dear lord, — 
Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter; 

For what advancement may I hope from thee 
That no revenue bast but thy good spirits, 
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor 

be flatter'd? 
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou 

hear'.' 
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice 
And could of men distinguish, her election 
Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been 
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, 71 
A man that forti and rewards 

Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are 

those 
Whose blood and judgement are so well commin- 
gled, 
That they arc not a pipe for fortune's finger 
To sound what stop she please. Give me that 

man 
That is m lave, and T will wear him 

In my 1 v. in my hear! of heart, 

h of this. — 
There is a play to-night before the king; 80 

ne of it comes near the circumstance 
Which 1 have told thee of my father's death : 



HAMLET. 



[Act hi. 



I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, 

Even with the very comment of thy soul 

Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 

Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 

It is a damned ghost that we have seen, 

And my imaginations are as foul 

As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note; 

For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, go 

And after we will both our judgements join 

In censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord : 

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, 
And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 

Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must 
be idle : 
Get you a place. 

Danishmarch. A flourish. ^/^King,Queen, 
Polonius, Ophelia, Rosenckantz, Guild- 
enstern, and others. 

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 

Ham. Excellent, i' faith ; of the chameleon's 
dish : I eat the air, promise-crammed : you can- 
not feed capons so. ioo 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Ham- 
let; these words are not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Polonius'] My 
lord, you played once i' the university, you say? 

Pol. That did I, my lord; and was accounted 
a good actor. 

Ham. What did you enact? 

Pol. I did enact Julius Csesar : I was killed 
i' the Capitol; Brutus killed me. 

Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so 
capital a calf there. Be the players ready? in 

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your pa- 
tience. 

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by 
me. 

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more 
attractive. 

Pol. [To the King] O, ho ! do you mark that? 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? 

[Lying doivn at Ophelia's feet. 

Oph. No, my lord. 120 

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ha7n. Do you think I meant country matters? 

Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 

Ilcitit. That's a fair thought to lie between 
maids' legs. 

Oph. What is, my lord ? 

Ham. Nothing. 

Oph. You are merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 130 

Ham. O God, your only jig-maker. What 
should a man do but be merry? for, look you, 
how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father 
died within these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 

Ham. So long? Nay then, let the devil wear 
black, for I '11 have a suit of sables. O heavens ! 
die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? 
Then there's hope a great man's memory may 
outlive his life half a year: but, by'r lady, he 
must build churches, then ; or else shall he suffer 
not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose 



epitaph is 'For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is 
forgot.' 

Hautboys play. The dumb-shotu enters. 
Enter a King and a Qu;en very lovingly ; the 
Queen ejnbracing him, and he her. She 
kneels, and makes show of protestation unto 
him. He takes her up, and declines his head 
up07i her neck : lays him do%vn upon a bank of 
flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. 
A 7ion comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, 
kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, 
and exit. The Queen returns; finds the 
King dead, and niakes passionate aclion. The 
Poisoner, with some tzuo or three Mutes, 
comes in again, seeming to lament with her. 
The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner 
wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath 
and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts 
his love. [Exeunt. 

Oph. What means this, my lord ? 

Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho; it 
means mischief. 

Oph. Belike this show imports the argument 
of the play. 150 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the 
players cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. 

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him: 
be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to 
tell you what it means. 

Oph. You are naught, you are naught: I'll 
mark the play. 

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, 

Here stooping to your clemency, 160 
We beg your hearing patiently. [Exit. 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? 

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter two Players, King and Queen. 
P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' 

cart gone round 
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, 
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen 
About the world have times twelve thirties been. . 
Since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands 
Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 170 
P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun 

and moon 
Make us again count o'er ere love be done ! 
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, 
So far from cheer and from your former state, 
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
For women's fear and love holds quantity ; 
In neither aught, or in extremity. 
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you 

know ; 
And as my love is sized, my fear is so : 180 

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
Where little fears grow great, great love grows 

there. 
P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, 

and shortly too ; 
My operant powers their functions leave to do : 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



829 



And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
Honour'd, beloved : and haply one as kind 
For husband shalt thou — 

P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 

Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
In second husband let me be accurst ! 189 

None wed the second but who kill'd the first. 
Haiti. [Aside] Wormwood, wormwood. 
P. Queen. The instances that second mar- 
riage move 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love : 
A second time I kill my husband dead, 
When second hu me in bed. 

/'. King. 1 do believe you think what now 

you speak ; 
But what we do determine oft we break. 
Purpose is but the slave to memory, 
Of violent birth, but poor validity: 199 

Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree ; 
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 'tis that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
The violence of either grief or joy 
Their own enactures with themselves 1! 
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament ; 
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange 
That even our loves should with our fortunes 

change ; 
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, 
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
The great man down, you mark his favourite 

flies ; 
The poor advanced makes friends of enemies. 
Aud hitherto doth love on fortune tend ; 
For who not needs shall never lack a friend, 
And who in want a hollow friend doth try, 
Directly seasons him his enemy. 
But, orderly to end where I begun, 220 

Our wills and fates do so contrary run 
That our devices still arc overthrown ; 
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our 

own : 
So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead. 
P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor 

heaven light ! 
Sport and repose lock from me day and night ! 
To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
Each opposite that blanks the face of joy 230 
Meet what I would have well and it destroy ! 
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, 
If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
Ham. If she should break it now ! 

P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave 

me here awhile ; 

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 

The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 

And never come mischance between us twain ! 

! Exit. 
Ham. Madam, how like you this play? 239 
Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks. 
Hani. O, but she'll keep her word. 
King. Have you heard the argument? Is 
there no offence in't? 



Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest ; 
no offence i' the world. 

King. What do you call the play? 

Ham. The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tro- 
pically. This play is the image of a murder done 
in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his 
wife, Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a knavish 
piece of work: but what o' that? your majesty 
and we that have free souls, it touches us not : let 
the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung. 

Enter Lucianus. 
This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
Ham. 1 could interpret between you and your 
love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take- 
off my e 260 
Oph. Still better, and worse. 
Ham. So you must take your husbands. Be- 
gin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable faces, 
and begin. Come: 'the croaking raven doth 
bellow for reven 

Lue. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, 
and time agreeing ; 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weed's col 
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
Thy natural magic and dire property, 270 

On wholesome life usurp immediately. 

[Pours the poison into the s/ee/>ers cars. 
Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for's 
estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, 
and writ in choice Italian : you shall see anon 
how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
Oph. The king rises. 
Ham. What, frighted with false fire ! 
Queen. Howl lord? 

Pol. Give o'er the play. 
King. Give me sonic light : away! 
All. Lights, lights, lights ! 

[ Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. 
Ham. Why, let the stricken deer go weep. 
The hart ungalled play ; 
For some must watch, while some must 
sleep: 
So runs the world away. 
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers — if 
the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me — with 
two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a 
fellowship in a cry of players, sir? 

Hor. Haifa share. 290 

Ham. A whole one, I. 

For thou dost know, O Damon dear, 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here 
A very, very — pajock. 
Hor. You might have rhymed. 
Ham. Ogood Horatio, I'll take the ghost's 
word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive'.' 
Hor. Very well, mv lord. 
Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning? 300 
Her. I did very well note him. 
Ham. Ah, ha! Come, some music! come, 
the recorders ! 

For if the king like not the comedy, 
Why then, helike, he likes it not, perdy. 
Come, some music! 



83° 



HAMLET. 



[Act in. 



Re-etiter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Gttil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word 
with you. 

Hani. Sir, a whole history. 

Guil. The king, sir, — ■ 310 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him? 

Guil. Is in his retirement marvellous distem- 
pered. 

Ham. With drink, sir? 

Guil. No, my lord, rather with choler. 

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more 
richer to signify this to his doctor ; for, for me to 
put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge 
him into far more choler. 319 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into 
some frame and start not so wildly from my affair. 

Ham. I am tame, sir : pronounce. 

Gttil. The queen, your mother, in most great 
affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not 
of the right breed. If it shall please you to make 
me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's 
commandment : if not, your pardon and my return 
shall be the end of my business. 330 

Ham. Sir, I cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord? 

Hunt. Make you a wholesome answer ; my 
wit's diseased: but, sir, such answer as I can 
make, you shall command ; or, rather, as you say, 
my mother : therefore no more, but to the matter : 
my mother, you say, — 

Ros.. Then thus she says; your behaviour hath 
struck her into amazement and admiration. 339 

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish 
a mother ! But is there no sequel at the heels of 
this mother's admiration? 

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her 
closet, ere you go to bed. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
mother. Have you any further trade with us ? 

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. So I do still, by these pickers and 
stealers. 349 

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of 
distemper? you do, surely, bar the door upon 
your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your 
friend. 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
Ros. How can that be, when you have the 
voice of the king himself for your succession in 
Denmark? 

Ham. Ay, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'—. 
the proverb is something musty. 359 

Re-enter Players -with recorders. 
O, the recorders ! let me see one. To withdraw 
with you : — why do you go about to recover the 
wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? 

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my 
love is too unmannerly. 

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will 
you play upon this pipe? 

Guil. My lord, I cannot. 

Ham. I pray you. 

Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham. I do beseech you. 370 

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 



"Pis as easy as lying: govern these 
with your finger and thumb, give it ! 



Ham. 
ventages ,-wifcn your nnger ana tnumD, give 
breath with your mouth, and it will discourse 
most eloquent music. Look you, these are the 
stops. 

Guil. But these cannot I command to any 
utterance of harmony; I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a 
thing you make of me ! You would play upon 
me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you 
would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you 
would sound me from my lowest note to the top 
of my compass : and there is much music, excel- 
lent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot you 
make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier 
to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instru- 
ment you will, though you can fret me, yet you 
cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 
God bless you, sir! ^go 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with 
you, and presently. 

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost 
in shape of a camel? 

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 

Ham. Or like a whale? 

Pol. Very like a whale. 3 gg 

Ham. Then I will come to my mother by and 
by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I will 
come by and by. 

Pol. I will say so. 

Ham. By and by is easily said. [Exit Polo- 
nius.'] Leave me, friends. 

[Exeunt all but Hamlet. 
'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes 

out 
Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot 

blood, 
And do such bitter business as the day 
Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to my 
mother. 4IO 

heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 

1 will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites ; 
How in my words soever she be shent, 

To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! 

[Exit. 

Scene III. A room in the castle. 

Enter King, Rosencrantz, attd 
Guildenstern. 
King: I like him not, nor stands it safe with us 
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare 

you ; 
I your commission will forthwith dispatch, 
And he to England shall along with you : 
The terms of our estate may not endure 
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunacies. 

Guil. We will ourselves provide : 

Most holy and religious fear it is 
To keep those many many bodies safe 



Scene hi.] 



HAMLET. 



831 



That live and feed upon your majesty. 

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound, 
With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
To keep itself from noyance ; but much 
That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
To whose huge spokes ten thousand [esse 
Are mortised and adjoin' d ; which, when il 
Each small annexment, petty consequence, 21 
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone 
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 

King. Arm you, 1 pray you, to this speedy 
voyage ; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
Which now goes too free-footed, 

^J£, J We will haste us. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guild, 
Enter PoLONlUS. 

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet : 
Behind the arras I '11 convey myself. 
To hear the process; I '11 warrant she'll tax him 

home : 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 30 

'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother, 
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what I know. 

King. Thanks, dear my lord. 

[Exit . 
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven : 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, 
A brother's murder. Pi-ay can I not, 
Though inclination be as sharp as will : 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 40 
And, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
And both neglecl. What if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy 
But to confront the visage of offence? 
And what's in prayer but this two-fold force, 
To be forestalled ere we come to fall, 
Or pardon'd being down? Then I '11 look up : 50 
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn? ' Forgive me. my foul mur- 
der'? 
That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which T did the murder, 
My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. 
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence? 
In the corrupted currents of this world 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, 
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; Go 

There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd, 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 
To give in evidence. What then? what rest.-,? 
Try what repentance can: what can it not? 
Yet what can it when one can not repent? 
O wretched state ! O bosom black as death ! 
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 



Art more engaged ! Help, angels ! Make assay ! 
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of 
steel, 70 

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 
All may be well. [Retires and kneels. 

Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is 
praj il 

And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven ; 
And so am I revenged. That would be scann'd : 
A villain kills my father; and for that, 

le son, do this same villain send 
To h javen. 
( ). this i^ hire and salary, not revenue. 

Full of bread ; 80 

With all his crim 

And how bis audit stands who knows save heaven ': 
But in our 1 ircuin >tance and 1 ourse of th< 
'Tis heavy with him: and am I then revenged, 
To take him in the purging of his soul, 
When he is lit and season' d for his passage? 
Xo ! 

rd ; and know thou a more horrid hent : 
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, 
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed ; 90 

At gaming, swearing, or about some act 
That has no relish of salvation in't; 
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, 
And that his soul may be as damn''! and black 
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. 
King. [Rising] .My words fly up, my thoughts 
remain below : 
Words without thoughts never to heaven go. 

\E.vii. 

Scene IV. The Queen 's closet. 

Enter Queen and PoLONlUS. 
Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay 
home to him : 
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear 

with, 
And that your grace hath screen' d and stood be- 
tween 
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

Ham. [Within] Mother, mother, mother! 

I '11 warrant you, 
Fear me not: withdraw. I hear hum comi 

[Polonius hides behind the arras. 

Enter Ham let. 
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? 
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much 

offended. 
Ham. Mother, you have my father much 
often 10 

Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 

t ingue. 
Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked 

tongue. 
Queen. Why, bow now, Hamlet ! 
Ham. What's the matter now? 

v. Have you forgot me? 
J lam. by the rood, d 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
And — would it were not so ! — you are my mother. 



8 3 2 



Queen. Nay, then, I 'II set those to you that I 
can speak. J I 

Haif l- Come, come, and sit you down; you 
shall not budge ; 
You g not till j set you up a g]ass 

VV here you may see the inmost part of you. o Q 
Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not mur- 
j der me ? 

I Help, help, ho ! 

Pol. {Behind} What, ho ! help, help, help ! 
Ham. [/)ratw« f ]Hownow! a rat? Dead 

for a ducat, dead ! 
P 7 rn ? ■ W^ e ? a MfS thro7igk the arras. 
Pol. [Behind] 1 am slain ! [Falls and dies. 
Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 
Isf the' king? Nay, I know not: 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 
mother ° Y dCed! aIm ° St aS bad ' §ood 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
Queen. As kill a king ! 

H ?T'-** , ,r Ay ' Iady > ' twas m y word - 30 

[Lijts up the arras and discovers Polonius 
Ihou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! 
1 took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ; 
rhou find st to be too busy is some danger 

dowT ging of your hands : peace ! Sit you 

And let me wring your heart ; for so I shall, 
if it be made of penetrable stuff, 
If damned custom have not brass'd it so 
lhat it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
Queen. What have I done, that thou darest was 
thy tongue £ 

In noise so rude against me? 
rrF* 7 "- , Such an act 4C 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, 
! Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
I'rom the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows 
As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
lhe very soul and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow; 
\ ea this solidity and compound mass, 
With tristful visage, as against the doom,' K o 

Is thought-sick at the act. 
T pf eu - , J , Ay me, what act, 

-that roars so loud, and thunders in the index? 
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on 
this, 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers 
bee, what a grace was seated on this brow ■ ' 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; 
A station like the herald Mercury 



HAMLET. 



[Act hi. 



And waits upon the judgement : and what judge- 
ment J s 

W0U have eP fr0m thIS t0 thiS? SenSG ' SUre > y ?o ° 1 
E1Se sensf y ° U n0t haV£ motion; but Sllr e, that 
Is apoplex'd ; for madness would not err 
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'cl 
But it reserved some quantity of choice 
Th ^ 'I SU u Ch a diffe ^nce. What devil was't 
1 hat thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? 
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, 
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all 
Or but a sickly part of one true sens! ' 80 

Could not so mope. 

shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious hell, 
If thou canst mut.ne in a matron's bones, 

1 o naming youth let virtue be as wax, 

Wh^t m T-" fire: Prafeim no shame 
W .hen the compulsive : ardour gives the charge, 
Since frost itself as actively doth burn 
And reason panders will 

T 9 USe ' ! - , ' . ° Hamlet, speak no more: 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 

As i m e z 1 see s :v ch biack ; and - rarned s p° ts 90 

As will not leave their tine!:. 

tJZ?!"- , r Nay, but to live 

in Lhe rank sweat of an enseamed bed 
btew dm corruption, honeying and making love 
Uver the nasty sty, — 

Queen. O, speak to me no more ; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears 
JNo more, sweet Hamlet! 

H <">i' _ A murderer and a villain ; 

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ■ 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, ' 
1 hat from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 100 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more , 

Ham. A king of shreds and patches,— 

Enter Ghost. 



New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 

A combination and a form indeed, Sc 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, 

lo give the world assurance of a man : 

ihis was your husband. Look you now, what 

follows : 
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed 
And batten on this moor? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
You cannot call it love ; for at your a-e 
lhe hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble 



Save me, and hover o'er me with your wino-s 
\ 011 heavenly guards ! What would your gracious 
figure ? 

Queen. Alas, he's mad ! 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to 
chide, 
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by 
lhe important acting of your dread command? 
C 1 , say ! 

Ghost. Do not forget: this visitation no 

is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 

but, look, amazement on thy mother sits: 

U, step between her and her fighting soul • 

Conceit m weakest bodies strongest works': 

Speak to her, Hamlet. 

n am ' * , . ' How is it: with y° u » lady? 

Queen. Alas, how is't with you, 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? 
b orth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep • 
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, ' jo 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements ' 
Starts up, and stands an end. O gentle son, 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look' I 



Scene iv.] 



HAMLET. 



833 



Ham. On him, on him ! Look you, how pale 
he glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me ; 
Lest with this piteous action you convert 
My stern effects: then what I have to do 129 
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. 
Queen. To whom do you speak this? 
Ham. Do you see nothing there? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 
Ilam. Nor did you nothing hear? 
Qiceett. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, lock you there ! look, how it 
steals away ! 
My father; in his habit as he lived ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at th 

[Exit Ghost. 
Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy! 139 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
I And makes as healthful music : it is not madness 
That I have uttcr'd : bring me to the test, 
And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, 
Whilst rank corruption, mining ail within, 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; 150 
And do not spread the compost on the weeds, 
To make them ranker. I orrive me this my virtue ; 
For in the fatness of these pursy times 
Virtue itself cf vice must pardon beg. 
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. 
Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in 
twain. 
■ Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, 
I And live the purer with the other half. 

Good night : but go not to mine uncle's bed ; 
, Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 160 

I That monster, custom, who all sense cloth cat, 
tOf habits devil, is angel yet in this, 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock or livery, 
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night, 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence : the next more easy ; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
fAnd either .... the devil, or throw him out 169 
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night : 
And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Polonius. 
I do repent : but heaven hath pleased it so, 
To punish me with this and this with me, 
1 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
J I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gtve him. So, again, good night. 
I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. 
One word more, good lady. 
Queen. What shall T do? 180 

If ant. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : 
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
Pinch wanton on your cheek ; callyouhis mouse ; 
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 



Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, 

Make you to ravel all this matter out, 

That 1 essentially am not in madness, 

But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know ; 

For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 189 

Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib. 

Such dear concernings hide? who would do so? 

No, in despite of sense and secrecy, 

Unpeg the basket on the house's top, 

Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape, 

To try conclusions, in the basket creep, 

And break your own neck down. 

Queen, lie thou assured, if words be made of 
breath, 
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 

Ham. I must to England ; you kno-.v that ? 

Queen. Alack, 200 

I had forgot : 'tis so concluded on. 

Ham. There 's letters scal'd : and my two 
schoolfellows, 
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd, 
They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my 

way. 
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ; 
For 'tis the sport to have the cn^incr 
Hoist with his own petar: and 't shall .so hard 
But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most 

sweet, 
When in one line two crafts directly meet. 210 
This man shall set me packing : 
I "II lug the guts into the neighbour room. 
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor 
Is now most still, most secret and most grave, 
Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. 
Good night, mother. 

[Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging 
in Palonius. 



ACT IV. 
Scene I. A roo?n in the castle. 
I Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, and 

GUILDENSTEKX. 

King. There's matter in these sighs, tl 
profound heaves: 
You must translate : 'tis fit we understand them. 
Where is your son ? 

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. 
[Exeunt Rosencruhtz at'd Guildemstern. '■ 
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-ni 

King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? 1 

Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, when both 
contend 
Which is the mightier: in his lawless fit, 
Behind the arras hearing something stir, 
Whips out his rapier, cries, ' A rat, a rat !' 10 
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 
The unseen good old man. 

King. O heavy deed ! 

It had been so with us, had we been there: 
His liberty is full of threats to all; 
To you yourself, to us, to ever}' one. 
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answered? 
It will be laid to us, whose providence 



r ."! 



8 3 4 



HAMLET. 



[Act iv. 



Should have kept short, restrain'd and out of 

haunt, 
This mad young man : but so much was our love, 
We would not understand what was most fit ; 20 

1 But, like the owner of a foul disease, 
To keep it from divulging, let it feed 

1 Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? 

Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd : 
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore 
Among a mineral of metals base, 
Shows itself pure ; he weeps for what is done. 

King: O Gertrude, come away !_ 
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed 30 
We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guildenstern! 

ter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Friends both, go join you with some further aid: 
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, 
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him : 
Go seek him out ; speak fair, and bring the body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz cmd Guildenstern. 
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends; 
And let them know, both what we mean to do, 

t And what's untimely done 40 

Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
As level as the cannon to his blank, 
Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our name, 
And hit the woundless air. O, come away ! 
My soul is full of discord and dismay. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A?iotker room in the castle. 
Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Safely stowed. 
Guil\ V Vithin ~} Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! 
Ham. What noise? who calls on Hamlet? O, 
here they come. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Eos. What have you done, my lord, with the 
dead body? 

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 
'tis kin. 

Eos. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it 
thence 
And bear it to the chapel. 

Ham. Do not believe it. 

Eos. Believe what? 10 

Ham. That I can keep your counsel and not 
mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! 
what replication should be made by the son of 
a king? 

Eos. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? 

Ham. Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's coun- 
tenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such 
officers do the king best service in the end: he 
keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his 
jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when 
he needs what you have gleaned, it is but 
squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry 
again. 

I understand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it : a knavish speech sleeps 
in a foolish ear. 



Eos. My lord, you must tell us where the 
body is, and go with us to the king. 

Ham. The body is with the king, but the 
king is not with the body. The king is a thing — 

Guil. A thing, my lord ! 31 

Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide 
fox, and all after. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another room in the castle. 
Enter King, attended. 

King. I have sent to seek him, and to find 

the body. 
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose ! 
Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
He's loved of the distracted multitude, 
Who like not in their judgement, but their eyes; 
And where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is 

weigh'd, 
But never the offence. To bear all smooth 

and even, 
This sudden sending him away must seem 
Deliberate pause : diseases desperate grown 
By desperate appliance are relieved, 10 

Or not at all. 

Enter Rosencrantz. 
How now ! what hath befall'n? 
Eos. Where the dead body is bestow' d, my 
lord, 
We cannot get from him. 
King. But where is he? 

Eos. Without, my lord; guarded, to know 

your pleasure. 
King, firing him before us. 
Eos. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 

Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. 

King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? 

Ham. At supper. 

King. At supper ! where ? 19 

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is 
eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms 
are e'en at him. Your worm is your only em- 
peror for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat 
us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat 
king and your lean beggar is but variable service, 
two dishes, but to one table: that's the end. 

King. Alas, alas ! 

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that 
hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath 
fed of that worm. 30 

King. What dost thou mean by this? 

Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king 
may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. 

King;. Where is Polonius? 

Ham. In heaven; send hither to see: if your 
messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 
other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him 
not within this month, you shall nose him as you 
go up the stairs into the lobby. 

King. Go seek him there. 40 

[To some Attendants. 

Ham. He will stay till ye come. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial 
safety, — 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 



Scene hi.] 



HAMLET. 



835 



For that which thou hast done,— must send thee 

hence 
With fiery quickness : therefore prepare thyself; 
The bark is ready, and the wind at help, 
The associates tend, and every thing is bent 
For England. 

Ham. For England ! 

Ki>ig. Ay, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good. 

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 

Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But, 
come; for England ! Farewell, dear mother. 51 

King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 

Ham. My mother : father and mother is man 
and wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and so, my 
mother. Come, for England ! [Exit. 

King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with 
speed aboard ; 
Delay it not ; I'll have him hence to-night : 
Away ! for every thing is seal'd an I 
That else leanson the affair : pray you, make haste. 
[Exeunt Rosencrantz ami Guildenstern. 
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught — 
As my great power thereof may give thee sense, 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us — thou mayst not coldly set 
Our sovereign process ; which imports at full, 
By letters congruing to that effect, 
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
And thou must cure me : till I know 'tis done, 
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. 70 

[Exit. 

Scene IV. A plain in Denmark. 

Enter Fortinbras, a Captain, and Soldiers, 

marching. 
For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish 
king; 
Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras 
Craves the conveyance of a promised march 
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If that his majesty would aught with us, 
We shall express our duty in his eye ; 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I will do't, my lord. 

For. Go softly on. 

[Exeunt Fortinbras and Soldiers. 

EnlerH ay. let, Rosenxrantz, Gltldenstern, 
and others. 

Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these? 

Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 10 

Ham. How purposed, sir, I pray you? 

Cap. Against some part of Poland. 

Ham. W 'ho commands them, sir? 

Cap. The nephews to old Norway, Fortinbras. 

Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, 
Or for sume fr 

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition, 
We go to gain a little patch of ground 
That hath in it no profit but the name. 
To pay five ducats, live, I would not farm it; 20 
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole 
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will 
defend it. 



Cap. Yes, it is already garrison'd. 

Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand 
ducats 
Will not debate the question of this straw : 
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace, 
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without j 
Why the man dies. 1 humbly thank you, sir. 

Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exit. 

A' os. Will't please you go, my lord.- 30, 

Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little 1 
before. {Exeunt ail except Hamlet. 

How all occasions do Inform against me, 
And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man, 
If his chief good and market of his time 
He but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more. 
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, 
I ooking before and after, gave us not 
That capability and god-like reason 
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be 
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 40 

Of thinking too precisely on th 1 event, 
A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part 

wisdom 
And ever three parts coward, I do not know 
Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;' 
Siih I have cause and willand strength and means 
To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me : 
Witness this army of such mass and charge 
Led by a delicate and tender prince, 
Whose spirit with divine ambition puffd 
Makes mouths at the invisible event, 50 

Exposing what is mortal and unsure 
To all that fortune, death and danger dare. 
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great 
Is not to stir without great argument, 
r.ut greatly to find quarrel in a straw 
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then, 
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, 
Excitements of my reason and my blood, 
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see 
The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 60 
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame. 
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot 
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
Which is not tomb enough and continent 
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, 
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! 

[Exit. 

Scene V. Elsinorc. A room in the castle. 
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman. 
Queen. I will not speak with h^r. 
Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract : 
Her mood wdl needs be pitied. 

Queen. What would she have? 

Gent. She speaks much of her father; says 
she hears 
There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats 

her heart ; 
Spurnsem iouslyat straws ; speaks things in doubt, 
That carry but half sense : I nothing, 

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection ; they aim at it. 
And botch the words up tit to their own thoughts ; 
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield 
them, n 

Indeed would make one think there might be 
thought, 



8 3 6 



HAMLET. 



[Act iv. 



Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 

Hor. 'Twere good she were spoken with ; for 
she may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 

Queen. Let her come in. {Exit Horatio. 

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 20 

Re-enter Horatio, with Ophelia. 
Oj>k. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den- 
mark ? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia ! 
Oph. [Sings] How should I your true love know 
From another one? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon. 
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this 

song? 
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. 
[Sings] He is dead and gone, lady, 

He is dead and gone ; 30 

At his head a grass-green turf, 
At his heels a stone. 
Queen. Nay, but, Ophelia, — 
Oph. Pray you, mark. 
[Sings] White his shroud as the mountain snow, — 

E7iter King. 
Qtieen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
Oph. [Sings] Larded with sweet flowers; 
Which bewept to the grave did go 
With true-love showers. 
King. How do you, pretty lady? 40 

Oph. Well, God 'ild you ! They say the owl 
was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we 
are, but know not what we may be. God be at 
your table ! 

King. Conceit upon her father. 
Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this; 
but when they ask you what it means, say you this : 
[Sings.] To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, 
All in the morning betime, 
And I a maid at your window, 50 

To be your Valentine. 
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, 

And dupp'd the chamber-door ; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Never departed more. 
King. Pretty Ophelia! 

Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make 
an end on't : 
[Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity, 
Alack, and fie for shame ! 
Young men will do't, if they come to't; 
By cock, they are to blame. 61 

Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 

You promised me to wed. 
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, 
An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
King. How long hath she been thus? 
Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be 
patient : but I cannot choose but weep, to think 
they should lay him i' the cold ground. My 
brother shall know of it : and so I thank you for 
your good counsel. Come, my coach ! Good 
night, ladies ; good night, sweet ladies ; good 
night, good night. [Exit. 



King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, 
I pray you. [Exit Horatio. 

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, 
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
But in battalions. First, her father slain : 
Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
Of his own just remove : the people muddied, St 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 

whispers, 
For good Polonius' death ; and we have done but 

greenly, 
In hugger-mugger to inter him : poor Ophelia 
Divided from herself and her fair judgement, 
Without the which we are pictures, or merabeasts : 
Last, and as much containing as all these, 
Her brother is in secret come from France ; 
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, 
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear go 

With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, 
Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, 
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places 
Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within. 

Queen. Alack, what noise is this ? 

King. Where are my Switzers? Let them 
guard the door. 

Enter another Gentleman. 
What is the matter? 

Gent. Save yourself, my lord : 

The ocean, overpeering of his list, 
Eats not the fiats with more impetuous haste 100 
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him 

lord ; 
And, as the world were now but to begin, 
Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 
The ratifiers and props of every word, 
They cry ' Choose we : Laertes shall be king :' 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the 

clouds : 
' Laertes shall be king, Laertes king ! ' 
Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they 
cry! 
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! no 
King. The doors are broke. [Noise within. 
Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. 
Laer. Where is this king? Sirs, stand you 

all without. 
Danes. No, let's come in. 
Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 

Danes. We will, we will. 

[They retire without tlie door. 
Laer. I thank you : keep the door. O thou 
vile king, 
Give me my father ! 
Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm pro- 
claims me bastard, 
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot 
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. What is the cause, Laertes, 120 

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? 
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person : 
There's such divinity doth hedge a king, 



Scene v.] 



HAMLET. 



837 



That treason can but peep to what it would, 
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 
Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, Ger- 
trude. 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father? 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. 

Lac?: How came he dead? I'll not be jug- 
gled with : 130 
To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil! 
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
I dare damnation. To this point I stand, 
That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you? 

Laer. My will, not all the world : 
And for my means, I '11 husband them so well, 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 140 

Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your 

revenge, 
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and 

foe, 
Winner and loser? 

Laer. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them then? 

Laer. To his good friends thus wide 1 '11 ope 
my arras ; 
And like the kind life-rendering pelican, 
Repast them with my blood. 

King. Why, now you speak 

Like a good child and a true gentleman. 
That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
And am most sensible in grief for it, 150 

It shall as level to your judgement pierce 
As day does to your eye. 

Danes. [Within\ Let her come in. 

Laer. How now! what noise is that? 

Re-enter Ophelia. 

O heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! 
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, 
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May ! 
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! 
O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life? 160 

Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine, 
It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the thing it loves. 
Oph. [Sings] 

They bore him barefaced on the bier ; 
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nenny ; 
And in his grave rain'd many a tear : — 
Fare you well, my dove ! 
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade 
revenge, 
It could not move thus. 

Oph. [Si)igs\ You must sing a-down a-down, 
An you call him a-down a. 171 

O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false 
steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
Oph. There's tosemary, that's for remem- 



brance ; pray, love, remember: and there is pan- 
sies, that's for thoughts. 

Laer. A document in madness, thoughts and 



remembrance fitted. 



'7') 



Oph. There 's fennel for you, and columbines 
there's rue for you; and here's some for me. , 
we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays : O, you 
must wear your rue with a difference. There's 
a daisy : I would give you some violets, but they 
withered all when my father died : they say he 
made a good end, — 

[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. 
Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell 
itself, 
She turns to favour and to prettiness. 
Oph. [Sings] And will he not come again? 
And will he not come again? 
No, no, he is dead : 
Go to thy death-bed: 
He never will come again. 
His beard was as white as snow, 
All flaxen was his poll : 
He is gone, he is gone, 
And we cast away moan : 
God ha' mercy on his soul ! 
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be 
wi' ye. [Exit. 200 

Laer. Do you see this, O God? 
King. Laertes, I must commune with your 
grief, 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you 



And they shall hear and judge 'twixtyou and me : 

If by direct: or by collateral hand 

They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 

Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 

To you in satisfaction ; but if not, 

Be you content to lend your patience to us, 210 

And we shall jointly labour with your soul 

To give it due content. 

Laer. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure funeral — 
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, 
No noble rite nor formal ostentation — 
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
That I must call 't in question. 

King. So you shall ; 

And where the offence is let the great axe fall. 
I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Another room in the castle. 
Enter Horatio and a Servant. 

I/or. What are they that would speak with 

me? 
Se?->. Sailors, sii : they say they have letters 

for you. 
I for. Let them come in. [Exit Servant. 

I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. 

Enter Sailors. 
Eirst Sail. God bless you, sir. 
Hot. Let him bless thee too. 
FirU Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. 
There's a letter for you, sir; it conies from the 



HAMLET. 



[Act iv. 



ambassador that was bound for England ; if your 
name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. n 
Hor. [Reads'] 'Horatio, when thou shalt have 
overlooked this, give these fellows some means to 
the king : they have letters for him. Ere we were 
two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike 
appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves 
too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, 
and in the grapple I boarded them : on the instant 
they got clear of our ship ; so I alone became 
their prisoner. They have dealt with me like 
thieves of mercy : but they knew what they did ; 
I am to do a good turn for them. Let the king- 
have the letters I have sent ; and repair thou to 
me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. 
I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee 
dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore 
of the matter. These good fellows will bring 
thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern 

j hold their course for England: of them I have 

much to tell thee. Farewell. 30 

'He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.' 

j Come, I will make you way for these your letters ; 
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Another roo7ii in the castle. 
Enter King and Laertes. 

King. Now must your conscience my acquit- 
tance seal, 
And you must put me in your heart for friend, 
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
That he which hath your noble father slain 
Pursued my life. 

Laer. It well appears: but tell me 

Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
So crimeful and so capital in nature, 
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, 
You mainly were stirr'd up. ■ 

King. O, for two special reasons ; 

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, 
But yet to me they are strong The queen his 
mother 11 

Lives almost by his looks; and for myself — 
My virtue or my plague, be it either which — 
She's so conjunctive to my life and soul, 
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
1 could not but by her. The other motive, 
Why to a public count I might not go, ' 

Is the great love the general gender bear him ; 
Who, dipping all his faults in^ their affection, 
Would, like the spring thatturneth wood to stone, 
Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows, 
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, 
Would have reverted to my bow again, 
And not where I had aim'd them. 

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; 
A sister driven into desperate terms, 
Whose worth, if praises may go back again, 
Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections: but my revenge will come. 
King. Break not your sleeps for that: you 
must not think 30 

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull 
That we can let our beard be shook with danger 
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear 
more : 



I loved your father, and we love ourself ; 
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine — 

Enter a Messenger. 

How now! what news? 

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet: 

This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 

King. From Hamlet! who brought them? 

Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say ; I saw them 
not : 
They were given me by Claudio ; he received 
them 40 

Of him that brought them. 

King. Laertes, you shall hear them. 

Leave us. [Exit Messenger. 

[Reads] ' High and mighty, You shall know I 
am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow 
shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when 
I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, re- 
count the occasion of my sudden and more 
strange return. 

' Hamlet.' 
What should this mean? Are all the rest come 
back? 50 

Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? 

Laer. Know you the hand? 

King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. ' Naked !' 
And in a postscript here, he says ' alone.' 
Can you advise me? 

Laer. I 'm lost in it, my lord. But let him 
come ; 
It warms the very sickness in my heart, 
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
' Thus didest thou.' 

King. If it be so, Laertes — 

As how should it be so? how otherwise?— 
Will you be ruled by me? 

Laer. Ay, my lord; 60 

So you will not o'errule me to a peace. 

King. To thine own peace. If he be now 
return'd, 
As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
No more to undertake it, I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
Under the which he shall not choose but fall : 
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe, 
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice 
And call it accident. 

Laer. My lord, I will be ruled; 

The rather, if you could devise it so 70 

That 1 might be the organ. 

King. It falls right. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel much, 
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts 
Did not together pluck such envy from him 
As did that one, and that, in my regard, 
Of the unworthiest siege. 

Laer. What part is that, my lord? 

King. A very riband in the cap of youth, 
Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears 80 

Than settled age his sables and his weeds, 
Importing health and graveness. Two months 

since, 
Here was a gentleman of Normandy: — 
I 've seen myself, and served against, the French, 
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant 
Had witchcraft in't ; he grew unto his seat ; 



Scene vn.] 



HAMLET. 



S39 



And to such wondrous doing brought his horse, 
As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured 
With the brave beast: so far he tupp'd my 

thought, 
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, go 

Come short of what he did. 
Laer. A Norman was't? 

King. A Norman. 
Laer. Upon my life, Lamond. 
King. The very same. 

Lacr. I know him well: he is the brooch 
indeed 
And gem of all the nation. 

King. He made confession of you, 
And gave you such a masterly report 
For art and exercise in your defence 
And for your rapier most especially, 
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, 100 
If one could match you : the scrimers of their 

nation, 
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his 
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy 
That he could nothing do but wish and beg 
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him. 
Now, out of this, — 
Laer. What out of this, my lord ? 

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A face without a heart? 

Lacr. Why ask you this? no 

King. Not that I think you did not love your 
father ; 
But that I know love is begun by time ; 
And that I see, in passages of proof. 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
There lives within the very flame of love 
A kind of v. ick or snuff that will abate it ; 
And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
For goodness, growing to a plurisy, 
Dies in his own too much : that we would do, 
We should do v. hen we would; for this ' would' 
changes 120 

And hath abatements and delays as many 
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; 
And then this ' should' is like a spendthi i 
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the 

ulcer: — 
Hamlet comes back : what would you undertake, 
To show yourself your father's son in deed 
More than in words? 
Laer. To cut his throat i' the church. 

King. No place, indeed, should murder sanc- 
tuarize ; 
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good 
Laertes, 129 

Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. 
Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home : 
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence 
And set a double varnish on the fame 
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine to- 
gether 
And wager on your heads: he. being remiss, 
Most generous and free from all contriving, 
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, 
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice 
Requite him for your father. 
Lacr. I will do 't : 140 



And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, 
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death 
That is but scratch'd withal : 1 *ll touch my point 
With this contagion, that, if I gall him sli§ 
It may be death. 

King: Let's further think of this; 140 

Weigh what convenience both of time and means 
May fit us to our shape: if this should fail, 
And that oar drift look through our bad per- 
formance, 
'Twere better not assay'd : therefore this project 
Should have a back or second, that might 
If this should blast in 1 ! let me see : 

We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings: 
I ha't : 

When in your motion you are hot and dry — 
As make your bouts more violent to that end — 
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepared 
him 160 

A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping, 
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, 
Our purpose may hold there. 

Enter Queen. 

How now, sweet queen ! 

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's 
hecL 
So fast they follow: your sister's drown'd, 
Laertes. 

Lacr. Drown'd! O, where? 

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; 
There with fantastic garlands did she come 169 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name. 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call 

them : 
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
When down her weedy trophies and herself 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread 

wide ; 
And. mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : 
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or kke a creature native and indued 1S0 

Unto that element : but long it could not be 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death 

Lacr. Alas. then, she is drown'd? 

Queen. Drown'd. drown'd. 

Lacr. Too much of water hast thou, poor 
( )phelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears : but yet 
It is our trick ; nature her custom ! 
Let shame say what it will : when these are gone, 
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord: 190 
1 have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze. 
But that this folly clouts it. 

King. Let's follow, Gertrude: 

How much I had to do to calm his rage I 

r I this will give it start again ; 
Therefore let's follow. [Exeunt. 



840 



HAMLET. 



[Act v. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. A churchyard. 

Enter two Clowns, with shades, &>c. 

First Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian 
burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation? 

Sec. Clo. I tell thee she is : and therefore 
make her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on 
her, and finds it Christian burial. 

First Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned 
herself in her own defence ? 
Sec. Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 
First Clo. It must be ' se offendendo;' it 
! cannot be else. For here lies the point : if I 
I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act : and 
an act hath three branches ; it is, to act, to do, to 
perform : argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 

Sec. Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman 
delver, — 

First Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the 
water ; good : here stands the man ; good : if the 
man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, 
will he, nill he, he goes, — mark you that ; but if 
the water come to him and drown him, he drowns 
not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his 
own death shortens not his own life. 
Sec. Clo. But is this law? 

First Clo. Ay, marry, is't; crowner' s quest 
law. 

Sec. Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this 
had not been a gentlewoman, she should have 
been buried out o' Christian burial. 

First Clo. Why, there thou say'st : and the 
more pity that great folk should have counte- 
nance in this world to drown or hang them- 
selves, more than their even Christian. Come, 
my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but 
gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers : they hold 
up Adam's profession. 

Sec. Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 
First Clo. He was the first that ever bore 
arms. 

Sec. Clo. Why, he had none. 39 

First Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost 
thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture 
says 'Adam digged:' could he dig without arms? 
I'll put another question to thee: if thou an- 
swerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself — 
Sec. Clo. Go to. 

First Clo. What is he that builds stronger 
than either the mason, the shipwright, or the 
carpenter? 

Sec. Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame 
outlives a thousand tenants. 50 

First Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith : 
the gallows does well; but how does it well? it 
does well to those that do ill : now thou dost ill 
to say the gallows is built stronger than the 
church : argal, the gallows may do well to thee. 
To 't again, come. 

Sec. Clo. 'Who builds stronger than a mason, 
a shipwright, or a carpenter?' 

First Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
Sec. Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 60 

First Clo. To 't. 
Sec. Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 



Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 

First Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about 
it, for your dull ass will not mend his paoe with 
beating ; and, when you are asked this question 
next, say 'a grave-maker:' the houses that he 
makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to 
fYaughan : fetch me a stoup of liquor. 

{Exit Sec. Clown. 
[He digs, and sings. 
In youth, when I did love, did love, 

Methought it was very sweet, 70 

To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, 

O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
Ha;;/. Has this fellow no feeling of his busi- 
ness, that he sings at grave-making? 

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property 
of easiness. 

II am. 'Tise'enso: the hand of little employ- 
ment hath the daintier sense. 
First Clo. [Sings] 

But age, with his stealing steps, 

Hath claw'd me in his clutch, So 

And hath shipped me intil the land, 
As if I had never been such. 

[ Throws 2ip a skull. 
Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could 
sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, 
as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first 
I murder! It might be the pate of a politician, 
which this ass now o'er-reaches ; one that would 
circumvent God, might it not? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 89 

Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say 
' Good morrow, sweet lord ! How dost thou, 
good lord?' This might be my lord such-a-one, 
that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when he 
meant to beg it ; might it not? 
Hor. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my Lady 
Worm's ; chapless, and knocked about the maz- 
zard with a sexton's spade : here 's fine revolution, 
an we had the trick to see't. Did these bones 
cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats 
with 'em? mine ache to think on't. 101 

First Clo. [Sings] 

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, 

For and a shrouding sheet : 
O, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

[ Throws up another skull. 
Ham. There's another: why may not that 
be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities 
now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his 
tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now 
to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, 
and will not tell him of his action of battery? 
Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great 
bu}'er of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, 
his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries : is 
this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his 
recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? 
will his vouchers vouch him no more of his pur- 
chases, and double ones too, than the length and 
breadth of a pair of indentures? The very con- 
veyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; 
and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha? 
Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? 



Scene i.] 



HAMLET. 



841 



Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. 

Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek 
out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. 
Whose grave's this, sirrah? 

First Clo. Mine, sir. 

[Sings'] O, a pit of clay for to be made 

For such a guest is m et. 130 

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou 
liest in't. 

First Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 
it is not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, 
and yet it is mine. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say 
it is thine : 'tis for the dead, not for the quick ; 
therefore thou liest. 

First Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away 
again, from me to you. 140 

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 

First Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. What woman, then? 

First Clo. For none, neither. 

Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 

First Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, 
rest her soul, she 's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must 
speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. 
By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have 
taken a note of it ; the age is grown so picked 
that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel 
of the courtier, he galls his kibe. How long hast 
thou been a grave-maker? 

First Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came 
to't that day that our last king Flamlet overcame 
Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long is that since? 

First Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool 
can tell that: it was the very day that young 
Hamlet was born ; he that is mad, and sent into 
England. 

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into Eng- 
land ? 

First Clo. Why, because he was m 
shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's 
no great matter there. 

Ham. Why? 

First Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; 
there the men are as mad as he. 170 

Ham. How came he mad? 

First Clo. Very strangely, they say. 

Ham. How strangely ? 

First Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground? 

First Clo. Why, here in Denmark : I have 
been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth 
ere he rot? " 179 

First Clo. V faith, if he be not rotten before 
he die — as we have many pocky corses now-a- 
days, that will scarce hold the laying in — he will 
last you some eight year or nine year : a tanner 
will last you nine year. 

Ham. Why he more than another? 

First Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned 
with his trade, that he will keep out water a great 
while ; and your water is a sore decayer of your 
whoreson dead body. Here 's a skull now ; this 
skull has lain in the earth three and twenty 
years. 191 

Ham. Whose was it? 



First Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was : 
whose do you think it was? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

First Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad 
rogue ! a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head 
once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, 
the king's jester. 

Ham. This? 200 

First Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] 
Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio : a 
fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and 
now, how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my 
gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I 
have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your 
gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your 
flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the 
table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your 
own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you 
to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint 
an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; 
make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell 
me one thing. 

Hor. What's that, my lord? 

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' 
this fashion i' the earth? 

Hor. E'en so. 220 

Ham. And smelt so? pah ! 

[Tuts down the skull. 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, 
Horatio ! Why may not imagination trace the 
noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a 
bung-hole ? 

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to 
consider so. 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him 
thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to 
lead it: as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was 
buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust 
is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and why of 
that loam, whereto he was converted, might they 
not stop a beer-barrel ? 

Imperious Csesar, dead and turn'd to clay, 

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 

O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, 

Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
But soft ! but soft ! aside : here comes the king. 

Eater Priests, &>c. in procession ; the Corpse 0/ 

Ophelia, Laertes a nd Mourners following; 

King, Queen, their trains, &>c. 
The queen, the courtiers : who is this they follow? 
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken 
The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
Fordo its own life : 'twas of some estate. 
Couch we awhile, and mark. 

[Retiring with Horatio. 

Laer. What ceremony else? 

Ham. That is Laertes, 

A very noble youth : mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else? 

First Priest. Her obsequies have been as 
far enlarged 249 

As we have warrantise : her death was doubtful ; 
And, but that great command o'crsways the order, 
She should in ground unsanctified have lodged 
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, 



842 



HAMLET. 



[Act v. 



Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on 

her : 
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, 
Her maiden strewments and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 
Laer. Must there no more be done? 
First Priest. No more be done : 

We should profane the service of the dead 
To sing a requiem and such rest to her 260 

As to peace-parted souls. 

Lncr. Lay her i' the earth : 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
May violets spring ! I tell thee, churlish priest, 
A ministering angel shall my sister be, 
When thou liest howling. 

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : farewell ! 

[Scattering flowers. 
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's 

wife ; 
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet 

maid, 
And not have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 270 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Deprived thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile, 
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 
[Leaps into the grave. 
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing'] What is he whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them 

stand 
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, 280 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave. 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 

[Gra/>j>liug with hint. 
Hani. Thou pray'st not well. 
I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
For, though I am not splenitive and rash, 
Yet have I something in me dangerous, 
Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand. 
King. Pluck them asunder. 
Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 

All. Gentlemen, — 
Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The Attendants part them, and they 
conte out of the grave. 
Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this 
theme 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 290 

Queen. O my son, what theme? 
Ham. I loved Ophelia: forty thousand bro- 
thers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? 
King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 
Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
Ham. 'S wounds, show me what thou 'It do : 
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't 

tear thyself? 
Woo't drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? 
I'lldo't. Dost thou come here to whine? 300 
To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
Be buried quick with her, and so will I : 



And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us, till our ground, 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, 
I'll rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness : 

And thus awhile the fit will work on him; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
When that her golden couplets are disclosed, 310 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. Hear you, sir; 

What is the reason that you use me thus? 
I loved you ever : but it is no matter ; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
The cat will mew and dog will have his day. [Exit. 

King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon 

him. [Exit Lloratio. 

[To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our 

last night's speech; 
We'll put the matter to the present push. 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. 
This grave shall have a living monument : 320 
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A hall in the castle. 
Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you 
see the other ; 
You do remember all the circumstance? 
Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 
Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of 
fighting, 
That would not let me sleep : methought I lay 
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly, 
And praised be rashness for it, let us know, 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
When our deep plots do pall: and that should 

teach us 
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 10 

Rough-hew them how we will, — 
IP or. That is most certain. 

Ham. Up from my cabin, 
My sea-gown scarf d about me, in the dark 
Groped I to find out them ; had my desire, 
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew 
To mine own room again ; making so bold, 
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
Their grand commission; where I found, Ho- 
ratio,— 

royal knavery ! — an exact command, 
Larded with many several sorts of reasons 20 
Importing Denmark's health and England's too, 
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, 
That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 

No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
My head should be struck off. 

Hor. Is't possible? 

Ham. Here's the commission: read it at more 
leisure. 
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed? 

Hor. I beseech you. 

Ham. Being thus be-netted round with vil- 
lanies, — ■ 
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains, 30 
They had begun the play — I sat me down, 
Devised a new. commission, wrote it fair: 

1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



?43 



A baseness to write fair and labour' d much 
How to forget that learning, but, sir, now 
It did me yeoman's service : wilt thou know 
The effect of what I wrote? 

I for. Ay, good my lord. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, 
As England was his faithful tributary, 
As love between them like the palm might flou- 
rish, 40 
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear 
And stand a comma 'tween their amities, 
And many such-like 'As'es of great charge, 
That, on the view and knowing of these contents, 
Without debatement further, more or less, 
He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
Not shriving-time allow'd. 

Hot. How was this seal'd? 

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. 
I had my father's signet in my purse, 
Which was the mode! of that Danish seal ; 50 

Folded the writ up in form of the other, 
Subscribed it, gave't the impression, placed it 

safely. 
The changeling never known. Now, the next day 
Was our sea-fight ; and what to this was sequent 
Thou know' st already. 

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. 

Ham. Why. man, they did make love to this 
employment ; 
They are not near my conscience ; their defeat 
Does by their own insinuation grow: 
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 6c 
Between the pass and fell incensed points 
Of mighty opposites. 

Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 

Ham. Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me 
now upon— 
He that hath kill'd my king and whored my 

mother, 
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes, 
Thrown out his angle for my proper life. 
And with such cozenage — is't not perfect con- 
science, 
To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be 

damn'd, 
To let this canker of our nature come 
In further evil? 70 

Hor. It must be shortly known to him fruin 
England 
What is the issue of the business there. 

Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine ; 
And a man's life 's no mure than to say ' One.' 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
That to Laertes 1 forgot myself: 
For, by the image of my cause, I see 
The portraiture of his : 1 '11 court his favours : 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
Into a towering passi< >u. 

Hor. Peace ! who comes here ? 80 

Enter Oskic. 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
Denmark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know 
this water-fly ? 

II or. No, my good lord. 

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 'tis 
a vice to know him. He hath much land, and 
fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and hi* crib 



shall stand at the king's moss: 'tis a chough; but, 
as I say. spacious in the possession of dirt. 90 

Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at lei- 
sure, I should impart a thing to you from his 
majesty. 

Ham. T will r :< eiye it, sir. with all diligence 
of spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use ; 'tis 
for the head. 

Osr. I thank your lordship, it is very hot. 

I Jam. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind 
is northerly. 99 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and 
hot for my complexion. 

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, — 
as 'twere, — 1 cannot tell how. But, my lord, his 
majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid 
a great wager on your head : sir, this is the mat- 
ter,— 

Ham. I beseech you, remember — 

{Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. 

Osr. Nay, good my 1 ird; for mine ease, in 
good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court 
Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full 
of most excellent differences, of very soft society 
and great showing : indeed, to speak feelingly of 
him, he is the card or calendar of gentry, for you 
shall find in him the continent of what part a 
gentleman would see. 

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition 
in you ; though, I know, to divide him inventori- 
ally would dizzy the arithmetic of memory, land 
yet but yaw neither, in respedt of his quick sail. 
But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be 
a soul of great article ; and his infusion of such 
dearth and rareness, as, to make true didtion of 
him, his semblable is his mirror; and who else 
would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more. 

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of 
him. 

IF am. The concemancy, sir? why do we wrap 
the gentleman in our more rawer breath? 

Osr. Sir? 130 

Hor. Is't not possible to understand in ano- 
ther tongue? You will do't, sir, really. 

Ham. What imports the nomination of this 
gentleman? 

Osr. Of Laertes? 

Hor. His purse is empty already; all's golden 
words are spent. 

Ham. Of him, sir. 

Osr. I know you arc not ignorant — 

Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if 
you did, it would not much approve me. Well, 
sir? 

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
Laertes is — 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should 
compare with him in excellence; but, to know a 
man well, were to know himself. 

Osr. 1 mean, sir. for his weapon; but in the 

imputation laid on him by them, in his meed he's 

■wed. 150 

Ham. What's his weapon? 

( } sr. Rapier and dagger. 

Ham. That's two of his weapons: but, well. 

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him 
six Barbary b 1 1 the which he ha- im- 

poned, as 1 take it, six French rapiers and 



8 44 



HAMLET. 



[Act v. 



poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 
and so : three of the carriages, in faith, are very- 
dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most 
delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. 

Ham. What call you the carriages? 

Hor. I knew you must be edified by the mar- 
gent ere you had done. 

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 

Ham. The phrase would be more german to 
the matter, if we could carry cannon by our sides : 
I would it might be hangers till then. But, on : 
six Barbary horses against six French swords, 
their assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages; 
that's the French bet against the Danish. Why 
is this 'imponed,' as you call it? 171 

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
passes between yourself and him, he shall not ex- 
ceed you three hits : he hath laid on twelve for 
nine ; and it would come to immediate trial, if 
your lordship would vouchsafe the answer. 

Ham. How if I answer ' no'? 

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
person in trial. 179 

Ham. Sir. I will walk here in the hall : if it 
please his majesty, 'tis the breathing time of day 
with me ; let the foils be brought, the gentleman 
willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win 
for him an I can ; if not, I will gain nothing but 
my shame and the odd hits. 

Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e'en so? 

Ha?n. To this effect, sir; after what flourish 
your nature will. 

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. 

Ham. Yours, yours. {Exit Osric] He does 
well to commend it himself; there are no tongues j 
else for's turn. 

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell 1 
on his head. 

Ham. He did comply with his dug, before he ; 
sucked it. Thus has he — and many more of the | 
same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on — I 
only got the tune of the time and outward habit 
of encounter; a kind of yesty collection, which 
carries them through and through the most ffond 
and winnowed opinions ; and do but blow them 
to their trial, the bubbles are out. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him 
to you by young Osric, who brings back to him, 
that you attend him in the hall : he sends to know 
if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that 
you will take longer time. 

Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they 
follow the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, 
mine is ready ; now or whensoever, provided I be 
so able as now. 211 

Lord. The king and queen and all are coming 
down. 

Ham. In happy time. 

Lord. The queen desires you to use some 
gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fall 
to play. 

Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 

Ham. I do not think so : since he went into 
France, I have been in continual practice ; I shall 
win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how 
ill all's here about my heart : but it is no matter. 



Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 

I lam. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of 
gain-giving, as would perhaps trouble a woman. 

Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: 
I will forestal their repair hither, and say you are 
not fit. 229 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a 
special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it 
be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it 
will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come: 
the readiness is all : since no man has aught of 
what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes? 

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, 
and Attendants with foils, &c. 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this 
hand from me. 

[ The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's. 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I 've done 
you wrong ; 
But pardon 't, as you are a gentleman. 
This presence knows, 

And you must needs have heard, how I am pun- 
ish'd 240 

With sore distraction. What I have done, 
That might your nature, honour and exception 
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet: 
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 
And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes, 
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
Who does it, then? His madness: if't be so, 
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; 
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 250 

Sir, in this audience , 
Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house, 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
To my revenge : but in my terms of honour 
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement, 
Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
I have a voice and precedent of peace, 260 

To keep my name ungored. But till that time, 
I do receive your offer'd love like love, 
And will not wrong it. 

Ham. I embrace it freely ; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
Give us the foils. Come on. 

Laer. Come, one for -me. 

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ig- 
norance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. You mock me, sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin 
Hamlet, 270 

You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, my lord ; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 

King. I do not fear it ; I have seen you both : 
But since he is better'd, v/e have therefore odds. 

I^aer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 

Ham. This likes me well. These foils have 
all a length? [ They prepare to play. 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



845 



King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that 
table. 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 280 

Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the 

cups ; 
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth, 
'Now the king drinks to Hamlet.' Come. 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 290 

Ham. Come on, sir. 

Laer. Come, my lord. [They play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No. 

Ham. Judgement. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer. Well ; again. 

King. Stay ; give me drink. Hamlet, this 
pearl is thine ; 
Here's to thy health. 

[ Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off within. 
Give him the cup. 

Ham. I '11 play this bout first ; set it by awhile. 
Come. [ They play.] Another hit ; what say you ? 

I^aer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. 

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows: 
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 300 

Hani. Good madam ! 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Queen, I will, my lord ; J pray you, pardon me. 

Kins;. [Aside] It is the poison'd cup : it is too 
late. 

Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and by. 

Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 

Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 

King. I do not think 't. 

Laer. [Aside] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my 
conscience. 

Ha;-:. Come, for the third, Laertes: you but 
dally ; 
I pray you, pass with your best violence ; 
I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 310 

Laer. Say you so ? come on. [They play. 

Osr. Nothing, neither way. 

Laer. Have at you now ! 
[Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, 
they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds 
Laertes. 

King. Part them ; they are incensed. 

Ham. Nay, come, again. ['The Queen falls. 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 

Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, 
my lord? 

Osr. How is't, Laertes? 

Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, 
Osric ; 
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 

Ham. How docs the queen? 

King. She suounds to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my 
dear Hamlet, — 320 

The drink, the drink ! I am poison'd. 



Ham. Ovillany! Ho ! let the door be lock'd : 
Treachery ! Seek it out. 

Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art 
slain ; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good ; 
In thee there is not half an hour of life; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practice 
Math turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie, 329 

Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd: 
I can no more: the king, the king's to blame. 

Ham. The point! — envenom'd too! 
Then, venom, to thy work. [St a is the King. 

All. Treason! treason! 

Kins:. O, yet defend me, friends; I am but 
hurt. 

Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, 
damned Dane, 
Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? 
Follow my mother. [King dies. 

Laer. He is justly served ; 

Tt is a poison temper'd by himself. 339 

Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: 
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, 
Nor thine on me! [Dies. 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow 
thee. 
I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu ! 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
That are but mutes or audience to this atft. 
Had I but time — as this fell sergeant, death, 
Is strict in his arrest — O, I could tell you — 
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead ; 
Thou livest ; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied. 

Hor. Never believe it: 351 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane: 
Here's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As thou 'rt a man, 

Give me the cup: let go ; by heaven, I'll have't. 

good Horatio, what a wounded name, 
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind 

me ! 
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
To tell my story. 

[March afar off, and shot within. 
What warlike noise is this? 360 
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come 
from Poland, 
To the ambassadors of England gives 
This warlike volley. 

Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit : 

1 cannot live to hear the news from England; 
But I do prophesy the election lights 

On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice; 
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, 
Which have solicited. 1 he rest is silence. [Dies. 
Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, 
sweet prince ; 370 

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! 
Why docs the drum come hither? 

[March within. 

Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, 
and others. 
Fort. Where is this sight? 



8 4 6 



HAMLET. 



[Act v. 



Hor. What is it ye would see? 

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. 

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud 
death, 
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, 
That thou so many princes at a shot 
So bloodily hast struck? 

First A mb. The sight is dismal ; 

And our affairs from England come too late : _ 
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, 
To tell him his commandment is lulfill'd, 381 

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead : 
Where should we have our thanks? 

Hor. Not from his mouth, 

Had it the ability of life to thank you : 
He never gave commandment for their death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question, 
You from the Polack wars, and you from Eng- 
land, 
Are here arrived, give order that these bodies 
High on a stage be placed to the view ; 389 

And let me speak to the yet unknowing world 
How these things came about: so shall you hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural adls, 
Of accidental judgements, casual slaughters, 
Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, 
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 



Fall'n on the inventors' heads : all this can I 
Truly deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune : 
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, 
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 
Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, 
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on 

more : 
But let this same be presently perform' d, 
Even while men's minds are wild; lest more mis- 
chance, 
On plots and errors, happen. 

Fort. Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage ; 
For he was likely, had he been put on, 
To have proved most royally : and, for his pas- 
sage, 
The soldiers' music and the rites of war 410 

Speak loudly for him. 
Take up the bodies : such a sight as this 
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. 

\A dead march. Exeunt, bearing off the 
dead bodies ; after which a. peal of ord- 
nance is shot off. 



J 



KING LEAR. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 



Lear, king of Britain. 

King of France. 

Dike of BURGUNDY. 

Duke of Cornwall. 

Duke of Alisany. 

Earl of Kent. 

Earl of Gloucester. 

Edgar, son to Gloucester. 

Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester. 

CURAN, a courtier. 

Old Man, tenant to Gloucester. 

Doctor. 

Fool. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. King Lear s palace. 

£«^r Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. 

Ke:it. I thought the king had more affected 
the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. 

Glou. It did always seem so to us : but now, 
in the division of the kingdom, it appears not 
which of the dukes he values most ; for equalities 
arc so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make 
choice of either's moiety. 

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord? 

Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my 
charge : I have so often blushed to acknowledge 
him, that now I am brazed to it. n 

Kent. I cannot conceive you. 

Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could : 
whereupon she grew, round-wombed, and had, 
indeed, sir, a son foi ere she had a 

husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? 

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the 
issn ; of it being so proper. 

Glou. But 1 have, sir, a son by order of law, 
some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in 
my account : though this knave came son. thing 
saucily into the world before he was seat f ir, yet 
was his mother fair; there was go id sport at his 
making, and the whoreson mu '.ledged. 

Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? 

Edm. No, my lord. 

Glou. My lord of Kent: remember him here- 
after as my honourable friend. 

Edm. My services to your lord >hi >. 

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you 
better. 31 

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 

Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away 
he shall again. The king is coming. 

Sennet. /^//AtKingLkar, Cornw \i | . A 
Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Atb 
Lear. Attend the lords of France and Bur- 
gundy, Gloucester. 
Glou. I shall, my liege. 

[Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund. 



OSWALD, steward to Goneril. 
A Captain employed by Edmund, 
Gentleman attendant on Cordelia. 
A Herald. 

Servants to Cornwall. 

Goneril, \ 

Regan, > daughters to Lear. 

i.IA, I 



Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers, 
Soldiers, and Attendants. 

Scene : Britain. 



Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker 

purpose. 
Give me the map there. Know that wc have 

divided 
In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age : 40 
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of 

Cornwall, 
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
Wc have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
May be prevented now. The princes, France 

and Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
Long in our court have made their amorous 

sojourn, 
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, nv 

daughters, — 
Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 
Interest of territory, cares of state, — 
\Vhich of you sh all •;. LOStT 

That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, 
Our eldest -born, speak first 

Gon. ; Sir, I love you more than words can 

wield the matter; 
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and lil 

Rf*vn«n u:1nh /--it-i K*» imIhaJ ..:.!. . 



So 



what can be valued, rich or rare'; 
N 1 less than life, wiih grace, health, beauty, 
honour ; 

loved, or father found: 60 
that makes hi- speech unable ; 

Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
Cor. [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, 

and be 
Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line 
to this, 
w |th sh.. 3 and with champains ri< h'd, 

W nh plenteous rivers and wide-skirted m 
We make thee lady: to thine and Albanj 
Be this perpetual. W] conddaughter, 

Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. 

• Sir, I am made - 

<)t the self-same metal that my sister is, 
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 



KING LEAR. 



[Act 



I find she names my very deed of love ; 

Only she comes too short : that I profess 

Myself an enemy to all other joys, 

Which the most precious square of sense possesses; 

And find I am alone felicitate 

In your dear highness' love. 

Cor. [Aside] Then poor Cordelia ! 

And yet not so ; since, 1 am sure, my love's 
More richer than my tongue. 80 

Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever 
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; 
No less in space, validity, and pleasure, 
Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, 
Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. 

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

Lear. Nothing! 90 

Cor. Nothing. 

Lear. Nothing will come of nothing : speak 
again. 

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
According to my bond; no>- more nor less. 

Lear. How, how, Cordelia ! mend your speech 
a little, 
Lest it may mar your fortunes. 

Cor. Good my lord, 

You have begot me, bred me, loved me : I 
Return those duties back as are right fit, 
Obey you, love you, and most honour you. joo 
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, 
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall 

carry 
Half my love with him, half my care and duty: 
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
To love my father all. 

Lear. But goes thy heart with this? 

Cor. Ay, good my lord. 

Lear. So young, and so untender? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so ; thy truth, then, be thy 
dower: no 

For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; 
By all the operation of the orbs 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
Propinquity and property of blood. 
And as a stranger to my heart and me 
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous 

Scythian, 
Or he that makes his generation messes 
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 120 

Be as well neighbour'd. pitied, and relieved, 
As thou my sometime daughter. 

Kent Good my liege, — 

Lear. Peace, Kent ! 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath. 
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest 
Onherkind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! 
So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
Her father's heart from her ! Call France; who 

stirs? 
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, 129 

With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: 
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 



I do invest you jointly with my power, 
Pre-eminence, and all the large effedts 
That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly 

course, 
With reservation of an hundred knights, 
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 
The name, and all the additions to a king; 
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, 
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, 140 
This coronet part betwixt you. [Giving the crown. 

Kent. Royal Lear, 

Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
Loved as my father, as my master follow'd, 
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 

Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from 
the shaft. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly, 
When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man ? 
Think'stthou that duty shall have dread to speak, 
When power to flattery bows? To plainness 
honour's bound, 150 

When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
And, in thy best consideration, check 
This hideous rashness : answer my life my judge- 
ment. 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound 
Reverbs no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
Thy safety being the motive. 

Lear. Out of my sight ! 

Kent. See better, Lear : and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 161 

Lear. Now, by Apollo,— 

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king, 

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 

Lear. O, vassal ! miscreant ! 

[Laying his hand on his sword. 

^ n } Dear sir, forbear. 

Kent. Do : 

Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; 
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
I'll tell thee thou dost evil. 

Lear. Hear me, recreant ! 

On thine allegiance, hear me ! . 170 

Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd 

pride 
To come between our sentence and our power, 
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
Five days we do allot thee, for provision 
To shield thee from diseases of the world ; 
And on the sixth to turn ihy hated back 
Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following, 
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 
The moment is thy death. Away ! by Jupiter, 
This shall not be revoked. 

Kent. Fare thee well, king : sith thus thou wilt 

appear, 
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. 
[ To Cordelia} The gods to their dear shelter take 

thee, maid, 



Scene i.] 



KING LEAR. 



849 



That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! 
[To Regan audGoueril] And your large speeches 

may your deeds approve, 
That good effects may spring from words of love. 
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. 

Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, ivith France, 
Burgundy, and Attendants. 

Glou. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble 
lord. 191 

Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
We first address towards you, who with this 

king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter : what, in the least, 
Will you require in present dower with her, 
Or cease your quest of love ? 

Bur. Most royal majesty, 

I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, 
Nor will you tender less. 

Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands : 
If aught within that little seeming substance, 201 
Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, 
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, 
She's there, and she is yours. 

Bur. I know no answer. 

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she 
owes, 
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our 

oath, 
Take her, or leave her? 

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 

Election makes not up on such conditions. 

Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power 

that made me, 210 

I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you, 

great king, 
I would not from your love make such a stray, 
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech 

you 
To avert your liking a more worthier way 
Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed 
Almost to acknowledge hers. 

France. This is most strange, 

That she, that even but now was your best object, 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of 

time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 220 
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree, 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, 
Must be a faith that reason without miracle 
Could never plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, — 

If for I want that glib and oily art, 
To speak and purpose not; since what I well 

intend, 
I'll do't before I speak, — that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 230 

No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, 
That hath deprived me of your grace and favour ; 
But even for want of that for which I am richer, 
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tun cue 
As I am glad i have not, though not to have it 



Hath lost me in your liking. 

Lear. Better thou 

Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me 
better. 

France. Is it but this, — a tardiness in nature 
Which often leaves the history unspoke 
That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, 
What say you to the lady? Love's not love 241 
When it is mingled with regards that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? 
She is herself a dowry. 

Bur. Royal Lear, 

Give but that portion which yourself proposed, 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 
Duchess of Burgundy. 

Lear. Nothing: I have sworn ; I am firm. 

Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a 
father 
That you must lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy! 250 

Since that respects of fortune are his love, 
1 shall not be his wife. 

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, 
being poor ; 
Most choice, forsaken ; and most loved, despised ! 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. 
Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st 

neglect 
My love should kindle to inflamed respect. 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my 

chance, 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 260 
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy 
Can buy this unprized precious maid of me 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind : 
Thou Iosest here, a better where to find. 

Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her be 
thine ; for we 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again. Therefore be gone 
Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

[Flourish. Exeunt all hut France, 
Goueril, Regan, and Cordelia. 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 270 

Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd 
eyes 
Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; 
And like a sister am most loath to call 
Your faults as they are named. Use well our 

father : 
To your professed bosoms I commit him : 
But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So, farewell to you both. 

Reg. Prescribe not us our duties. 

Gon. Let your study 279 

Be to content your lord, who hath received you 
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, 
And well are worth the want that you have 
wanted. 

Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning 
hides: 
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. 
Well may you prosper ! 

France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 

[Exeunt France and Cordelia. 

Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say of 



54 



850 



KING LEAR. 



[Act 1. 



what most nearly appertains to us both. I think 
our father will hence to-night. 

Reg. That's most certain, and with you ; next 
month with us. 290 

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is; 
the observation we have made of it hath not been 
little: he always loved our sister most; and with 
what poor judgement he hath now cast her off 
appears too grossly. 

Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he hath 
ever but slenderly known himself. 

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath 
been but rash ; then must we look to receive 
from his age, not alone the imperfections of long- 
engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly 
waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring 
with them. 

Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to 
have from him as this of Kent's banishment. 

Gon. There is further compliment of leave- 
taking between France and him. Pray you, let's 
hit together : if our father carry authority with 
such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender 
of his will but offend us. 310 

Reg. We shall further think on't. 

Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The Earl of Gloucester's cattle. 
Etiter Edmund, with a letter. 

Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy 
law 
My services are bound. Wherefore should I 
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit 
The curiosity of nations to deprive me, 
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon- 
shines 
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base ? 
When my dimensions are as well compact, 
My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us 
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? 
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 11 

More composition and fierce quality 
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, 
Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, 
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land : 
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund 
As to the legitimate : fine word, — legitimate ! 
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 20 
Shall top the legitimate. I grow ; I prosper : 
Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glou. Kent banish'd thus! and France in 
choler parted ! 
And the king gone to-night! subscribed his 

power ! 
Confined to exhibition ! All this done 
Upon the gad ! Edmund, how now ! what news? 
Edm. So please your lordship, none. 

[Putting up the letter. 
Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up 

that letter? 
Edm. I know no news, my lord. 
Glou. What paper were you reading? 30 



Edm. Nothing, my lord. 

Glou. No? What needed, then, that terrible 
dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of 
nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's 
see : come, if it be nothing, I shall not need 
spectacles. 

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a 
letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er- 
read ; and for so much as I. have perused, I find 
it not fit for your o'er-looking. 40 

Glou. Give me the letter, sir. 

Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give 
it. The contents, as in part I understand them, 
are to blame. 

Glou. Let's see, let's see. 

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, 
he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. 

Glou. [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of 
age makes the world bitter to the best of our 
times ; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness 
cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and 
fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; 
who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is 
suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak 
more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, 
you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and 
live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.' 

Hum — conspiracy! — 'Sleep till I waked him, — 
you should enjoy half his revenue,' — My son 
Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart 
and brain to breed it in? — When came this to 
you? who brought it? 

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord : there 's 
the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the 
casement of my closet. 

Glou. You know the character to be your 
brother's ? 

Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I 
durst swear it were his ; but, in respect of that, I 
would fain think it were not. 70 

Glou. It is his. 

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his 
heart is not in the contents. 

Glou. Hath he never heretofore sounded you 
in this business? 

Edm. Never, my lord : but I have heard him 
oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, 
and fathers declining, the father should be as 
ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. 

Glou. O villain, villain ! His very opinion in 
the letter ! Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, de- 
tested, brutish villain ! worse than brutish ! Go, 
sirrah, seek him ; I '11 apprehend him : abomin- 
able villain! Where is he? 

Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it 
shall please you to suspend your indignation 
against my brother till you can derive from him 
better testimony of his intent, you shall run a 
certain course ; where, if you violently proceed 
against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make 
a great gap in your own honour, and shake in 
pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn 
down my life for him, that he hath wrote this to 
feel my affection to your honour, and to no fur- 
ther pretence of danger. 

Glou. Think you so? 

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will 
place you where you shall hear us confer of this, 
and by an auricular assurance have your satis- 



j Scene ir.] 



KING LEAR. 



851 



! faction ; and that without any further delay than 
this very evening. 101 

; Glou. He cannot be such a monster — 

Edm. Nor is not, sure. 

Glou. To his father, that so tenderly and 
! entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Ed- 
mund, seek him out: wind me into him, I pray 
you : frame the business after your own wisdom. 
I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution. 

Edm. 1 will seek him, sir, presently; convey 
the business as I shall find means, and acquaint 
you withal. 111 

Glou. These late eclipses in the sun and moon 
portend no good to us: though the wisdom <>? na- 
ture can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds 
itself scourged by the sequent effects : love cools, 
friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mu- 
tinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; 
and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This 
villain of mine comes under the prediction ; there's 
son against father: the king falls from bias of 
nature; there's father against child. We have 
seen the best of our time : machinations, hollow- 
ness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow 
us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, 
Edmund ; it shall lose thee nothing ; do it care- 
fully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent 
banished ! his offence, honesty ! 'Tis strange. 

[Exit. 

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the 
world, that, when we are sick in fortune, — often 
the surfeit of our own behaviour, — we make guilty 
of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars : 
as if we were villains by necessity ; fools by hea- 
venly compulsion ; knaves, thieves, and treachers. 
by spherical predominance ; drunkards, liars, and 
adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary 
influence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine 
thrusting on : an admirable evasion of whorc- 
master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the 
charge of a star ! My father compounded with 
my mother under the dragon's tail ; and my na- 
tivity was under Ursa major; so that it fol- 
lows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should 
have been that I am, had the maidenliest v star 
in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. 
Edgar — 

Enter Edgar. 
and pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old 
comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a 
sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do 
portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. 

Edg. How now, brother Edmund ! what se- 
rious contemplation are you in? 151 

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction 
I read this other day, what should follow these 
eclipses. 

Edg. Do you busy yourself about that ? 

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of 
succeed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between 
the child and the parent ; death, dearth, dissolu- 
tions of ancient amities ; divisions in state, me- 
naces and maledictions against king and nobles; 
needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissi- 
pation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know 
not what. 

Edg. How long have you been a sectary as- 
tronomical? 



Edm. 
last? 
Edg. 

7: dm. 

Edg. 
Edm. 



Come, come ; when saw you my father 



Why, the night gone by. 

Spake you with him? 
Ay, two hours together. 170 

Parted you in good terms? Found you 
no displeasure in him by word or countenance? 

Edg. None at all. 

Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have 
offended him : and at my entreaty forbear his 
presence till some little time hath qualified the 
heat of his displeasure ; which at this instant so 
rageth in him, that with the mischief of your 
person it would scarcely allay. 

Edg, Some villain hath done me wrong. 180 

Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a 
continent forbearance till the speed of his rage 
goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my 
lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to 
hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my 
key: if you do stir abroad, go armed. 

Edg. Armed, brother ! 

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best; go 
armed : I am no honest man if there be any good 
meaning towards you : I have told you what I 
have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like 
the image and horror of it : pray you, away. 

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ? 

Edm. I do serve you in this business. 

[Exit Edgar. 
A credulous father ! and a brother noble, 
Whose nature is so far from doing harms, 
That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty 
My practices ride easy ! I see the business. 
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 199 
All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. [Exit. 

Scene III. The Duke of A lba?iy's palace. 
Enter Gonerii., ^r«i Oswald, her steward. 
Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for 

chiding of his fool ? 
Os-w. Yes, madam. 

Gon. By day and night he wrongs me ; every 
hour 
He flashes into one gross crime or other, 
That sets us all at odds : I'll not endure it : 
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, 
I will not speak with him; say I am sick : 
If you come slack of former services, 
You shall do well ; the fault of it 1 11 answer. 10 
Os7v. He's coming, madam; 1 hear him. 

[ Horns within. 
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. 
You and your fellows; I 'Id have it come to ques- 
tion: 
If he dislike it. let him to our sister, 
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
Not to he over-ruled. Idle old man, 
That still would manage those authorities 
That he hath given away ! Now, by my life, 
Old fools are babes again ; and must be used 
With checks as flatteries, — when they are seen 
abused. 20 

Remember what I tell you. 

' 'jw, Well, madam. 

Gon. .And let his knights have colder looks 
among you ; 

54 — - 



8 5 2 



KING LEAR. 



[Act 



What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows 

so: 
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, 
That I may speak : I '11 write straight to my sister, 
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A hall in the same. 

Enter Kent, disguised. 

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 

That can my speech defuse, my good intent 

May carry through itself to that full issue 

For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd 

Kent, 
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand con- 

demn'd, 
So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, 
Shall find thee full of labours. 

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, 
and Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get 
it ready. {Exit an Attendant.] How now! 
what art thou? 10 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess? what wouldst 
thou with us? 

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; 
to serve him truly that will put me in trust ; to 
love him that is honest; to converse with him 
that is wise, and says little ; to fear judgement ; 
to fight when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. 

Lear. What art thou? 

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as 
poor as the king. _ bi 

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject as he is 
for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst 
thou? 

Kent. Service. 

Lear. Who wouldst thou serve ? 

Kent. You. 

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow? 

Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your 
countenance which I would fain call master. 30 

Lear. What's that? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What services canst thou do? 

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, 
mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain 
message bluntly: that which ordinary men are 
fit for, I am qualified in ; and the best of me is 
diligence. 

Lear. How old art thou? 39 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing : 
I have years on my back forty eight. 

Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I 
like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part 
from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's 
my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool 
hither. [Exit an Attendant. 

Enter Oswald. 
You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter? 

Os7v. So please you, — [Exit. 

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the 
clotpoll back. [Exit a Knight.] Where's my 
fool, ho ? I think the world 's asleep. 



Re-enter Knight. 

How now ! where 's that mongrel? 

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is 
not well. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me 
when I called him. 

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest 
manner, he would not. 

Lear. He would not ! 60 

Knight. My lord, I know not what the mat- 
ter is; but, to my judgement, your highness is 
not entertained with that ceremonious affection 
as you were wont ; there 's a great abatement of 
kindness appears as well in the general depend- 
ants as in the duke himself also and your 
daughter. 

Lear. Ha ! sayest thou so ? 

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, 
if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent 
when I think your highness wronged. 71 

Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own 
conception : I have perceived a most faint neglect 
of late ; which I have rather blamed as mine own 
jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and pur- 
pose of unkindness: I will look further into't. 
But where's my fool? I have not seen him this 
two days. 

Knight. Since my young lady's going into 
France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. 80 

Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it well. 
Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with 
her. [Exit an Attendant.] Go you, call hither 
my fool. [Exit an Attendant. 

Re-enter Oswald. 
O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, 
sir? 

Osw. My lady's father. 

Lear. 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: 
you whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 

Osw. I am none of these, my lord ; I beseech 
your pardon. 91 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you 
rascal? [Striking him. 

Osw. I '11 not be struck, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball 
player. [ Tripping up his heels. 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, 
and I '11 love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ! I '11 teach you 
differences : away, away ! If you will measure 
your lubber's length again, tarry : but away ! go 
to; have you wisdom? so. [Pushes Oswald out. 

Lear. Now. my friendly knave, I thank thee: 
there 's earnest of thy service. 

[Giving Kent money. 

Enter Fool. 

Fool. Let me hire him too: here's my cox- 
comb. [Offering Kent his cap. 

Lear. How now, my pretty knave ! how dost 
thou? 

Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 

Kent. Why, fool? _ no 

Fool. Why, for taking one's part that's out of 
favour : nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind 
sits, thou 'It catch cold shortly: there, take my 



Scene iv.] 



KING LEAR. 



853 



coxcomb : why, this fellow has banished two on 's 
daughters, and did the third a blessing against 
his will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear 
my coxcomb. How now, nuncle ! Would I had 
two coxcombs and two daughters ! 
Lear. Why, my boy? 119 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I 'Id keep 
my coxcombs myself. There 's mine ; beg another 
of thy daughters. 

Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
Fool. Truth 's a dog must to kennel ; he must 
be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand 
by the fire and stink. 
Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 
Fool. Sirrah, 1 '11 teach thee a speech. 
Lear. Do. 

Fool. Mark it, nuncle : 130 

Have more than thou showest, 
Speak less than thou knowest, 
Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest, 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou throwest ; 
Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
And keep in-a-door, 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 140 

Kent. This is nothing, fool. 
Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd 
lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you 
make no use of nothing, nuncle? 

Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made 
out of nothing. 

Fool. [To Kent] Prithee, tell him, so much 
the rent of his land comes to : he will not believe 
a fool. 

. Lear. A bitter fool ! 150 

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, 
between a bitter fool and a sweet fool ? 
Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
Fool. That lord that counseled thee 
To give away thy land, 
Come place him here by me, 

Do thou for him stand : 
The sweet and bitter fool 
Will presently appear ; 
The one in motley here, 160 

The other found out there. 
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away ; 
that thou wast born with. 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
Fool. No, faith, lords and great men will not 
let me ; if I had a monopoly out, they would have 
part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me 
have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. 
Give me an egg, nuncle, and I '11 give thee two 
crowns. 171 

Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the 
middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of 
the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the 
middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest 
thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt : thou hadst little 
wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy 
golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, 
let him be whipped that first finds it so. 1S0 

[Singing] Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; 
For wise men are grown foppish, 



They know not how their wits to wear, 
Their manners are so apish. 
Lear. When were you wont to be so full of 
songs, sirrah? 

Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou 
madest thy daughters thy mothers : for when thou 
gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own 
breeches, 190 

[Singing] Then they for sudden joy did weep, 
And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-peep, 
And go the fools among. 
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can 
teach thy fool to lie : I would fain learn to lie. 

Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you 
whipped. 

Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daugh- 
ters are : they'll have me whipped for speaking 
true, thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and 
sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. 
I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool : and 
yet I would not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared 
thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the mid- 
dle : here comes one o' the parings. 

Enter Goneril. 

Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes that 
frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late 
i' the frown. 209 

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou 
hadst no need to care for her frowning ; now thou 
art an O without a figure : I am better than thou 
art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. [To Gon.] 
Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue ; so your 
face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, 
mum, 

He that keeps nor crust nor crum, 
Weary of all, shall want some. 
[Pointing to Lear] That's a shealed peascod. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, 
But other of your insolent retinue 221 

Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, 
I had thought, bymakingthiswellknownuntoyou, 
To have found a safe redress; but now grow 

fearful, 
By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
That you protedt this course, and put it on 
By your allowance ; which if you should, the fault 
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 230 
Might in their working do you that offence, 
Which else were shame, that then necessity 
Will call discreet proceeding. 

Fool. For, you trow, nuncle, 

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
That it's had it head bit off by it young. 
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 

Lear. Are you our daughter? 

Gon. Come, sir, 239 

I would you would make use of that good wisdom, 
Whereof I know you are fraught ; and put away 
These dispositions, that of late transform you 
From what you rightly are. 

Fool. May not an ass know when the cart 
draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. 

Lear. Doth any here know me? This is not 
Lear : 



854 



KING LEAR. 



[Act 



Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are 

his eyes? 
Either his notion weakens, his discermngs 
Are lethargied— Ha ! waking? 'tis not so. 
Who is it that can tell me who I am? 250 

Fool. Lear's shadow. 

Lear. I would learn that ; for, by the marks 
of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should 
be false persuaded I had daughters. 

Fool. Which they will make an obedient 
father. 

Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman.^ 

Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the fa- 

V0Ur , T ■> -. -L 

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
To understand my purposes aright : 260 

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. 
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, 
That this our court, infecled with their manners, 
Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel 
Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth 

speak 
For instant remedy : be then desired 
By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 
A little to disquantity your train ; 270 

And the remainder, that shall still depend, 
To be such men as may besort your age, 
And know themselves and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils ! 

Saddle my horses ; call my train together. 
Degenerate bastard ! I '11 not trouble thee : 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people ; and your dis- 
order'd rabble 
Make servants of their betters. 

Enter Albany. 
Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — [To Alb.~\ 
O, sir, are you come ? 
Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. 
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, 281 

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child 
Than the sea-monster ! 

Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. 

Lear. {To Gon.] Detested kite! thou liest: 
My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
That all particulars of duty know, 
And in the most exacfl regard support 
The worships of their name. O most small fault, 
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! 289 

That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 
From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love, 
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 

[Striking his head. 
I And thy dear judgement out ! Go, go, my people. 
Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath moved you. 

Lear. It may be so, my lord. 

Hear, nature, hear ; dear goddess, hear ! 
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 
To make this creature fruitful ! 
Into her womb convey sterility ! 3°° 

Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 
And from her derogate body never spring 
A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, 
Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, 



And be a thwart disnatured torment to her ! 
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits 
To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 310 

To have a thankless child ! Away, away ! [Exit. 

Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes 
this? 

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause ; 
But let his disposition have that scope 
That dotage gives it. 

Re-enter Lear. 
Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap ! 
Within a fortnight ! 

Alb. What's the matter, sir? 

Lear. I'll tell thee: [To Gon.] Life and 
death ! I am ashamed 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus ; 
That these hot tears, which break from me per- 
force, 320 
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs 

upon thee ! 
The untented woundings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee ! Old fond eyes, 
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, 
And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this? 
Let it be so : yet have I left a daughter, 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable : 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find 
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
I have cast off for ever : thou shalt, I warrant thee. 
[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. 
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord? 
Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
To the great love I bear you, — 

Gon. Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho ! 
[ To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fooi, 
after your master. 
Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and 
take the fool with thee. 

A fox, when one has caught her, 340 

And such a daughter, 
Should sure to the slaughter, 
If my cap would buy a halter : 
So the fool follows after. [Exit. 

Gon. This man hath had good counsel: — a 
hundred knights ! 
'Tis politic and safe to let him keep 
At point a hundred knights : yes, that, on every 

dream, 
Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 
He may enguard his dotage with their powers, 
And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say ! 
A lb. Well, you may fear too far. 
Gon. Safer than trust too far: 351 

Let me still take away the harms I fear, 
Not fear still to be taken : I know his heart. 
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister : 
If she sustain him and his hundred knights, 
When I have show'd the unfitness, — ■ 

Re-enter Oswald. 

How now, Oswald ! 
What, have you writ that letter to my sister? 
Osw. Yes, madam. 



Scene iv.] 



KING LEAR. 



855 



Gon. Take you some company, and away to 
horse : 
Inform her full of my particular fear ; 360 

And thereto add such reasons of your own 
As may compact it more. Get you gone : 
And hasten your return. [Exit Oswald.] No, 

no, my lord, 
This milky gentleness and course of yours 
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, 
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom 
Than praised for harmful mildness. 

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot 
tell: 
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. 

Gon. Nay, then — 370 

Alb. Well, well; the event. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Court before the same. 
Enter Leak, Kent, and Fool. 

Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with these 
letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with 
any thing you know than comes from her demand 
out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, 
I shall be there afore you. 

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have 
delivered your letter. [Exit. 

Fool. If a man's brains were in's heels, were't 
not in danger of kibes? 

Lear. Ay, boy. 10 

Fool. Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall 
ne'er go slip-shod. 

Lear. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use 
thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a 
crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 

Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? 

Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does 
to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands 
i' the middle on's face ? 20 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side 's 
nose ; that what a man cannot smell out, he may 
spy into. 

Lear. I did her wrong — 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his 
shell? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail 
has a house. 30 

Lear. Why? 

Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it 
away to his daughters, and leave his horns with- 
out a case. 

Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a 
father! Be my horses ready? 

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The 
reason why the seven stars are no more than seven 
is a pretty reason. 

Lear. Because they are not eight? 40 

Fool. Yes, indeed : thou wouldst make a good 
fool. 

Lear. To take *t again perforce ! Monster 
ingratitude ! 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I 'Id have 
thee beaten for being old before thy time. 

Lear. How 's that? 

Fool. Th hi shouldst not have been old till 
thou hadst been v ise. 



Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet 
heaven ! 50 

Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! 

Enter Gentleman. 
How now ! are the horses ready? 
Gent. Ready, my lord. 
Lear. Come, boy. 

Fool. She that's a maid now, and laughs at 
my departure, 
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut 
shorter. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. 
Enter Edmund, and Cukan meets him. 

Edm. Save thee, Curan. 

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your 
father, and given him notice that the Duke of 
Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here 
with him this night. 

Edm. How comes that? 

Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of 
the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, 
for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? 

Edm. Not I : pray you, what are they? 10 

Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars to- 
ward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? 

Edm. Not a word. 

Cur. You may do, then, in time. Fare you 
well, sir. [Exit. 

Edm. The duke be here to-night? The bet- 
ter ! best ! 
This weaves itself perforce into my business. 
.My father hath set guard to take my brother; 
And I have one thing, of a queasy question, 
Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! 
Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! 21 

Enter Edgar. 
My father watches : O sir, fly this place ; 
Intelligence is given where you are hid ; 
You Have now the good advantage of the night: 
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Corn- 
wall? 
He's coming hither ; now, i' the night, i' the haste, 
And Regan with him: have you nothing said 
Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany ? 
Advise yourself. 

Edg. I am sure on't, not a word. 

Edm. I hear my father coming: pardon me; 
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you : 31 
Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you 

well. \ 

Yield : come before my father. Light, ho, here ! 
Fly, brother. Torches, torches ! So, farewell. 

[Exit Edgar. 
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 

[ // 'ontids his arm. 
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen 

drunkards 
Do more than this in sport. Father, father ! 
Stop, stop ! No help? 

Enter Gloucester, and Servants with t 
Glou. Now, Edmund, where 's the villain? 



Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp 
sword out, 40 

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
To stand auspicious mistress, — 

Glou. But where is he ? 

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 

Glou. Where is the villain, Edmund? 

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means 
he could — 

Glou. Pursue him, ho ! Go after. [Exeunt 
some Servants.] By no means what? 

Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your 
lordship ; 
But that I told him, the revenging gods 
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ; 
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
The child was bound to the father ; sir, in fine, 50 
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, 
With his prepared sword, he charges home 
My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: 
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, 
Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the en- 
counter, 
Or whether gasted by the noise I made, 
Full suddenly he fled. 

Glou. Let him fly far : 

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ; 
And found — dispatch. The noble duke my master, 
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night : 61 
By his authority I will proclaim it, 
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, 
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ; 
He that conceals him, death. 

Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent, 
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech 
I threaten'd to discover him : he replied, 
' Thou unpossessing bastard ! dost thou think, 
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal 
Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee 71 

Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should 

deny, — 
As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce 
My very character, — I 'Id turn it all 
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice : 
And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
If they not thought the profits of my death 
Were very pregnant and potential spurs 
To make thee seek it.' 

Glou. Strong and fasten'd villain ! 

Would he deny his letter? I never got him. 80 

[ Tticket within. 

Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why he 

comes. 
All ports I '11 bar ; the villain shall not 'scape ; 
The duke must grant me that : besides, his picture 
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
May have due note of him ; and of my land, 
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means 
To make thee capable. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. 

Corn. How now, my noble friend ! since I 

came hither, 

Which I can call but now, I have heard strange 

news. 

Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too 

short 90 



Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my 
lord? 
Glou. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's 

crack' d ! 
Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your 
life? 
He whom my father named? your Edgar? 

Glou. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid ! 
Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous 
knights 
That tend upon my father? 

Glou. I know not, madam : 'tis too bad, too 

bad. 
Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. 
Reg. No marvel, then, though he were ill af- 
fected : 100 
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, 
To have the expense and waste of his revenues. 
I have this present evening from my sister 
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cau- 
tions, 
That if they come to sojourn at my house, 
I'll not be there. 

Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. 

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
A child-like office. 

Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 

Glou. He did bewray his practice; and re- 
ceived 
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. no 
Corn. Is he pursued? 
Glou. Ay, my good lord. 

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more 
Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose, 
How in my strength you please. For you, Ed- 
mund, 
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
So much commend itself, you shall be ours : 
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
You we first seize on. 

Edm. I shall serve you, sir, 

Truly, however else. 

Glou. For him I thank your grace. 

Corn. You know not why we came to visit 
you, — 120 

Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed 
night : 
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, 
Wherein we must have use of your advice : 
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
Of differences, which I best thought it fit 
To answer from our home ; the several messen- 
gers 
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, 
Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
Your needful counsel to our business, 
Which craves the instant use. 

Glou. I serve you, madam : 130 

Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Before Gloticester's castle. 
Enter Kent and Oswald, severally. 
Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend: art of 
this house? 
Kent. Ay. 

Osw. Where may we set our horses? 
Kent. V the mire. 
Osw. Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. 



Scene n.] 



KING LEAR. 



857 



Kent. I love thee not. 

Osw. Why, then, I care not for thee. 

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I 
would make thee care for me. 10 

Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know 
thee not. 

Kent. Fellow, I know thee. 

Osw. What dost thou know me for? 

Kent. A knave ; a rascal ; an eater of broken 
meats ; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three- 
suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking 
knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a 
whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical 
rogue ; one-trunk-inheriting slave ; one that 
wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and 
art nothing but the composition of a knave, 
beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of 
a mongrel bitch : one whom I will beat into 
clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syl- 
lable of thy addition. 

Os?v. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, 
thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee 
nor knows thee ! 29 

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, 
to deny thou knowest me ! Is it two days ago 
since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee 
before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though 
it be night, yet the moon shines; I'll make a 
sop o' the moonshine of you : draw, you whore- 
son cullionly barber-monger, draw. 

[Drawing his sword. 

Osw. Away ! I have nothing to do with thee. 

Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with let- 
ters against the king ; and take vanity the puppet's 
part against the royalty of her father : draw, you 
rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks: draw, 
you rascal ; come your ways. 

Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! help ! 

Kent. Strike, you slave ; stand, rogue, stand ; 
you neat slave, strike. [Beating him. 

Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! murder ! 

Enter Edmund, •with his rapier drawn, Corn- 
wall, Regan, Gloucester, and Servants. 

Edm. How now ! What's the matter? 

Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please : 
come, I '11 flesh ye ; come on, young master. 

Gton. Weapons ! arms ! What 's the matter 
here ? 51 

Com. Keep peace, upon your lives : 
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter? 

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the 
king. 

Com. What is your difference? speak. 

Os7v. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred your 
valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims 
in thee : a tailor made thee. 60 

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor 
make a man? 

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or a 
painter could not have made him so ill, though 
he had been but two hours at the trade. 

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? 

Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I 
have spared at suit of his gray beard, — 

Kent. Thou whoreson zed I thou unnecessary 
letter ! My lord, if you will give me leave, 1 will 
tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub 



the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my gray 
beard, you wagtail? 

Com. Peace, sirrah ! 
You beastly knave, know you no reverence? 

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. 

Corn. Why art thou angry ? 

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a 
sword, 
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as 

these, 
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain 80 

Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every 

passion 
That in the natures of their lords rebel ; 
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; 
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
With every gale and vary of their masters, 
Knowing nought, like dogs, but following. 
A plague upon your epileptic visage ! 
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? 
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
I 'Id drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 90 

Com. What, art thou mad, old fellow? 

Glou. How fell you out? say that. 

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy 
Than I and such a knave. 

Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's 
his offence? 

Kent. His countenance likes me not. 

Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor 
his, nor hers. 

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain : 
I have seen better faces in my time 
Than stands on any shoulder that I see 100 

Before me at this instant. 

Com. This is some fellow, 

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth 

affect 
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
Quite from his nature : he cannot flatter, he, 
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth ! 
An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. 
These kind of knaves I know, which in this 

plainness 
Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends 
Than twenty silly ducking observants 
That stretch their duties nicely. no 

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 
Under the allowance of your great aspect, 
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant tire 
On flickering Phoebus' front, — 

Corn. What mean'st by this? 

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you 
discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no 
flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent 
was a plain knave; which for my part I will 
not be, though I should win your displeasure to 
entreat me to't. 120 

Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? 

Osw. I never gave him any : ' 
It pleased the king his master very late 
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction : 
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, r.uTd, 
And put upon him such a deal of man. 
That worthied him, got praises of the king 
For him attempting who was self-subdued; 
And, in the Seshment of tin's dread exploit, 130 
Drew on me here again. 



KING LEAR. 



[Act ii. 



Kent. None of these rogues and cowards 

But Ajax is their fool. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! 

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend brag- 
gart, 
We'll teach you — 

Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn : 

Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
On whose employment I was sent to you : 
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice 
Against the grace and person of my master, 
Stocking his messenger. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life 
and honour, 140 

There shall he sit till noon. 

Reg. Till noon ! till night, my lord ; and all 

night too. 
Ke?it. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, 
You should not use me so. 

Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 

Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the 
stocks ! [Stocks brought out. 

Glou. Let me beseech your grace not to do so : 
His fault is much, and the good king his master 
Will check him for't: your purposed low cor- 
rection 
Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches 150 
For pilferings and most common trespasses 
Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill, 
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, 
Should have him thus restrain'd. 

Com. I '11 answer that. 

Reg. My sister may receive it much more 
worse, 
To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, 
For following her affairs. Put in his legs. 

[Kent is put in the stocks. 
Come, my good lord, away. 

[Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent. 
Glou. I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the 
duke's pleasure, 
Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 160 
Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd : I '11 entreat for 
thee. 
Kent. Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and 
travell'd hard ; 
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels : 
Give you good morrow ! 

Glou. The duke 's to blame in this ; 'twill be 
ill taken. [Exit. 

Kent. Good king, that must approve the com- 
mon saw, 
Thou out of heaven's benediction comest 
To the warm sun ! 

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 170 
That by thy comfortable beams I may 
Peruse this letter ! Nothing almost sees miracles 
But misery : I know 'tis from Cordelia, 
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 
Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
+ From this enormous state, seeking to give 
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er- 

watch'd, 
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
This shameful lodging. 

Fortune, good night : smile once more : turn thy 
wheel ! [Sleeps. 180 



Scene III. A wood. 

Enter Edgar. 

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd; 
And by the happy hollow of a tree 
Escaped the hunt. No port is free ; no place, 
That guard, and most unusual vigilance, 
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 

'scape, 
I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
To take the basest and most poorest shape 
That ever penury, in contempt of man, 
Brought near to -beast: my face I'll grime with 

filth; 
Blanket my loins ; elf all my hair in knots ; 10 
And with presented nakedness out-face 
The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
The country gives me proof and precedent 
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; 
And with this horrible object, from low farms, 
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, 
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with 

prayers, 
Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod ! poor 

Tom ! 20 

That 's something yet : Edgar I nothing am. 

[Exit. 

Scene IV. Before Gloucester's castle, Kent 
in the stocks. 

Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

Lear. 'Tis strange that they should so depart 
from home, 
And not send back my messenger. 

Gent. As I learn'd, 

The night before there was no purpose in them 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 

Lear. Ha ! 
Makest thou this shame thy pastime? 

Kent. No, my lord. 

Fool. Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses 
are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, 
monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs : when 
a man's over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden 
nether-stocks. 11 

Lear. What's he that hath so much thy place 
mistook 
To set thee here ? 

Kent. It is both he and she ; 

Your son and daughter. 

Lear. No. 

Kent... Yes. 

Lear. No, I say. 

Kent. I say, yea. 

Lear. No, no, they would not. 

Kent. Yes, they have. 20 

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 

Lear. They durst not do't ; 

They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than 

murder, 
To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
Coming from us. 



Scene iv.] 



KING LEAR. 



Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
Ere I. was risen from the place that show'd 
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 30 
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
From Goncril his mistress salutations ; 
Delivered letters, spite of intermission, 
Which presently they read : on whose contents, 
They summon' d up their meiny, straight took 

horse ; 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
And meeting here the other messenger, 
Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'dmine, — 
Being the very fellow that of late 40 

Display'd so saucily against your highness, — 
Having more man than wit about me, drew : 
He raised the house with loud and coward cries. 
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
The shame which here it suffers. 

Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese 
fly that way. 

Fathers that wear rags 

Do make their children blind ; 
But fathers that bear bags 50 

Shall see their children kind. 
Fortune, that arrant whore, 
Ne'er turns the key to the poor. 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours 
for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year. 
Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward 
my heart! 
Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow, 
Thy element's below ! Where is this daughter? 
Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
Lear. Follow me not ; 

Stay here. [Exit. 60 

Gent. Made you no more offence but what 
you speak of? 

Kent. None. 
How chance the king comes with so small a train? 
Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for 
that question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
Kent. Why, fool? 

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to 
teach thee there's no labouring i' the winter. 
All that follow their noses are led by their eyes 
but blind men; and there's not a nose among | 
twenty but can smell him that's stinking. Let 
go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, 
lest it break thy neck with following it ; but the 
great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee 
after. When a wise man gives thee better coun- 
sel, give me mine again: I would have none but 
knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 

That sir which serves and seeks for gain, 

And follows but for form, 80 

Will pack when it begins to rain, 

And leave thee in the storm. 
But I will tarry ; the fool will stay, 

And let the wise man fly : 
The knave turns fool that runs away ; 
The fool no knave, perdy. 
Kent Where learned you this, fool? 
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 

Re-enter Lear, with Gloucester. 
Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are 
sick? they are weary? 



They have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches ; 
The images of revolt and flying off. 91 

Fetch me a better answer. 

Glou. My dear lord, 

You know the fiery quality of the duke; 
How unremoveable and fix'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! 
Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Glou- 
cester, 
I 'Id speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his 
wife. 
Glou. Well, my good lord, I have inforni'd 

them so. 
Lear. Inform' d them ! Dost thou understand 
me, man '.' 100 

Glou, Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; 
the dear father 
Would with his daughter speak, commands her 

service : 
Are they inform'd of this ? My breath and blood ! 
Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that— 
No, but not yet : may be he is not well: 
Infirmity doth still neglect all office 
Whereto our health is bound; we are not our- 
selves 
When nature, being oppress' d, commands the 

mind 
To suffer with the body : I'll forbear ; no 

And am fall'n out with my more headier will. 
To take the indisposed and sickly fit 
For the sound man. Death on my state ! where- 
fore [Looking- on Kent. 
Should he sit here? This act persuades me 
That this remotion of the duke and her 
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. 
Go tell the duke and 's wife I 'Id speak with them. 
Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear 

me, 
Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum 
Till it cry sleep to death. 120 

Glou. I would have all well betwixt you. [Exit. 
Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, 

down ! 
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to 
the eels when she put 'em i' the paste alive ; she 
knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and 
cried 'Down, wantons, down!' 'Twas her bro- 
ther that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered 
his hay. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and 
Servants. 
/ ear. Good morrow to you both. 
Corn. Hail to your grace ! 

[Kent is set at /'.' 
Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 130 

Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what 
reason 
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
Sepulchring an adultress. [ To Kent] ( ), are you 

free? 
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, 
Thy sister's naught: <> Regan, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here: 

[Points to /lis heart. 
I can scarce speak to thee ; thou 'It not believe 



86o 



KING LEAR. 



[Act ii. 



With how depraved a quality — O Regan ! 
Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience : I have 
hope 140 

You less know how to value her desert 
Than she to scant her duty. 

Lear. Say, how is that? 

Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least 
Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance 
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My curses on her ! 

Reg. O, sir, you are old ; 

Nature in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine : you should be ruled and led 150 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you, 
That to our sister you do make return ; 
Say you have wrong'd her, sir. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? 

Do you but mark how this becomes the house : 
' Dear daughter, I confess that I am old ; 

[Kneeling. 
Age is unnecessary : on my knees I beg 
That you '11 vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.' 

Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly 
tricks : 
Return you to my sister. 

Lear. [Rising] Never, Regan: 160 

She hath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her 

tongue, 
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : 
All the stored vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones, 
You taking airs, with lameness ! 

Com. Fie, sir, fie ! 

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blind- 
ing flames 
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
To fall and blast her pride ! 170 

Reg. O the blest gods ! so will you wish on 
me, 
When the rash mood is on. 

Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my 
curse : 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness : her eyes are fierce ; but 

thine 
Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee 
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, • 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 
And in conclusion to oppose the bolt 
Against my coming in : thou better know'st 180 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
Wherein I thee endow'd. 

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ? 

[Tucket within. 

Corn. What trumpet's that? 

Reg. I know't, my sister's: this approves her 
letter, 
That she would soon be here. 

Enter Oswald. 

Is your lady come? 



Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd 
pride 
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. 
Out, varlet, from my sight [ 



Corn. 



What means 



your grace .' 190 



Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I 
have good hope 
Thou didst not know on't. Who comes here? 

heavens, 

Enter Goneril. 
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, 
Make it your cause; send down, and take my 

part ! 
[To Gon.~\ Art not ashamed to look upon this 

beard? 

Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 

Gou. Why not by the hand, sir? How have 

1 offended? 

All's not offence that indiscretion finds 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. O sides, you are too tough ; 200 

Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the 
stocks? 

Com. I set him there, sir : but his own dis- 
orders 
Deserved much less advancement. 

Lear. You ! did you? 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your month, 
You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me : 

1 am now from home, and out of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 211 

To wage against the enmity 0' the air ; 
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
Necessity's sharp pinch ! Return with her? 
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
To keep base life afoot. Return with her? 
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
To this detested groom. [Pointing at Oswald. 

Gon. At your choice, sir. 220 

Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me 
mad : 
I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
We'll no more meet, no more see one another: 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter ; 
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, 
Which I must needs call mine : thou art a boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, 
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; 
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: 
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 230 

Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
Mend when thou canst ; be better at thy leisure : 
I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
I and my hundred knights. 

Reg. Not altogether so : 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister ; 
For those that mingle reason with your passion 
Must be content to think you old, and so — ■ 
But she knows what she does. 

Lear. Is this well spoken ? 



Scene iv.] 



KIKG LEAR. 



Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty fol- 
lowers ? 240 
Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one 

house, 
Should many people, under two commands, 
Hold amity? 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. 
Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive 
attendance 
From those that she calls servants or from mine ? 
Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanced 
to slack you, 
We could control them. If you will come to 

me, — 
For now I spy a danger, — I entreat you 250 

To bring but five and twenty : to no more 
Will I give place or notice. 
Lear. I gave you all — 

Reg . And in good time you gave it. 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my deposi- 
taries ; 
But kept a reservation to be followed 
With such a number. What, must I come to you 
With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? 
Reg. And speak 't again, my lord; no more 

with me. 

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look 

well-favour'd, 

When others are more wicked; not being the 

worn 260 

Stands in some rank of praise. [To Gon.'] I'll 

go with thee : 
Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord : 

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, 
To follow in a house where twice so many 
Have a command to tend you ? 
Reg. What need one? 

Lear. O, reason not the need: our basest 
beggars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life's as cheap as beast's : thou art a lady; 
If only to go warm were gorgeous, 271 

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous 

wear'st, 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true 

need, — 
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I 

need ! 
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Against their father, fool me not so much 
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, 
And let not women's weapons, water-drops, 280 
Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both, 
That all the world shall — I will do such things, — 
What they arc, yet I know not; but they shall be 
The terrors of the earth. You think I '11 weep ; 
No, I'll not weep: 

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
Or ere I'll weep. () fool, I shall go mad ! 

[Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool. 
Storm and tempest. 



Com. Let us withdraw ; 'twill be a storm. 290 
Reg. This house is little : the old man and 
his people 
Cannot be well bestow'd. 

Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; hath put himself 
from rest, 
And must needs taste his folly. 

Reg. For his particular, I '11 receive him 
gladly, 
But not one follower. 

Gon. So am I purposed. 

Where is my lord of ( rloucester? 

Com. Follow'd the old man forth : he is re- 
turn'd. 

Re-enter Gloucester. 
Glou. The king is in high rage. 
Corn. Whither is he going? 

Glou. He calls to horse; but will I know not 
whither. 300 

Com. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads 

himself. 
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to 

stay. 
Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the 
bleak winds 
Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
There's scarce a bush. 

Reg. O, sir, to wilful men, 

The injuries that they themselves procure 
Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors : 
He is attended with a desperate train ; 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear. 310 
Cor?/.. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a 
wild night: 
My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. A heath. 

Storm still. Enter Kfxt and a Gentleman, 
meeting. 

Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather? 

Gent. One minded like the weather, most 
unquietly. 

Kent. I know you. Where's the king? 

Gent. Contending with the fretful element: 
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, 
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main. 
That things might change or cease; tears his 

white hair, 
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, 
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; 
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 10 
The to-and-fro-conflicling wind and rain. 
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would 

couch, 
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs. 
Ami bids what will take all. 

Kent. But who is with him? 

Gent. None but the fool ; who labours to out- 
jest 
His heart-struck injuries. 

Kent. Sir, I do know you; 

And il are, upon the warrant of my 1 



862 



KING LEAR. 



[Act hi. 



Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 20 

With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Corn- 
wall; 
Who have — as who have not, that their great stars 
Throned and set high? — servants, who seem no 

_ less, 
Which are to France the spies and speculations 
Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen, 
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes, 
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
Against the old kind king; or something deeper, 
Whereof perchance these are but furnishings ; 
But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already, 31 
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
In some of our best ports, and are at point 
To show their open banner. Now to you : 
If on my credit you dare build so far 
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
Some that will thank you, making just report 
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 
The king hath cause to plain. 
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; 40 

And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer 
This office to you. 

Gent. I will talk further with you. 

Kent. No, do not. 

For confirmation that I am much more 
Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take 
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, — 
As fear not but you shall, — show her this ring ; 
And she will tell you who your fellow is 
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm ! 
I will go seek the king. 50 

Gent. Give me your hand : have you no more 
to say? 

Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than 
all yet ; 
That, when we have found the king, — in which 

your pain 
That way, I '11 this, — he that first lights on him 
Holla the other. [Exewit severally. 

Scene II. Another part of the heath. Storm 
still. 
Enter Lear and Fool. 
Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! 
rage ! blow ! 
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout 
Till you have drenchfd our steeples, drown'd the 

cocks ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, 
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking 

thunder, 
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, 
That make ingrateful man ! 9 

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry 
house is better than this rain-water out o' door. 
Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing: 
here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool. 
Lear. Rumble thy bellyful ! Spit, fire ! 
spout, rain ! 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness ; 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 



You owe me no subscription : then let fall 

Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 

A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man : 20 

But yet I call you servile ministers, 

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 

Your high engendered battles 'gainst a head 

So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! 

Fool. He that has a house to put's head in 
has a good head-piece. 

The cod-piece that will house 

Before the head has any, 
The head and he shall louse ; 

So beggars marry many. 30 

The man that makes his toe 

What he his heart should make 
Shall of a corn cry woe, 
And turn his sleep to wake. 
For there was never yet fair woman but she made 
mouths in a glass. 

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience ; 
I will say nothing. 

Enter Kent. 

Kent. Who's there? 

Fool. Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece ; 
that's a wise man and a fool. 41 

Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that 
love night 
Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
And make them keep their caves : since I was man, 
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, 
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot 

carry 
The affliction nor the fear. 

Lear. Let the great gods, 

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 50 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou 

wretch, 
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice : hidethee, thou bloody hand; 
Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue 
That art incestuous : caitiff, to pieces shake, 
That under covert and convenient seeming 
Hast practised on man's life : close pent-up guilts, 
Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man 
More sinn'd against than sinning. 

Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! 60 

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the 

tempest : 
Repose you there ; while I to this hard house — 
More harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised ; 
Which even but now, demanding after you, 
Denied me to come in — return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin to turn. 

Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold? 
I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow? 
The art of our necessities is strange, 70 

That can make vile things precious. Come, your 

hovel. 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That's sorry yet for thee. 

Fool. [Singing] He that has and a little tiny 
wit, — 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, — 



Scene ii.] 



KING LEAR. 



Must make content with his fortunes fit, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us 
to this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. 

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. 
I '11 speak a prophecy ere I go : 80 

When priests are more in word than matter ; 

When brewers mar their malt with water; 

When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 

No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors ; 

When every case in law is right ; 

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; 

When slanders do not live in tongues ; 

Nor cutpurscs come not to thrones ; 

When usurers tell their gold i' the field ; 

And bawds and whores do churches build ; 90 

Then shall the realm of Albion 

Come to great confusion : 

Then comes the time, who lives to see't, 

That going shall be used with feet. 
This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live 
before his time. [Exit. 

Scene III. Gloucester's castle. 
Enter Gloucester and Edmund. 

Glou. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this 
unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave 
that I might pity him, they took from me the use 
of mine own house ; charged me, on pain of their 
perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, 
entreat for him, nor any way sustain him. 

Edm. Most savage and unnatural ! 

Glou. Go to; say you nothing. There's a 
division betwixt the dukes ; and a worse matter 
than that: I have received a letter this night; 
'tis dangerous to be spoken ; I have locked the 
letter in my closet: these injuries the king now 
bears will be revenged home; there's part of a 
power already footed : we must incline to the 
king. I will seek him, and privily relieve him : 
go you and maintain talk with the duke, that my 
charity be not of him perceived : if he ask for me, 
I am ill, and gone to bed. Though I die for it, 
as no less is threatened me, the king my old master 
must be relieved. There is some strange thing 
toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful. [Exit. 21 

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
Instantly know ; and of that letter too : 
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
That which my father loses ; no less than all : 
The younger rises when the old doth fall. [Exit. 

Scene IV. The heath. Before a hovel. 
Enter Leak, Kent, and Fool. 
Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my 
lord, enter : 
The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
For nature to endure. {Storm still. 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
Lear. Wilt break my heart? 

Kent. I had rather break mine own. Good 

my lord, enter. 
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this con- 
tentious storm 
Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee; 
But where the greater malady is fix'd, 



The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear ; 
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 10 
Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the 

mind 's free, 
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else 
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude ! 
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand 
For lifting food to'tf But I will punish home: 
No, I will weep no more. In such a night 
To shut me out ! Pour on ; I will endure. 
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril ! 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
' >, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 21 
No more of that. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Prithee, go in thyself; seek thine own 
ease : 
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. But I '11 go in. 
[To the Fool] In, boy ; go first. You houseless 

poverty, — 
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. 
[Fool goes in. 
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 29 
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 
Yourloop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en 
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, 
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, 
And show the heavens more just. 

Edg. [ li'ithiu] Fathom and half, fathom and 
half ! Poor Tom ! 

[ The Fool runs out from the hovel. 

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here 's a spirit. 
Help me, help me ! 40 

Kent. Give me thy hand. Who's there? 

Fool. A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's 
poor Tom. 

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there 
i' the straw? Come forth. 

Enter Edgar disguised as a mad/nan. 

Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me ! 
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. 
Hum ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? 
And art thou come to this? 50 

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? 
whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and 
through flame, and through ford and whirlipool, 
o'er bog and quagmire : that hath laid knives 
under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; set rats- 
bane by his porridge ; made him proud of heart, 
to ride 011 a bay tmtting-hor.se over four-inched 
bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. 
Bless thy five wits ! Tom 's a-cold, — O. do de, 
do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star- 
blasting, and taking ! I )o poor Tom some charity, 
whom the foul fiend vexes : there could I have 
him now, — and there, — and there again, and 
there. [Storm still. 

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him 
to this pass? 
Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them 
all ? 



KING LEAR. 



[Act 



Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had 
been all shamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pen- 
dulous air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daugh- 
ters ! 70 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 

Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have sub- 
dued nature 
To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. 
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? 
Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill : 
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools 
and madmen. 81 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : obey thy 
parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; com- 
mit not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy 
sweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast thou been ? 

Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap ; 
served the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the 
act of darkness with her ; swore as many oaths as 
I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face 
of heaven : one that slept in the contriving of lust, 
and waked to do it: wine loved I deeply, dice 
dearly ; and in woman out-paramoured the Turk : 
false of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand ; hog 
in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in 
madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of 
shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor 
heart to woman : keep thy foot out of brothels, 
thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' 
books, and defy the foul fiend. 101 

Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind : 
Says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny. 
Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ! let him trot by. 
[Storm still. 

Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave than 
to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity 
of the skies. Is man no more than this? Con- 
sider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, 
the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no 
perfume. Ha ! here 's three on 's are sophisti- 
cated ! Thou art the thing itself: unaccom- 
modated man is no more but such a poor, bare, 
forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings ! 
come, unbutton here. {Tearing off his clothes. 

Fool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a 
naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a 
wild field were like an old lecher's heart ; a small 
spark, all the rest on 's body cold. Look, here 
comes a walking fire. 119 

Enter Gloucester, with a torch. 
Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: 
he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; 
he gives the web and the pin, squints the eve, and 
makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, 
and hurts the poor creature of earth. 
S.Withold footed thrice the old ; 
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold ; 
Bid her alight, 
And her troth plight, 
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee ! 



Kent. How fares your grace? 130 

Lear. What's he? 

Kent. Who's there? What is 't you seek 2. 
Glou. What are you there ? Your names? 
Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, 
the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the 
water; that in the fury of his heart, when the 
foul fiend rages, eatscow-dungforsallets ; swallows 
the old rat and the ditch-dog ; drinks the green 
mantle of the standing pool ; who is whipped from 
tithing to tithing, and stock-punished, and im- 
prisoned ; who hath had three suits to his back, 
six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon 
to wear ; 

But mice and rats, and such small deer, 
Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, 
thou fiend ! 
Glou. What, hath your grace no better com- 
pany? 
Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman : 
Modo he 's call'd, and Mahu. 

Glou. Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, 
my lord, 150 

That it doth hate what gets it. 
Edg. Poor Tom 's a-cold. 
Glou. Go in with me : my duty cannot suffer 
To obey in all your daughters' hard commands: 
Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
And let this tyrannous night take hoid upon you, 
Yet have I ventured to come seek you out, 
And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher. 
What is the cause of thunder ? 160 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; go into 

the house. 
Lear. I '11 talk a word with this same learned 
Theban. 
What is your study? 
Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill 

vermin. 
Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
Kent. Importune him once more to go, my 
lord ; 
His wits begin to unsettle. 

Glou. Canst thou blame him? [Storm still. 

His daughters seek his death : ah, that good Kent ! 
He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man ! 
Thou say'st the king grows mad ; I '11 tell thee, 
friend, 170 

I am almost mad myself: I had a son, 
Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my life, 
But lately, very late : I loved him, friend ; 
No father his son dearer : truth to tell thee, 
The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night 's 

this! 
I do beseech your grace, — 

Lear. O, cry you mercy, sir. 

Noble philosopher, your company. 
Edg. Tom 's a-cold. 
Glou. In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep 

thee warm. 
Lear. Come, let's in all. " 
Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him; 180 

I will keep still with my philosopher. 
Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him 

take the fellow. 
Glou. Take him you on. 



Scene iv.] 



KING LEAR. 



865 



Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
Glou. No words, no words : huh. 
Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came, 
His word was still, — Fie, foh, and fum, 
1 smell the blood of a British man. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. Gloucester 's castle. 
Enter Cornwall and Edmund. 

Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart his 
house. 

Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that 
nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears 
me to think of. 

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether 
your brother's evil disposition made him seek his 
death ; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a 
reproveable badness in himself. 9 

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that 1 
must repent to be just ! This is the letter he spoke 
of, which approves him an intelligent party to the 
advantages of France. O heavens ! thai this trea- 
son were not, or not I the detector ! 

Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 

Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, 
you have mighty business in hand. 

Com. True or false, it hath made thee earl of 
Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that 
he may be ready for our apprehension. 20 

Edm. [Aside] If I find him comforting the 
king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will 
persevere in my course of loyalty, though the 
conflict be sore between that and my blood. 

Corn. I will lay trust upon thee ; and thou 
shalt find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. A chamber in a farmhouse adjoin- 
ing the castle. 

Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool, and 
Edgar. 

Glou. Here is better than the open air ; take 
it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with 
what addition I can : I will not be long from you. 

Kent. All the power of his wits have given 
way to his impatience : the gods reward your 
kindness ! [Exit Gloucester. 

Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me Nero 
is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, inno- 
cent, and beware the foul fiend. 

Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a mad- 
man be a gentleman or a yeoman? n 

Lear. A king, a king! 

Fool. No, he s a yeoman that has a gentleman 
to his son; for he's a mad yeoman that sees his 
son a gentleman before him. 

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning 
spits 
Come hissing in upon 'era, — 

Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 

Fool. He's mad that trusts in the tamencss 
of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a 
whore's oath. 21 

Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them 
straight. 
[To Edgar] Come, sit thou here, most learned 

. justicer; 



[To the Fool] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, 
you she foxes ! 
Edg. Look, where he stands and glares! 
Wanlest thou eyes at trial, madam ? 

Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me, — 
Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 

And she must not speak 

Why she dares not come over to thee. 30 

Tie/;-. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the 

voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's 

belly for two white herring. Croak not, black 

angel ; I have no food for thee. 

Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so 
amazed : 
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions? 
Lear. I '11 see their trial first. Bring in the 
evidence. 
[To Edgar] Thou robed man of justice, take thy 

place ; 
[To the Fool] And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, 
Bench by his side: [To Kent] you are o' the 
commission, 40 

Sit you too. 
Edg. Let us deal justly. 

Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? 

Thy sheep be in the corn ; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
Pur ! the cat is gray. 

Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here 
take my oath before this honourable assembly, 
she kicked the poor king her father. 50 

Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name 
Goneril? 
Lear. She cannot deny it. 
Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- 
stool. 
Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks 
proclaim 
What store her heart is made on. Stop her there ! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire ! Corruption in the place ! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 60 

Kent. O pity ! Sir, where is the patience now, 
That you so oft have boasted to retain? 
Edg. [Aside] My tears begin to take his part 
so much, 
They'll mar my counterfeiting. 

Lear. The little dogs and all, 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark 
at me. 
Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. 
A vaunt, you curs ! 

Be thy mouth or black or white, 
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 70 

Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, 
Hound or spaniel, brach or lym, 
Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, 
Tom will make them weep and wail: 
For, with throwing thus my head, 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
Do de, de, de. Sessa ! Come, march to wakes 
and fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn 
is dry. 79 

Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan ; sec 
what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause 
in nature that makes these hard hearts? [To Ed- 
e<i>-\ You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred ; 
only I do not like the fashion of your garments: 



55 



866 



KING LEAR. 



[Act 



you will say they are Persian attire; but let them 
be changed. 

Kent. Now, good njy lord, lie here and rest 
awhile. 

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw 
the curtains : so, so, so. We '11 go to supper i' the 
morning. So, so, so. 91 

Fool. And I '11 go to bed at noon. 

> Re-enter Gloucester. 

Glou. Come hither, friend: where is the king 

my master? 
Kent. Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits 

are gone. 
Glou. Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy 

arms ; 
I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him : 
There is a litter ready ; lay him in't, 
And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou 

shalt meet 
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy 

master : 
If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, 100 
With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
Stand in assured loss : take up, take up ; 
And follow me, that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppressed nature sleeps : 

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken 

senses, 
Which, if convenience will not allow, 
Stand in hard cure. [To the Fool\ Come, help 

to bear thy master ; 
Thou must not stay behind. 

Glou. Come, come, away. 

[Exeunt all but Edgar. 
Edg. When we our betters see bearing our 

woes, 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. no 

Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind, 
Leaving free things and happy shows behind: 
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now, 
When that which makes me bend makes the king 

bow, 
He childed as I father'd ! Tom, away ! 
Mark the high noises ; and thyself bewray, 
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles 

thee, 
In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee. 120 
What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king ! 
Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 

Scene VII. Gloucester's castle. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, 
and Servants. 

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband ; 
show him this letter: the army of France is 
landed. Seek out the villain Gloucester. 

[Exeunt some of the Servants. 

Reg: Hang him instantly. 

Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 

Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, 
keep you our sister company : the revenges we 
are bound to take upon your traitorous father are 
not fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, 
where you are going, to a most festinate prepara- 



tion : we are bound to the like. Our posts shall 
be swift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, 
dear sister : farewell, my lord of Gloucester. 

Enter Oswald. 

How now ! where 's the king? 

Osw. My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd 
him hence : 
Some five or six and thirty of his knights, 
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate ; 
Who, with some other of the lords dependants, 
Are gone with him towards Dover; where they 

boast 
To have well-armed friends. 

Corn. Get horses for your mistress. 20 

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 
Corn. Edmund, farewell. 

[Exeunt Goneril, Edmimd, and Oswald. 
Go seek the traitor Gloucester, 
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. 

[Exeunt other Servants. 
Though well we may not pass upon his life 
Without the form of justice, yet our power 
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
May blame, but not control. Who's there? the 
traitor? 

Enter Gloucester, brought in by two or three. 

Reg. Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he. 
Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. 
Glou. What mean your graces? Good my 
friends, consider 30 

You are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. 
Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind kim. 
Reg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor ! 

Glou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none. 
Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou 
shalt find — [Regan plucks his beard. 

Glou. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done 
To pluck me by the beard. 
Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 
^ Glou. _ Naughty lady, 

These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my 

chin, 
Will quicken, and accuse thee : I am your host : 
With robbers' hands my hospitable favours 40 
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? 
Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late 

from France? 
Reg. Be simple answerer, for we know the 

truth. 
Corn. And what confederacy have you with 
the traitors 
Late footed in the kingdom? 
Reg. To whose hands have you sent the luna- 
tic king? 
Speak. 

Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, 
And not from one opposed. 

Corn. Cunning. 

Reg. And false. 

Corn. Where hast thou sent the king? 50 

Glou. To Dover. 

Reg. Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not 

charged at peril — 
Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first 
answer that. 



Scene vii.] 



KING LEAR. 



867 



Glou. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand 

the course. 
Reg. Wherefore to Dover, sir? 
Glou. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. 
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
Inhell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up, 
And quench'd the stelled fires : 61 

Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. 
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time, 
Thou shouldst have said ' Good porter, turn the 

key,' 
All crucls else subscribed : but I shall see 
The winged vengeance overtake such children. 
Corn. See 't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold 
the chair. 
Upon these eyes of thine I '11 set my foot. 

Glou. He that will think to live' till he be old, 

Give me some help ! O cruel ! O you gods ! 70 

Reg. One side will mock another; the other 

too. 
Corn. If you see vengeance, — 
First Serv. Hold your hand, my lord : 

I have served you ever since I was a child ; 
But better service have I never done you 
Than now to bid you hold. 

Reg. How now, you dog ! 

First Serv. If you did wear a beard upon 
your chin, 
I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you 
mean ? 
Corn. My villain ! [They draw and fight. 

First Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take the 

chance of anger. 
Reg . Give me thy sword. A peasant stand 
up thus ! 80 

[Takes a sword, and runs at him behind. 
First Serv. O, I am slain ! My lord, you 
have one eye left 
To see some mischief on him. O ! [Dies. 

Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile 
jelly! 
Where is thy lustre now? 

Glou. All dark and comfortless. Where's my 
son Edmund? 
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
To quit this horrid act. 

Reg. Out, treacherous villain ! 

Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
That made the overture of thy treasons to us ; 
Who is too good to pity thee. 90 

Glou. O my follies \ then Edgar was abused. 
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 
Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him 
smell 
His way to Dover. [Exit one with Gloucester.] 
How is't, my lord? how look you? 
Com. I have received a hurt : follow me, lady. 
Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave 
Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace : 
Untimely comes this hurt : give me your arm. 

[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan. 
Sec. Serv. I'll never care what wickedness 
I do, 
If this man come to good. 

Third Serv. If she live long, 100 

And in the end meet the old course of death, 
Women will all turn monsters. 



Sec. Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get 
the Bedlam 
To lead him where he would : his roguish madness 
Allows itself to any thing. 

Third Serv. Go thou: I'll fetch some flax 
and whites of eggs 
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help 
him ! [Exeunt severally. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. The heath. 
Enter Edgar. 
Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be con- 
lemn'd, 
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, 
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, 
Stands still in espcrance, lives not in fear : 
The lamentable change is from the best; 
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, 
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace! 
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here ? 

Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man. 
My father, poorly led? World, world, O world! 
But that thy .'-.trange mutations make us hate thee, 
Life would not yield to age. 

Old Man. O, my good lord, I have been your 
tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore 
years. 

Glou. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be 
gone : 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all ; 
Thee they may hurt. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 

Glou. I have no way, and therefore want no 
eyes ; 20 

I stumbled when I saw : full oft 'tis seen, 
Our means secure us, and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, 
The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
I 'Id say I had eyes again ! 

Old Man. How now ! Who's there? 

Edg. [Aside] O gods! Who is't can say 'I 
am at the worst ' ? 
I am worse than e'er I was. 

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 

Edg. [Aside] And worse I may be yet: the 
worst is not 
So long as we can say ' This is the worst' 30 

Old Man. Fellow, where goest ? 

Glou. Is it a beggar-man? 

Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 

Glou. He has some reason, else he could not 
beg. 
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; 
Which made me think a man a worm : my son 
Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard 

more since. 
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. 
They kill us for their sport. 

Edg. [Aside] How should this be ? 

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, 40 
Angering itself apd others. — Bless thee, master ! 

Glou, Is that the naked fellow? 

Old Man. Ay, my lord. 

55— « 



KING LEAR. 



[Act iv. 



GJou. Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for 
my sake, 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Who I'll entreat to lead me. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, he is mad. 

Glou. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen 
lead the blind. 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
Above the rest, be gone. 50 

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that 
I have, 
Come on't what will. [Exit. 

Glozi. Sirrah, naked fellow, — 

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. [Aside] I cannot 
daub it further. 

Glou. Come hither, fellow. 

Edg. [Aside] And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet 
eyes, they bleed. 

Glou. Know' st thou the way to Dover? 

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot- 
path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good 
wits : bless thee, good man's son, from the foul 
fiend ! five fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; 
of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of 
dumbness ; Mahu, of stealing ; Modo, of murder ; 
Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who 
since possesses chambermaids and waiting-wo- 
men. So, bless thee, master! 

Glou. Here, take this purse, thou whom the 
heavens' plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched 
Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 70 

That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; 
So distribution should undo excess, 
And each man have enough. Dost thou know 
Dover ? 

Edg. Ay, master. 

Glou. There is a cliff, whose high and bending 
head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear 
With something rich about me : from that place 
I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm : 8 1 

Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Before the Duke of Albany's palace. 
Enter Goneril and Edmund. 
Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel our mild 
husband 
Not met us on the way. 

Enter Oswald. 

Now, where 's your master? 
Osw. Madam, within ; but never man so 
changed. 
I told him of the army that was landed ; 
He smiled at it : I told him you were coming ; 
His answer was 'The worse:' of Gloucester's 

treachery, 
And of the loyal service of his son, 
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot, 
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out : 



What most he should dislike seems pleasant to 
him ; 10 

What like, offensive. 

Gon. [To Edni.] Then shall you go no further. 
It is the cowish terror of his spirit, 
That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs 
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on 

the way 
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my 

brother ; 
Llasten his musters and conduct his powers : 
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
Shall pass between us: ere long you are like 

to hear, 
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 20 

A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare speech ; 
[Giving a favour. 
Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air : 
Conceive, and fare thee well. 
Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 
Gon. My most dear Gloucester ! 

[Exit Edmund. 
O, the difference of man and man ! 
To thee a woman's services are due : 
My fool usurps my body. 

Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. 

[Exit. 

Enter the Duke of Albany. 
Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 
A lb. O Goneril ! 

You are not worth the dust which the rude 

wind 30 

Blows in your face. I fear your disposition : 
That nature, which contemns its origin, 
Cannot be border'd certain in itself; 
She that herself will sliver and disbranch 
From her material sap, perforce must wither 
And come to deadly use. 

Gon. No more ; the text is foolish. 

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem 

vile : 
Filths savour but themselves. What have you 

done ? 
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd? 
A father, and a gracious aged man, 41 

Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear 

would lick, 
Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you 

madded. 
Coidd my good brother suffer you to do it? 
A man, a prince, by him so benefited ! 
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
It will come, 

Humanity must perforce prey on itself, 
Like monsters of the deep. 

Gon. Milk-liver'd man ! 50 

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for 

wrongs ; 
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thine honour from thy suffering ; that not know'st 
Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd 
Ere they have done their mischief. Where 's thy 

drum? 
France spreads his banners in our noiseless iand ; 
| With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; 



Scene ii.] 



KING LEAR. 



Whiles thou, a moral fcol, sit'st still, and criest 
' Alack, why docs he so?' 

Alb. See thyself, devil ! 

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 60 

So horrid as in woman. 

Gon. O vain fool I 

Aid. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, 
for shame, 
Ee-monster noc thy feature. Were 't my fitness 
To let these hands obey my blood, 
Thoy are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
Thy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend, 
A woman's shape doth shield thee. 

Gon. Marry, your manhood now — 

Enter a Messenger. 

Alb. What news? 

O, my good lord, the Duke of Corn- 
wall \s dead : 70 
Slain by his servant, going to put out 
The other eye of Gloucester. 

Alb. Gloucester's eyes ! 

Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with 
reraorse, 
Opposed against the act, bending his sword 
To his great master ; who, thereat enraged, 
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead ; 
But not without that harmful stroke, which since 
Hath pluck'd him after. 

Alb. This shows you are above, 

You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
So speedily can venge ! But, O poor Gloucester ! 
Lost he his other eye? 

Mess. Both, both, my lord. 81 

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 
'Tis from your sister. 

Gon. [Aside] One way I like this well ; 
But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, 
May all the building in my fancy pluck 
Upon my hateful life : another way, 
The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer. 

[Exit. 

Alb. Where was his son when they did take 
his eyc^ .' 

Mess. Come with my lady hither. 

A lb. He is not here. 90 

Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back 
again. 

Alb. Knows he the wickedness? 

Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd 
against him ; 
And quit the house on purpose, that their punish- 
ment 
Might have the freer course. 

A lb. Gloucester, I live 

To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, 
And to revenge thine eyes. Gome hither, friend : 
Tell me what more thou know'st. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The French camp near Dover. 
Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 

Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly 
gone back know you the re 

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, 

which since hi> coming forth is thought of; 

■1 so much fear and 



danger, that his yersonal return was most re- 
quired and necus-; ry. 

Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? 

Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur 

La Far. IO 

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to 

any demonstration of grief? 

Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in 
my presence ; 
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
Her delicate cheek : it scem'd she was a queen 
( her her passion ; who, most rebel-like, 
Sought to be king o'er her. 

Kent. O, then it moved her. 

Gent. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow 
strove 
Who should express her goodliest. You have 

seen 
Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
tWere like a better way: those happy smile ts, 21 
That play'd on her ripe lip, scem'd not to know 
What guests were in her eyes; which parted 

thence, 
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, 
Sorrow would Ijc a rarity most beloved, 
If all could so become it. 
Kent. Made she no verbal question? 

Gent. 'Faith, once or twice she heaved the 
name of ' father' 
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; 
Cried ' Sisters ! sisters ! Shame of ladies ! sisters ! 
Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' 
the night? 30 

Let pity not be believed ! ' There she shook 
The holy water from her heavenly eyes, 
And clamour moisten' d : then away she started 
To deal with grief alone. 

Kent. It is the stars, 

The stars above us, govern our conditions; 

tie self mate and mate could not beget 
Such different issues. You spoke not with her 
since ? 
Gent. No. 

Kent. Was this before the king return'd? 
Gent. No, since. 

Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' 
the town ; 40 

Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
What we are come about, and by no means 
Will yield to see his daughter. 

Gent. Why, good sir? 

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his 
own unkindness. 
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
To his dog hearted daughters, these things sting 
His mind s 1 venomously, that burning shame 
Detains him from Cordelia. 
Gent. Alack, poor gentleman ! \ 

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you 
heard not? 50 

Cent. ' lis so, they arc afoot. 
Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master 
Lear, 
And leave you to attend him : some dear cause 
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile ; 
When 1 am known aright, you shall not grieve 
Lending me this acquaintance. 1 pray you, go 
Along v. itl 



870 



KING LEAR. 



[Act iv. 



Scene IV. The same. A tent. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Cordelia, 
Doctor, and Soldiers. 

Cor. Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even 
now 
As mad as the vex'd sea ; singing aloud ; 
Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, 
With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
In our sustaining corn. A century send forth; 
Search every acre in the high-grown field, 
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.} 

What can man's wisdom 
In the restoring his bereaved sense? 
He that helps him take all my outward worth. 10 

Do ft. There is means, madam : 
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
The which he lacks ; that to provoke in him, 
Are many simples operative, whose power 
Will close the eye of anguish. 

Cor. All blest secrets, 

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate 
In the good man's distress ! Seek, seek for him ; 
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
That wants the means to lead it. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. News, madam ; 20 

The British powers are marching hitherward. 

Cor. 'Tis known before ; our preparation stands 
In expectation of them. O dear father, 
It is thy business that I go about; 
Therefore great France 

My mourning and important tears hath pitied. 
No blown ambition doth our arms incite, 
But love, dear love, and our aged father's right : 
Soon may I hear and see him ! [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Gloucester's castle. 

Enter Regan and Oswald. 
Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth? 
Osw. Ay, madam. 

Reg. Himself in person there? 
Osiv. Madam, with much ado : 

Your sister is the better soldier. 
Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord 

at home ? 
Osw. No, madam. 
Reg. What might import my sister's letter 

to him? 
Osw. I know not, lady. 

Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious 
matter. 
It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being 

out, 
To let him live : where he arrives he moves 10 
All hearts against us : Edmund, I think, is gone, 
In pity of his misery, to dispatch 
His nighted life ; moreover, to descry 
The strength o' the enemy. 

Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with 

my letter. 
Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay 
with us ; 
The ways are dangerous. 



Osw. I may not, madam : 

My lady charged my duty in this business. 

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? 
Might not you 
Transport her purposes by word ? Belike, 20 
Something — I know not what : I '11 love thee 

much, 
Let me unseal the letter. 

Osw. Madam, I had rather — 

Reg. I know your lady does not love her 
husband ; 
I am sure of that: and at her late being here 
She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks 
To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom, 

Osw. I, madam ? 

Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, I 
know't: 
Therefore I do advise you, take this note : 
My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd; 30 
And more convenient is he for my hand 
Than for your lady's: you may gather more. 
If you do find him, pray you, give him this; 
And when your mistress hears thus much from 

you, 
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 
So, fare you well. 

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, 
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 

Osw. Would I could meet him, madam ! I 
should show 
What party I do follow. 

Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 40 

Scene VI. Fields near Dover. 

Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a 
peasant. 

Glou. When shall we come to the top of that 
same hill? 

Edg. You do climb up it now : look, how we 
labour. 

Glou. Methinks the ground is even. 

Edg. Horrible steep. 

Hark, do you hear the sea? 

Glou. No, truly. 

Edg. Why, then, your other senses grow 
imperfect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

Glou. So may it be, indeed : 

Methinks thy voice is alter'd ; and thou speak'st 
In better phrase and matter than thou didst. 

Edg. You 're much deceived : in nothing am 
I changed 
But in my garments. 

Glou. Methinks you're better spoken. 10 

Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place : stand 
still. How fearful 
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air 
Show scarce so gross as beetles : half way down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! 
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head : 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear like mice ; and yond tall anchoring bark, 
Diminish' d to her cock ; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight : the murmuring surge, 
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 21 
Cannot be heard so high. I '11 look no more ; 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 



Topple down headlong. 

Glou. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand : you are now within 
a foot 
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 

Glou. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, 's another purse ; in it a jewel 
• Well worth a poor man's taking : fairies and gods 
Prosper it with thee ! Go thou farther off; 30 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. 

Glou. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair 
Is done to cure it. 

Glou. [Kneeling] O you mighty gods ! 
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights, 
Shake patiently my great affliction off: 
If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, 
My snuff and loathed part of nature should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him ! 40 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He /alls forward. 

Edg. Gone, sir: farewell. 

And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft : had he been where he 

thought, 
By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead? 
Ho, you sir ! friend ! Hear you, sir ! speak ! 
Thus might he pass indeed : yet he revives. 
What are you, sir? 

Glou. Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, 
feathers, air, 
So many fathom down precipitating, 50 

Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost 

breathe ; 
Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; 

art sound. 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell : 
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again. 

Glou. But have I fall'n, or no? 

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky 
bourn. 
Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far 
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 

Glou. Alack, I have no eyes. 60 

Is wretchedness deprived that benefit, 
To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort, 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edg. Give me your arm : 

Up: so. Howis't? Feel you your legs ? You 
stand. 

Glou. Too well, too well. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness. 

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you? 

Glou. A poor unfortunate beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, methought his 
eyes 
Were two full moons : he had a thousand noses, 70 
Horns whelk'd mi waved like the enridged sea : 
It was some fiend ; therefore, thou happy father, 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them 

honours 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee. 



Glou. I do remember now: henceforth I'll 
bear 
Affliction till it do cry out itself 
'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you 

speak of, 
I took it for a man ; often 'twould say 
'The fiend, the fiend:' he led me to that place. 
Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But 
who comes here? 80 

Enter Lear, fantastically dressed with wild 
flowers. 

The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
His master thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ; 
I am the king himself. 

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. 
There's your press-money. That fellow handles 
his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's 
yard. Look, look, a mouse ! Peace, peace; this 
piece of toasted cheese will do't. There's my 
gauntlet ; I '11 prove it on a giant. Bring up the 
brown bills. 0, well flown, bird ! i' the clout, i' 
the clout : hewgh ! Give the word. 

Edg. Sweet marjoram. 

Lear. Pass. 

Glou. I know that voice. 

Lear. Ha ! Goneril, with a white beard ! 
They flattered me like a dog ; and told me I had 
white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were 
there. To say 'ay' and 'no' to every thing that 
I said! — 'Ay' and 'no' too was no good divinity. 
When the rain came to wet me once, and the 
wind to make me chatter: when the thunder 
would not peace at my bidding ; there I found 
'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not 
men o' their words : they told me I was every 
thing ; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. 

Glou. The trick of that voice I do well re- 
member: 
Is't not the king? 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king: 

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes, no 
I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? 
Adultery? 

Thou shalt not die : die for adultery ! No : 
The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly 
Does lecher in my sight. 
Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard 

son 
Was kinder to his father than my daughters 
Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
To't, luxury, pell-mell ! for I lack soldiers. 
Behold yond simpering dame, 120 

Whose face between her forks presages snow ; 
That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
To hear of pleasure's name ; 
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't 
With a more riotous appetite. 
Down from the waist they are Centaurs, 
Though women all above: 
But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 
Beneath is all the fiends'; 

There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sul- 
phurous pit, • 130 
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption ; fie, fie. 
fie ! pah, pah ! Give me an ounce of civet, good 



872 



KING LEAR. 



[Act iv. 



apothecary, to sweeten my imagination: there's 
money for thee. 

Glou. 0, let me kiss that hand ! 
Lear. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mor- 
tality. 
Glon. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great 
world 
Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know 
me? 
Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. 
Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, 
blind Cupid ; 1 '11 not love. Read thou this chal- 
lenge ; mark but the penning of it. 

Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not 

see one. 
Edg. I would not take this from report ; it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 
Lear. Read. 

Glou. What, with the case of eyes? 

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No 

eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? 

Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a 

light : yet you see how this world goes. 151 

Glou. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how 
this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine 
ears : see how yond justice rails upon yond simple 
thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, 
handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the 
thief? Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a 
beggar? 

Glou. Ay, sir. 160 

Lear. And the creature run from the cur? 
There thou mightst behold the great image of 
authority : a dog's obeyed in office. 
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ! 
Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thine own 

back; 
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs 

the cozener. 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with 

gold, 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks ; 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it. 171 
None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 

'em : 
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, 

now, now : 
Pull off my boots : harder, harder : so. 

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
Reason in madness ! 
Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my 
eyes. 180 

I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloucester : 
Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither : 
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, 
We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee : mark. 
Glou. Alack, alack the day ! 
Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are 
come 
To this great stage of fools : this' a good block ; 
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horse with felt : I'll put't in proof; 
And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law, 



Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill! 191 

E titer a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
Gent. O, here he is: lay hand upon him. 
Sir, 
Your most dear daughter — ■ 

Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am 
even 
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well ; 
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons ; 
I am cut to the brains. 

Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds? all myself? 
Why, this would make a man a man of salt, 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 200 

Ay, and laying autumn's dust. 

Gent. Good sir, — 

Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. 
What! 
I will be jovial: come, come ; I am a king, 
My masters, know you that. 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 

Lear. Then there's life in't. Nay, if you get 

it, you shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 

\_Exit naming; Attendants follow. 

Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest 

wretch, 

Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one 

daughter, 
Who redeems nature from the general curse 210 
Which twain have brought her to. 
Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 

Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? 

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle 

toward ? 
Gent. Most sure and vulgar : every one hears 
that, 
Which can distinguish sound. 

Edg. But, by your favour, 

How near's the other army? 

Gent. Near and on speedy foot; the main 
descry 
Stands on the hourly thought. 

Edg. I thank you, sir: that's all. 

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause 
is here, 
Her army is moved on. 
Edg. I thank you, sir. 220 

[Exit Gent. 
Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath 
from me ; 
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
To die before you please ! 

Edg. Well pray you, father. 

Glou. Now, good sir, what are you? 
Edg. A most poor man, made tame to for- 
tune's blows ; 
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
I '11 lead you to some biding. 

Glou. Hearty thanks: 

The bounty and the benison of heaven 
To boot, and boot ! 

Enter Oswald. 
Osw. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 230 
That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh 
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, 
Briefly thyself remember : the sword is out 



Scene vi.] 



KING LEAR. 



873 



That must destroy thee. 

Glou. Now let thy friendly hand 

Put strength enough to't. [Edgar interposes. 
Osiv. Wherefore, bold peasant, 

Darest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence ; 
Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 
'casion. 240 

Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest ! 
Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let 
poor volk pass. An chud ha' bin zwaggered out 
of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a 
vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man ; 
keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether your 
costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be 
plain with you. 

Osw. Out, dunghill ! 

Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir: come; no 
matter vor your foins. 251 

[They fight, and Edgar knocks him down. 
Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me : villain, take 
my purse : 
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; 
And give the letters which thou find'st about me 
To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out 
Upon the British party : O, untimely death ! 

[Dies. 
Edg. I know thee well : a serviceable villain ; 
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress 
As badness would desire. 

Glou. What, is he dead? 

Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. 260 

Let's see these pockets: the letters that he 

speaks of 
May be my friends. He's dead ; I am only sorry 
He had no other death's-man. Let us see : 
Leave, gentie wax: and, manners, blame us not: 
To know our enemies' minds, we 'Id rip their 

hearts: 
Their papers, is more lawful. 

[Heads'] ' Let our reciprocal vows be remem- 
bered. You have many opportunities to cut him 
off: if your will want not, time and place will be 
fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he 
return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, 
and his bed my gaol ; from the loathed warmth 
whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your 
labour. 

'Your — wife, so I would say— 

'Affectionate servant, 

' 1 1 INERIL.' 
O undistinguish'd space of woman's will! 
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 
And the exchange my brother ! Here, in the sands, 
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified 281 

Of murderous lechers : and in the mature time 
With this ungracious paper strike the sight 
Of the death-practised duke : for him 'tis well 
That of thy death and business I can tell. 

Glou. The king is mad : how stiff is my vile 
sense, 
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
Of my huge sorrows! Hotter I were distract: 
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs. 
And woes by wrong imaginations lose 290 

The knowledge of themselves. 

Edg. Give me your hand : 

[Drittn afar off. 



Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum : 
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI L A tent in the French camp. Lear 
on a bed asleep, soft music playing; Gentle- 
man, and others attending. 

Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Doctor. 
Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and 
work, 
To match thy goodness? My life will be too 

short, 
And every measure fail me. 

Kent To be acknowledged, madam, is o'er- 
paid. 
All my reports go with the modest truth; 
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited : 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours: 
I prithee, put them 

Kent. Pardon me, dear madam ; 

Yet to be known shortens my made intent: 
My boon I make it, that you know me not 10 
Till time and I think 1 

Cor. Then bet so, my good lord. [To the 

Doclor\ How dew 
Docl. Madam, sleeps still. 
Cor. O you kind gods, 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Docl. So please your majesty 

That we may wake the king: he hath slept long. 
Cor. Be govern' d by your knowledge, and 
proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Ishearray'd? 20 
Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his 
sleep 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Docl. !5o by, good madam, when we do awake 
him ; 
I d ubt not of his temperance. 

Cor. Very well. 

Docl. Please you, draw near. Louder the 

music there ! 
Cor. my dear father ! Restoration hang 
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Kent. Kind and dear princess! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these 
white flakes 30 

Had challenged pity o( them. Was this a face 
To be opposed against the warring 
To stand against the deep dread-b ilted thunder? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch — poor 

perdu I — 
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog, 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that 
night 

my fin.-: and wast thou fain, poor father, 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues fori 
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack ! 40 

' I 'is wonder that thy life and wits al 
Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to 
him. 
Docl. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. 



874 



KING LEAR. 



[Act v. 



Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares 

your majesty? 
Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the 
grave : 
Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 

Cor. Sir, do you know me? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know: when did 

you die? 
Cor. Still, still, far wide ! _ 5° 

Doc~l. He 's scarce awake : let him alone 

awhile. 
Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? 
Fair daylight? 
I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with 

pity. 

To see another thus. I know not what to say. 
I will not swear these are my hands: let's see; 
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured 
Of my condition ! 

Cor. O, look upon me, sir, 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me : 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me : 

I am a very foolish fond old man, 60 

Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less ; 
And, to deal plainly, 
I fear I am not in my perfect mind. 
Methinks I should know you, and know this man ; 
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is ; and all the skill I have 
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not 
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh 

at me; 
For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 

Cor. And so I am, I am. 70 

Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, 
weep not: 
If you have poison for me, I will drink it. 
I know you do not love me ; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
You have some cause, they have not. 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France? 

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

Dofl. Be comforted, good madam: the great 
rage, 
You see, is kill'd in him : and yet it is danger 
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 80 
Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more 
Till further settling. 

Cor. Will't please your highness walk? 

Lear. You must bear with me : 

Pray you now, forget and forgive : I am old and 
foolish. 

{Exeunt all b?it Kent and Gentleman. 

Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of 
Cornwall was so slain? 

Kent. Most certain, sir. 

Gent. Who is conductor of his people? 

Kent. As' tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester. 

Ge?it. They say Edgar, his banished son, is 
with the Earl of Kent in Germany. 91 

Kent. Report is changeable. 'Tis time to 
look about ; the powers of the kingdom approach 
apace. 



Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. 
Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 

Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
wrought, 
Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought. 

[Exit. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. The British camp, near Dover. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Edmund, 
Regan, Gentlemen, and Soldiers. 
Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose 
hold, 
Or whether since he is advised by aught 
To change the course : he's full of alteration 
And self-reproving : bring his constant pleasure. 
[To a Gentleman, who goes out. 
Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 
Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
Reg. Now, sweet lord, 

You know the goodness I intend upon you : 
Tell me — but truly— but then speak the truth, 
Do you not love my sister? 
Edm. In honour'd love. 

Reg. But have you never found my brother's 
way 10 

To the forfended place ? 

Edm. That thought abuses you. 

Reg. I am doubtful that you have been con- 
junct 
And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 
Reg. I never shall endure her: dear my lord, 
Be not familiar with her. 

Ed7n. Fear me not : 

She and the duke her husband ! 

Enter, with drum and colours, Albany, 
Goneril, and Soldiers. 

Gon. [Aside] I had rather lose the battle than 
that sister 
Should loosen him and me. 

Alb. Our very loving sister, well be-met. 20 
Sir, this I hear ; the king is come to his daughter, 
With others whom the rigour of our state 
Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest, 
I never yet was valiant : for this business, 
It toucheth us, as France invades our land, 
Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear, 
Most just and heavy causes make oppose. 

Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 

Reg. Why is this reason'd? 

Gou. Combine together 'gainst the enemy; 
For these domestic and particular broils 30 

Are not the question here. 

Alb. Let's then determine 

With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 

Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 

Reg. Sister, you'll go with us? 

Gon. No. 

Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go 
with us. 

Gon. [Aside] O, ho, I know the riddle. — I will go. 
As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised. 

Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man 
so poor, 



Scene i.] 



KING LEAR. 



875 



Hear me one word. 

Alb. I 'II overtake you. Speak. 

[Exeunt all but Albany and Edgar. 

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this 
letter. 40 

If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
For him that brought it: wretched though I seem, 
I can produce a champion that will prove 
What is avouched there. If you miscarry, 
Your business of the world hath so an end, 
And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! 

Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 

Edg. I was forbid it. 

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
And I '11 appear again. 

Alb. Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy 
paper. [Exit Edgar. 50 

Re-enter Edmund. 

Edm. The enemy 's in view ; draw up your 
powers. 
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces 
By diligent discovery; but your haste 
Is now urged on you. 

Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit. 

Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my 
love ; 
Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? 
Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd, 
If both remain alive : to take the widow 
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril ; 60 
And hardly shall I carry out my side, 
Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use 
His countenance for the battle ; which being done, 
Let her who would be rid of him devise 
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, 
The battle done, and they within our power, 
Shall never see his pardon ; for my state 
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit. 69 



Scene II. A Jield between the two camps. 

A larum within. Enter, with drum and colours, 
Leak, Cordelia, ««^Soldiers, over the stage ; 
and exeunt. 

Enter Edgar and Gloucester. 
Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this 
tTee 
For your good host; pray that the right may 

thrive : 
If ever I return to you again, 
I '11 bring you comfort. 

Glou. Grace go with you, sir ! 

[Exit Edgar. 

Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter Edgar. 

Edg. Away, old man ; give me thy hand ; 
away ! 
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en : 
Give me thy hand ; come on. 

Glou. No farther, sir; a man may rot even 

here. 
Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must 
endure 9 



Their going hence, even as their coming hither : 
Ripeness is all: come on. 

Glou. And that's true too. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The BritisJi camp near Dover. 

Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, 

Edmund: Lear and Cordelia, prisoners; 

Captain, Soldiers, &c. 

Edm. Some officers take them away: good 
guard, 
Until their greater pleasures first be known 
That are to censure them. 

Cor. We are not the first 

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. 
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters ? 

Lear. No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to 
prison : 
We two alone will sing like birds i'thc cage: 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, 
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live, 11 

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too, 
Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out; 
And take upon's the mystery of things, 
As if we were God's spies : and we '11 wear out, 
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 

Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 20 
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I 

caught thee? 
He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven, 
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes; 
The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell, 
Ere they shall make us weep : we'll see 'em starve, 

first. 
Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 

Edm. Come hither, captain ; hark. 
Take thou this note [giving a paper\ ; go follow 

them to prison : 
One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost 
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
To noble fortunes : know thou this, that men 30 
Are as the time is: to be tender-minded 
Does not become a sword : thy great employment 
Will not bear question ; either say thou 'It do 't, 
Or thrive by other means. 

Capt. I Ml do 't, my lord. 

Edm. About it; and write happy when thou 
hast done. 
.Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so 
As I have set it down. 

Capt. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats ; 
If it be man's work, I'll do 't. [Exit 

Flourish. Enter Alrany, Goneril, Regan, 
another Captain, and Soldiers. 
Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant 
strain, 40 

And fortune led you well : you have the captives 
That were the opposites of this day's strife : 
We do require them of you, so to use them 
As we shall find their merits and our safety 
M.iv equally determine. 
Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 



8 7 6 



KING LEAR. 



[Act v. 



To send the old and miserable king 

To some retention and appointed guard ; 

Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, 

To pluck the common bosom on his side, 

And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 50 

Which do command them. With him I sent the 

queen ; 
My reason all the same ; and they are ready 
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
Where you shall hold your session. At this time 
We sweat and bleed : the friend hath lost his 

friend ; 
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed 
By those that feel their sharpness : 
The question of Cordelia and her father 
Requires a fitter place. 

Alb. Sir, by your patience, 

I hold you but a subj eel; of this war, 60 

Not as a brother. 

Reg. That's as we list to grace him. 

Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded, 
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ; 
Bore the commission of my place and person ; 
The which immediacy may well stand up, 
And call itself your brother. 

Gon. ~ Not so hot : 

In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
More than in your addition. 

Reg. In my rights, 

By me invested, he compeers the best. 

Gon. That were the most, if he should hus- 
band you. 70 

Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 

Gon. Holla, holla ! 

That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint. 

Reg. Lady, I am not well ; else I should 
answer 
From a full-flowing stomach. General, 
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ; 
Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : 
Witness the world, that I create thee here 
My lord and master. 

Gon. Mean you to enjoy him? 

Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 

Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 

Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 80 

Reg. [To Edmund] Let the drum strike, and 
prove my title thine. 

Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I ar- 
rest thee 
On capital treason; and, in thine attaint, 
This gilded serpent [pointing to Gon.]. For your 

claim, fair sister, 
I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, 
And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
If you will marry, make your loves to me, 
My lady is bespoke. 

Gon. An interlude ! 

Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the 
trumpet sound : 90 

If none appear to prove upon thy head 
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
There is my pledge [throwing down a glove]; 

I'll prove it on thy heart, 
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 

Reg. Sick, O, sick ! 

Gon. [Aside] If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine. 



Edm. There's my exchange [throwing down 
a glove] : what in the world he is 
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies: 
Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach, 
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain 100 
My truth and honour firmly. 

Alb. A herald, ho! 

Edm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 

A lb. Trust to thy single virtue ; for thy soldiers, 
All levied in my name, have in my name 
Took their discharge. 

Reg. My sickness grows upon me. 

Alb. She is not well; convey her to my tent. 
[Exit Regan, led. 

Eider a Herald. 
Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — 
And read out this. 

Capt. Sound, trumpet ! [A trumpet sounds. 

Her. [Reads] ' If any man of quality or degree 
within the lists of the army will maintain upon 
Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is 
a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third 
sound of the trumpet : he is bold in his defence.' 

Edm. Sound ! [First trumpet. 

Her. Again ! [Second trumpet. 

Her. Again! [Third trumpet. 

[ Trumpet answers within. 

Enter Edgar, at the third sound, armed, with 
a trumpet before him. 

Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
Upon this call o' the trumpet. 

Her. What are you ? 1 19 

Your name, your quality? and why you answer 
This present summons ? 

Edg. Know, my name is lost ; 

By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit : 
Yet am I noble as the adversary 
I come to cope. 

Alb. Which is that adversary? 

Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl 
of Gloucester? 

Edm. Himself: what say'st thou to him? 

Edg. Draw thy sword, 

That, if my speech offend a noble heart, 
Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine. 
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours, 
My oath, and my profession : I protest, 130 

Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, 
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune, 
Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor ; 
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father; 
Conspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince; 
And, from the extremest upward of thy head 
To the descent and dust below thy foot, 
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ' No,' 
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 140 
Thoii liest. 

Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name ; 
But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, 
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, 
What safe and nicely I might well delay 
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn : 
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart ; 
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, 
This sword of mine shall give them instant way, 



Scene hi.] 



KING LEAR. 



877 



Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak ! 
[Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls. 
Alb. Save him. save him ! 
Gon. This is practice, Gloucester: 151 

By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer 
An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd, 
But cozen'd and beguiled. 

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, 

Or with this paper shall I stop it : Hold, sir : 
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil : 
No tearing, lady; 1 perceive you know it. 

[Gives the letter to Edmund. 
Gon. Say, if T do, the laws are mine, not thine : 
Who can arraign me for't? 

Alb. Most monstrous ! oh ! 159 

Kn >\v'st thou this paper? 
Gon. Ask me not what I know. [Exit. 

A lb. Go after her : she 's desperate ; govern her. 
Edm. What you have charged me with, that 
have I done ; 
And more, much more ; the time will bring it out : 
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou 
I That hast this fortune on me? If thou 'rt noble, 
I do forgive thee. 

Edg. Let's exchange charity. 

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund ; 
llfmore, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 
!My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
■ The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 170 
Make instruments to plague us: 
The dark and vicious place where thee he got 
jCost him his eyes. 

I Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ; 

' The wheel is come full circle ; I am here. 

Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy 
A royal nobleness : I must embrace thee : 
, Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
Did hate thee or thy father ! 

Edg. Worthy prince, I know't. 

! Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 179 

I How have you known the miseries of yourfather? 
Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief 
tale; 
And when 'tis told, O. that my heart would burst ! 
The bloody proclamation to escape, 
That followed me so near, — O, our lives' sweetness! 
That we the pain of death would hourly die 
Rather than die at once ! — taught me to shift 
Into a madman's rags ; to assume a semblance 
That very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit 
Met I my father with his bleeding rings, 189 

Their precious stones new lost ; became his guide, 
Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair; 
Never, — O fault ! — reveal'd myself unto him, 
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd : 
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart, 
Alack, too weak the conflict to support ! 
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
Burst smilingly. 

Edm. This speech of yours hath moved me, 
And shall perchance do good : but speak you on ; 
You look as you had something more to say. 201 
Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in ; 
For I am almost ready to dissolve, 
Hearing of this. 

Edg. This would have seem'd a period 

To such as love not sorrow ; but another, 



To amplify too much, would make much more, 
And top extremity. 

Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man, 
Who, having seen me in my worst estate, 209 
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society ; but then, finding 
Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms 
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
As he'ld burst heaven ; threw him on my father; 
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him 
That ever ear received : which in recounting 
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
Began to crack: twice then the trumpets sounded, 
And there I left him tranced. 

Alb. But who was this? 

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in 
disguise 
Follow* d This enemy king, and did him service 220 
Improper for a slave. 

Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife. 

Gent. Help, help, O, help ! 

Edg. What kind of help? 

Alb. Speak, man. 

Edg. What means that bloody knife? 

Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ; 

It came even from the heart of— O, she's dead ! 

Alb. Who dead? speak, man. 

Gait. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
By her is poisoned ; she hath confess'd it. 

Edm I was contracted to them both : all three 
Now marry in an instant. 

Edg. Here comes Kent. 229 

Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive ordead: 
This judgement of the heavens, that makes us 

tremble, 
Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 

Enter KENT. 

O, is this he? 
The time will not allow the compliment 
Which very manners urges. 

Kent. I am come 

To bid my king and master aye good night : 
1 s he not here ? 

Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! 

Speak, Edmund, where 's the king? and where 's 

Cordelia? 
See'st thou this object, Kent? 
[ The bodies oj ' Goneriland Regan are brought in. 

Kent Alack, why thus? 

Edm. Yet Edmund was beloved : 

The one the other poison'd for my sake, 240 

And after slew herself 

Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. 

Edm. I pant for life : some good I mean to do, 
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, 
lie brief in it, to the castle : for my writ 
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia : 
Nay. send in time. 

Alb. Run, run, O, run! 

Edg. To who, my lord ? Who hath the office? 
send 
Thy token of reprieve. 

Edm. Well thought on: take my sword, 250 
Give it the captain. 

Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar. 

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
To lay the blame upon her own despair, 



8 7 8 



KING LEAR. 



[Act v. 



That she fordid herself. 
Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence 
awhile. [Edmund is borne off. 

Re-enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his 
arms; Edgar, Captain, and others following. 

Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! O, you are 
men of stones : 
Had I your tongues and eyes, I 'Id use them so 
That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone 
for ever ! 259 

I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass ; 
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
Why, then she lives. 

Kent. Is this the promised end ? 

Edg. Or image of that horror? 

Alb. Fall, and cease ! 

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives! if it be so, 
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 
That ever I have felt. 

Kent. [Kneeling] O my good master! 

Lear. Prithee, away. 

Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors 
_ all! 
I might have saved her ; now she "s gone for ever ! 
Cordelia, Cordelia ! stay a little. Ha! 271 

What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. 
I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee. 

Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 

Lear. Did I not, fellow? 

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion 
I would have made them skip : I am old now, 
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? 
Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you 
straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she loved and 
hated, 280 

One of them we behold. 

Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? 

Kent* The same, 

Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius ? 

Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; 
He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and 
rotten. 

Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man, — 

Lear. I'll see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your first of difference and 
decay, 
Have follow'd your sad steps. 



Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else : all 's cheerless, dark, 
and deadly. 290 

Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, 
And desperately are dead. 

Lear. Ay, so I think. 

Alb. He knows not what he says : and vain it is 
That we present us to him. 

Edg. Very bootless. 

Enter a Captain. 

Capt. Edmund is dead, my lord. 

Alb. That's but a trifle here. 

You lords and noble friends, know our intent. 
What comfort to this great decay may come 
Shall be applied : for us, we will resign, 
During the life of this old majesty, 
To him our absolute power: [To Edgar and 
Kent] you, to your rights; 300 

With boot, and such addition as your honours 
Have more than merited. All friends shall taste 
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
The cup of their deservings. O, see, see ! 

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, 
no life ! 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
And thou no breath at all? Thou 'It come no more, 
Never, never, never, never, never ! 
Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir. 
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips, 310 
Look there, look there ! [Dies. 

Edg. He faints ! My lord, my lord ! 

Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break! 

Edg. Look up, my lord. 

Kent. Vex not his ghost : O, let him pass ! he 
hates him much 
That would upon the rack of this tough world 
Stretch him out longer. 

Edg. He is gone, indeed. 

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured so long : 
He but usurp'd his life. 

Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present 
business 
Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends 

of my soul, you twain 
Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain. 

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go ,- 321 
My master calls me, I must not say no. 

A lb. The weight of this sad time we must obey ; 
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
The oldest hath borne most : we that are young 
Shall never see so much, nor live so long. 

' {Exeunt, with a dead march. 



OTHELLO, 

THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Duke ofVenke. 

Brabantio, a senator. 

Other Senators. 

Gratiano, brother to Brabantio. 

Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio. 

Othello, a noble Moor in the service of the 
Venetian state. 

Cassio, his lieutenant. 

Iago, his ancient. 

Roderigo, a Venetian gentleman. 

Montano, Othello's predecessor in the go- 
vernment of Cyprus. 



Clown, servant to Othello. 

Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio and wife 

to Othello. 
Emilia, wife to Iago. 
Bianca, mistress to Cassio. 

Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen, 
Musicians, and Attendants. 

Scene : Venice : a Sea-port in Cyprus. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. Venice. A street. 

E?iter Roderigo and Iago. 

Rod. Tush! never tell me; I take it much 
unkindly 
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse 
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. 

Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : 
If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
Abhor me. 

Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in 
thy hate. 

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great 
ones of the city, 
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
Off-capp'd to him : and, by the faith of man, 10 
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place : 
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, 
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance 
Horribly stuft'd with epithets of war ; 
And, in conclusion, 

Nonsuits my mediators : for, 'Certes,' says he, 
' I have already chose my officer.' 
And what was he? 
Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 20 

tA fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; 
That never set a squadron in the field, 
Nor the division of a battle knows 
More than a spinster ; unless the bookish theoric, 
Wherein the toged consuls can propose 
As masterly as he : mere prattle, without practice, 
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election : 
And T, of whom his eyes had seen the proof 
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds 
Christian and heathen, must be be-lec'd and 
calm'd 30 

By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, 
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
And I — God bless the mark! — his Moorship's 
ancient. 



I : 



Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been 

his hangman. 
Iago. Why, there's no remedy ; 'tis the curse 

of service, 
Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
And not by old gradation, where each second 
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judze your- 
self, 
Whether I in any just term am affined 
To love the Moor. 
Rod. I would not follow him then. 40 

Iago. O, sir, content you ; 
I follow him to serve my turn upon him; 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
For nought but provender, and when he's old, 

cashier' d : 
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are 
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 50 
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, 
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords. 
Do well thrive by them and when they have lined 

their coats 
Do themselves homage : these fellows have some 

soul; 
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, 
It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: 
In following him, I follow but myself; 
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
But seeming so, for my peculiar end : Co 

For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
The native act and figure of my heart 
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
For daws to peck at : I am not what I am. 
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick -lips 

owe, 
If he can carry t thus ! 
Iago. Call up her father, 



88o 



OTHELLO. 



[Act i. 



Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, 
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, 
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 70 

Plague him with flies : though that his joy be joy, 
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, 
As it may lose some colour. 
Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call 

aloud. 
I ago. Do, with like timorous accent and dire 
yell 
As when, \>y night and negligence, the fire 
Is spied in populous cities. 
Rod. What, ho, Brabantio ! Signior Brabantio, 

ho! 
Iago. Awake ! what, ho, Brabantio ! thieves ! 
thieves ! thieves ! 
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags ! 
Thieves! thieves! 81 

Brabantio appears above, at a window. 

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sum- 
mons? 
What is the matter there ? 

Rod. Signior, is all your family within? 

Iago. Are your doors lock'd ? 

Bra. Why, wherefore ask you this? 

Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, 
put on your gown ; 
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 
Is tupping your white ewe Arise, arise ; 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 90 

Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : 
Arise, I say. 

Bra. What, have you lost your wits? 

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my 
voice? 

Bra. Not I : what are you ? 

Rod. My name is Roderigo. 

Bra. The worser welcome : 

I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors : 
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in mad- 
ness, 
Being full of supper and distempering draughts, 
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 100 

To start my quiet. 

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, — 

Bra. But thou must needs be sure 

My spirit and my place have in them power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is 
Venice ; 
My house is not a grange. 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 

In simple and pure soul I come to you. 

Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that 
will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because 
we come to do you service and you think we are 
ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with 
a Barbary horse ; you'll have your nephews neigh 
to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gen- 
nets for germane. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? 

Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your 
daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
with two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a villain. 



Iago. You are — a senator. 

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, 
Roderigo. 120 

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I be- 
seech you, 
If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent, 
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, 
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, 
Transported, with no worse nor better guard 
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, 
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — 
If this be known to you and your allowance, 
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 
But if you know not this, my manners tell me 130 
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe 
That, from the sense of all civility, 
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence : 
Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, 
I say again, hath made a gross revolt , 
Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes 
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger 
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy your- 
self^ 
If she be in her chamber or your house, 
Let loose on me the justice of the state , 140 
For thus deluding you. 

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho! 

Give me a taper ! call up all my people ! 
This accident is not unlike my dream : 
Belief of it oppresses me already. 
Light, I say ! light ! [Exit above. 

Iago Farewell ; for I must leave you : 

It seems not mee't, nor wholesome to my place, 
To be produced — as, if 1 stay, I shall — 
Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state, 
However this may gall him with some check, 
Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd 
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, 151 
Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, 
Another of his fathom they have none, 
To lead their business: in which regard, 
Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains, 
Yet, for necessity of present life, 
I must show out a flag and sign of love, 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely 

find him, 
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search ; 
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. 160 

[Exit. 

Enter, belozv, Brabantio, and Servants with 
torches. 
Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is; 
And what's to come of my despised time 
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl ! 
With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a 

father ! 
How didst thou know 'twas she? O, she deceives 

me 
Past thought! What said she to you? Get more 

tapers ; 
Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think 
you? 
Rod. Truly, I think they are. 
Bra. O heaven ! How got she out? O treason 
of the blood! 170 

Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' 
minds 



Scene i.] 



OTHELLO. 



By what you see them act. Is there not charms 
By which the property of youth and maidhood 
May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
Of some such thing? 

Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. 

Bra. Call up my brother. O, would you had 
had her ! 
Some one way, some another. Do you know 
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? 

Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please 
To get good guard and go along with me. 1S0 

Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll 
call; 
I may command at most. Get weapons, ho ! 
And raise some special officers of night. 
On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Another street. 

Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants ivith 

torches. 
Iago. Though in the trade of war I have slain 
men, 
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience 
To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity 
Sometimes to do me service : nine or ten times 
I had thought to nave yerk'd him here under the 
ribs. 
Oth. 'Tis better as it is. 
Iago. Nay, but he prated, 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
I Against your honour 

That, with the little godliness I have, 

I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, 

Are you fast married? Be assured of this, n 

That the magnifico is much beloved, 

And hath in his effect a voice potential 

As double as the duke's : he will divorce you ; 

Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 

The law, with all his might to enforce it on, 

Will give him cable. 

Oth. Let him do his spite : 

My services which I have done the signiory 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to 

know, — 
Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, 
I shall promulgate — I fetch my life and being 21 
From men of royal siege, and my demerits 
May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd : for know, Iago, 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and confine 
1 For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come 
yond ? 
Iago. Those are the raised father and his 
friendb : 
i You were best go in. 

Oth. Not I : I must be found : 30 

My parts, my title and my perfect soul 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? 
Iago. By Janus, I think no. 

Enter Cassio, and certain Officers ivith torches. 
Oth. The servants of the duke, and my lieu- 
tenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
What is the news ? 



Cas. _ The duke does greet you, general, 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, 
Even on the instant. 

Oth. What is the x <atter, think you? 

Cas. Something from Cyprus, s I may divine : 
It is a business of some heat : the galleys 40 

Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night at one another's heels, 
And many of the consuls, raised and met, 
Are at the duke's already : you have been hotly 

call'd for ; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
The senate hath sent about three several quests 
To search you out. 

Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you. 

I will but spend a word here in the house, 
And go with you. [Exit. 

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here? 

Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
carack : 50 

If it prove lawful prize, he 's made for ever. 

Cas. I do not understand. 

Iago. He's married. 

Cas. To who? 

Re-enter Othello. 
Iago. Marry, to — Com , captain, will you go ? 
Oth. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes anotht - troop to seek for you. 
Iago. It is Brabantio. General, be advised; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with 
torches a fid -weapons. 

Oth. Holla ! stand there ! 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief! 

[ They draw on both sides. 

Iago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. 

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew 
will rust them. 
Good signior, you shall more command with years 
Than with your weapons. 61 

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd 
my daughter? 
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; 
For I '11 refer me to all things of sense, 
If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, 
So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd 
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 70 
Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. 
Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense 
That thou hast practised on her with foul charms, 
Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals 
That weaken motion: I'll have 't disputed on ; 
'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. 
I therefore apprehend and do attach thee 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. 
Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 80 

Subdue him at his peril. 

Oth, Hold your hands, 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
Without a prompter. Where will you that I go 
To answer this your charge? 



56 



882 



OTHELLO. 



[Act i. 



Bra. To prison, till fit time 

Of law and course of direct session 
Call thee to answer. 

Oth. What if I do obey? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied, 
Whose messengers are here about my side, 
Upon some present business of the state 90 

To bring me to him? 

First Off.^ 'Tis true, most worthy signior ; 

The duke's in council, and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Bra. _ How ! the duke in council ! 

In this time of the night ! Bring him away : 
Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, 
Or any of my brothers of the state, 
Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own ; 
For if such actions may have passage free, 
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A coimcil-chamber. 

The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; 
Officers attending. 

Duke. There is no composition in these news 
That gives them credit. 

First Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ; 
My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. 

Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty. 

Sec. Sen. And mine, two hundred : 

But though they jump not on a just account, — 
As in these cases, where the aim reports, 
'Tis oft with difference — yet do they all confirm 
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judge- 
ment: 
I do not so secure me in the error, 10 

But the main article I do approve 
In fearful sense. 

Sailor. [ IVithiu] What, ho ! what, ho ! what, ho ! 

First Off. A messenger from the galleys. 



Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
Steering with due course towards the isle of 

Rhodes, 
Have there injointedthem with an after fleet. 
First Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as 

you guess? 
M?ss. Of thirty sail : and now they do re-stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank ap- 
pearance 
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 40 

With his free duty recommends you thus, 
And prays you to believe him. 

Duke. 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. 
Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? 
First Sen. He's now in Florence. 
Duke. Write from us to him ; post-post-haste 

_ dispatch. 
First Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the 
valiant Moor. 



we must straight em- 



Enter a Sailor. 

Duke. Now, what *s the business ? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for 
Rhodes; 
So was I bid report here to the state 
By Signior Angelo. 

Duke. How say you by this change? 

First Sen. This cannot be, 

By no assay of reason : 'tis a pageant, 
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider 
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, 20 

And let ourselves again but understand, 
That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
So may he with more facile question bear it, 
For that it stands not in such warlike brace, 
But altogether lacks the abilities 
That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought 

of this, 
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful 
To leave that latest which concerns him first, 
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, 
To wake and wage a danger profitless. 30 

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for 
Rhodes. 

First Off. Here is more news. 



Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, 
Roderigo, and Officers. 
Duke. Valiant Othel 
_ ploy you 
Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
[ To Brabantio] I did not see you ; welcome, 
gentle signior ; 50 

We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, par- 
don me ; 
Neither my place nor aught I heard of business 
Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general 

care 
Take hold on me, for my particular grief 
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature 
1 hat it engluts and swallows other sorrows 
And it is still itself. 
Duke. Why, what 's the matter? 

Bra My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
Duke and Sen. Dead "> 

^ Br . a - . „ , Ay, tome; 

bne is abused, stol n from me, and corrupted 60 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; 
For nature so preposterously to err, 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
Sans witchcraft could not. 
Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this fouJ pro- 
ceeding 
Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter 
After your own sense, yea, though our proper son 
Stood in your action. 

■Bra- Humbly I thank your grace. 70 

Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems, 
V our special mandate for the state-affairs 
Hath hither brought. 
Duke and Sen. We are very sorry for't. 
Duke. [ To Othello] What, in your own part, 

can you say to this? 
Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 
Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend sig- 
niors, 
My very noble and approved good masters, 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her: 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



8S3 



The very head and front of my offending 80 

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my 

speech, 
And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace ; 
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith. 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
Their dearest action in the tented field. 
And little of this great world can I speak, 

i More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, 
And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious 

patience, 
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver qo 

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what 

charms. 
What conjuration and what mighty magic, 
For such proceeding I am charged withal, 
I won his daughter. 

Bra. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing, 

'To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on ! 
It is a judgement maim'd and most imperfect 
That will confess perfection so could err 100 

1 Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 

\ To find out practices of cunning hell, 
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjured to this effect, 

f He wrought upon her. 

I Duke. To vouch this, is no proof, 

Without more wider and more overt test 
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming do prefer against him. 

First Sen. But, Othello, speak : 110 

1 Did you by indirect and forced courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? 
Or came it by request and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth ? 

I Oth. I do beseech you, 

jSend for the lady to the Sagittary, 

! And let her speak of me before her father: 
If you do find me foul in her report, 
The trust, the office I do hold of you. 
Not only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fall upon my life. 
Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 120 

Oth. Ancient, conduct them : you best know 
the place. [Exeunt I ago and Attendants. 
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
I do confess the vices of my blood, 
So justly to your grave ears I'll present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
And she in mine. 

j Duke. Say it, Othello. 

Oth. Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; 
Still question'd me the story of my life, 129 

I From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have pass'd. 

1 ran it through, even from my boyish days. 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it ; 
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
Of moving accidents by flood and field. 
Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly 

breach, 
Of being taken by the insolent foe 
And sold to slavery, "fun- redemption thence 
And portance in my travels' history: 



SO 



Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 140 

Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch 

heaven, 
It was my hint to speak, — such was the process; 
And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
1 he Anthropophagi and men whose heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear 
Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
1 tut still the house-affairs would draw her thence : 
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, 
She 'Id come again, and y ith a greedy ear 
I >evour up my discourse . which I observing, t 
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
Hut not intentively : T did consent, 
And often did beguile her of her tears, 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 

strange, 160 

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: 
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd 
That heaven had made her such a man : she 

thank'd me. 
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story. 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I 

spake : 
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, 
And I loved her that she did pity them. 
This only is the witchcraft I have used : 
Here comes the lady ; let her witness it. 170 

Enter Desdemona, Iago, mid Attendants. 

Duke. I think this tale would win my 
daughter too. 
Good Brabantio, 

Take up this mangled matter at the best: 
Men do their broken weapons rather use 
Than their bare hands. 

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak : 

1 f she confess that she was half the wooer. 
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
Light on the man ! Come hither, gentle mistress : 
Do you perceive in all this noble company 
Where most you owe obedience ? 

Des. My noble father, 180 

I do perceive here a divided duty : 
To you I am bound for life and education ; 
My life and education both do learn me 
How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty ; 
I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my 

husband, 
And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring you before her father, 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor my lord. 

Bra God be wf you ! T have done. 

Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: 190 
I had rather to adopt a child than get it. 
Come hither, MOOP! 

I here do give thee that with all my heart 
Which, but thou ha^t already, with all my heart 
I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
I am glad at soul I have no other child : 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 



56-. 



88 4 



OTHELLO. 



[Act 



To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. 

Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a 
sentence, 199 

Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers 
Into your favour. 

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes de- 
pended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
What cannot be preserved when fortune takes 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
The robb'd that smiles steals something from the 

thief; 
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. 209 

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
He bears the sentence well that nothing bears 
But the free comfort which from thence he hears, 
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow 
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
But words are words ; I never yet did hear 
That the bruised heart was pierced through the 

ear. 
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs 
of state. 220 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty prepar- 
ation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude 
of the place is best known to you ; and though 
we have there a substitute of most allowed suffi- 
ciency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, 
throws a more safer voice on you : you must 
therefore be content' to slubber the gloss of your 
new fortunes with this more stubborn and bois- 
terous expedition. 229 

Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity 
I find in hardness, and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 
Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife, 
Due reference of place and exhibition, 
With such accommodation and besort 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 240 

Be 't at her father's. 

Bra. I'll not have it so. 

Oth. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 

To put my father in impatient thoughts 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear ; 
And let me find a charter in your voice, 
To assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with 
him, 249 

My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world : my heart's subdued 
Even to the very quality of my lord : 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind, 
And to his honours and his valiant parts 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 



The rites for which I love him are bereft me, 

And I a heavy interim shall support 

By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 260 

Oth. Let her have your voices. 
Vouch with me, heaven, I thetefore beg it not, 
To please the palate of my appetite, 
Nor to comply with heat— the young affects 
In me defunct — and proper satisfaction, 
But to be free and bounteous to her mind: 
And heaven defend your good souls, that you 

think 
I will your serious and great business scant 
For she is with me : no, when light-wing'd toys 
Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullness 270 
My speculative and officed instruments, 
That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, 
And all indign and base adversities 
Make head against my estimation ! 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
Either for her stay or going : the affair cries 

haste, 
And speed must answer it. 

First Sen. You must away to-night. 

Oth. With all my heart. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet 
again. 2S0 

Othello, leave some officer behind, 
And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
With such things else of quality and respect 
As doth import you. 

Oth. So please your grace, my ancient ; 

A man he is of honesty and trust : 
To his conveyance I assign my wife, 
With what else needful your good grace shall 

think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. 

Good night to every one. [To Brad.] And, noble 

signior, 
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 290 

Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 

First Sen. Adieu, brave Moor; use Desde- 
mona well. 

Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes 
to see: 
She has deceived her father, and may thee. 

[Exeunt Duke, Senators, Offieers, &=c. 

Oth. My life upon her faith ! Honest Iago, 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee : 
I prithee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
And bring them after in the best advantage. 
Come, Desdemona ; I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 300 
To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 

Rod. Iago, — 

Iago. What say'st thou, noble heart? 

Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou? 

Iago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 

Iago. If thou dost, I shall never love thee 
after. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 

Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is tor- 
ment; and then have we a prescription to die 
when death is our physician. 311 

Iago. O villanous ! I have looked upon the 
world for four times seven years; and since I 
could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, 



Scene nr.] 



OTHELLO. 



I never found man that knew how to love himself. 
Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the 
love of a guinea-hen, I would change my huma- 
nity with a baboon. 

Rod. What should I do? I confess it is my 
shame to be so fond ; but it is not in my virtue to 
amend it. 321 

Iago. Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we 
are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to 
the which our wills are gardeners : so that if we 
will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and 
weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of 
herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it 
sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, 
why, the power and corrigible authority of this 
lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had 
not one scale of reason to poise another of sen- 
suality, the blood and baseness of our natures 
would conduct us to most preposterous conclu- 
sions: but we have reason to cool our raging 
motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, 
whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect 
or scion. 

Rod. It cannot be. 

Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a 
permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown 
thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have 
professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to 
thy deserving with cables of perdurable tough- 
ness ; I could never better stead thee than now. 
Put money in thy purse ; follow thou the wars; 
defeat thy favour with an usurped beard ; I say, 
put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Des- 
demona should long continue her love to the 
Moor, — put money in thy purse, — nor he his to 
her: it was a violent commencement, and thou 
shalt see an answerable sequestration : — put but 
money in thy purse. These Moors are change- 
able in their wills : — fill thy purse with money : — 
the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, 
shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. 
She must change for youth : when she is sated 
with his body, she will find the error of her 
choice : she must have change, she must : there- 
fore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs 
damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than 
drowning. Make all the money thou canst: if 
sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring 
barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be not too 
hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou 
shalt enjoy her ; therefore make money. A pox 
of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: 
seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy 
joy than to be drowned and go without her. 

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I de- 
pend on the issue? 370 
Iago. Thou art sure of me : — go, make money : 
— I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again 
and again, I hate the Moor : my cause is hearted ; 
thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive 
in our revenge against him : if thou canst cuckold 
him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. 
There are many events in the womb of time which 
will be delivered. Traverse ! go, provide thy 
money. We will have more of this to-morrow. 
Adieu. 380 
Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning? 
Iago. At my lodging. 
Rod. I 'II be with thee betimes. 



Iago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Rode- 
rigo? 

Rod. What say you? 

Iago. No more of drowning, do you hear? 

Rod. 1 am changed : I '11 go sell all my land. 

[Exit. 

Iago. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; 
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, 
If I would time expend with such a snipe, 
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor; 
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
He has done my office : I know not if 't be true ; 
Rut I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Cassio 's a proper man : let me see now : 
To get his place and to plume up my will 399 
In double knavery — How, how? — Let's see: — 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
That he is too familiar with his wife. 
He hath a person and a smooth dispose 
To be suspected, framed to make women false. 
The Moor is of a free and open nature, 
That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, 
And will as tenderly be led by the nose 
As asses are. 

I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night 
Must bring this monstrous birth, to the world's 
light. {Exit. 410 

ACT II. 

Scene I. A Sea-port hi Cyprus. An open 
place near the quay. 

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen. 
Mon. What from the cape can you discern at 

sea? 
First Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high- 
wrought flood ; 
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, 
Descry a sail. 
Mon. Me thinks the wind hath spoke aloud at 
land ; 
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, 
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, 
Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of 
this? 
Sec. Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet : 
For do but stand upon the foaming shore, 11 

The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous 

mane, 
Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
I never did like molestation view 
On the enchafed flood. 

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 

Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd ; 
It is impossible they bear it out. 19 

Enter a third Gentleman. 
Third Gent. News, lads ! our wars are done. 
The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
That their designment halts : a noble ship of 

Venice 
Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance 
On most part of their fleet. 



OTHELLO. 



[Act ii. 



Mon. How ! is this true? 

Third Gent. The ship is here put in, 

AVeronesa; Michael Cassio, 
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, 
Is come on shore : the Moor himself at sea, 
And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 29 

Mon. I am glad on 't ; 'tis a worthy governor. 

Third Gent. But this same Cassio, though he 
speak of comfort 
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, 
And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. Pray heavens he be ; 

For I have served him, and the man commands 
Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho ! 
As well to see the vessel that's come in 
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, 
Even till we make the main and the aerial blue 
An indistinct regard. 

Third Gent. Come, let's do so; 40 

For every minute is expectancy 
Of more arrivance. 

Enter Cassio. 
Cas. Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike 
isle, 
That so approve the Moor ! O, let the heavens 
Give him defence against the elements, 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. 
Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? 
Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his 
pilot 
Of very expert and approved allowance ; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 50 
Stand in bold cure. 

[A cry within ' A sail, a sail, a sail ! ' 

Enter a fourth Gentleman. 
Cas. What noise? 

Fourth Gent. The town is empty; on the 
brow o' the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail !' 
Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 
[Guns heard. 
Sec. Gent. They do discharge their shot of 
courtesy : 
Our friends at least. 

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 

And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. 

Sec. Gent. I shall. [Exit. 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general 
wived ? 60 

Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achieved a 
maid 
That paragons description and wild fame ; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
And in the essential vesture of creation 
Does tire the ingener. 

Re-enter secottd Gentleman. 

How now ! who has put in ? 
Sec. Gent. Tisone Tago, ancient to the general. 
Cas. Has had most favourable and happy 



Tempests themselves, high seas and howling 

winds, 
The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, — ■ 
As having sense of reauty, do omit 71 



Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 

Mon. What is she? 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's 
captain, 
Left in the conduct of the bold lago, 
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts 
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, 
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, 
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, 79 
Make love 's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, 
Give renew'd fire to our extincled spirits, 
And bring all Cyprus comfort ! 

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Tago, Roderigo, 
and Attendants. 

O, behold, 
The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. 
Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
Before, behind thee and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round 1 

Des. _ I thank you, valiant Cassio. 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord? 

Cas. He is not yet arrived : nor know I aught 
But that he's well and will be shortly here. 90 

Des. O, but I fear — How lost you company? 

Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship — But, hark ! a sail. 

[ Within ' A sail, a sail ! ' Guns heard. 

Sec. Gent. They give their greeting to the 
citadel : 
This likewise is a friend. 

Cas. See for the news. [Exit Gentleman 

Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia'] 

Welcome, mistress : 
Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 100 
[Kissing- her. 

lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her 
lips 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
You 'Id have enough. 

Des. Alas, she has no speech. 

lago. In faith, too much ; 
I find it still, when I have list to sleep: 
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
And chides with thinking. 

Emil. You have little cause to say so. 

lago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures 

out of doors, no 

Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens, 

Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 

Players in your housewifery, and housewives in 

your beds. 

Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer ! 

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk : 
You rise to play and go to bed to work. 

Emil. You shall not write my praise. 

lago. No, let me not. 

Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou 
shouldst praise me? 

lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; 
For I am nothing, if not critical. 120 

Des. Come on, assay. There 's one gone to 
the harbour? 

lago. Ay, madam. 



Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Come, how wouldst thou praise me? 

Iago. I am about it ; but indeed my invention 
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize ; 
It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, 
And thus she is deliver'd. 

If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 130 

The one's for use, the other useth it. 

Des. Well praised ! How if she be black and 
witty ? 

Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. 

Des. Worse and worse. 

Etnil. How if fair and foolish ? 

Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair ; 
For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make 
fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise 
hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? 141 

Iago. There 's none so foul and foolish thereunto, 
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 

Des. O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the 
worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow 
on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the 
authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch 
of very malice itself? 

Iago. She that was ever fair and never proud, 
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, 150 
Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, 
Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' 
She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, 
She that in wisdom never was so frail 
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail, 
She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, 
See suitors following and not look behind, 
She was a wight, if ever such wight were, — 

Des. To do what? 160 

Iago. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. 

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! 
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy 
husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a 
most profane and liberal counsellor? 

Cas. He speaks home, madam : you may relish 
him more in the soldier than in the scholar. 

Iago. [Aside] He takes her by the palm : ay, 
well said, whisper: with as little a web as this 
j will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile 
upon her, do ; I will gyve thee in thine own court- 
ship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks 
as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had 
been better you had not kissed your three fingers 
so oft, which now again you are most apt to play 
the sir in. Very good ; well kissed ! an excellent 
courtesy ! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers 
to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for 
your sake! [Trumpet within.'] The Moor! I 
know his trumpet. 180 

Cas. 'Tis truly so. 

Des. Let's meet him and receive him. 

Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Othello and Attendants. 

Oth. O my fair warrior ! 

Des. My dear Othello ! 

Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content 
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest come such calms, 



May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas 
Olympus-high and duck again as low 190 

As hell's from heaven ! If it were now to die, 
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid 

But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers ! 

I cannot speak enough of this content ; 
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy: 
And this, and this, the greatest discords be 200 
[Kissing her. 
That e'er our hearts shall make ! 

Iago. [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! 
But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, 
As honest as I am. 

Oth. Come, let us to the castle. 

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 

drown' d. 
How does my old acquaintance of this isle? 
Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus ; 
I have found great love amongst them. O my 

sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, 
Go to the bay and disembark my coffers : 210 
Bring thou the master to the citadel; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desde- 

raona, 
Once more, well met at Cyprus. 
[Exeunt Othello, Desde/uoua, and Attendants. 

Iago. Do thou meet me presently at the har- 
bour. Come hither. If thou be 'st valiant, — as, 
they say, base men being in love have then a 
nobility in their natures more than is native to 
them, — list me. The lieutenant to-night watches 
on the court of guard : — first, I must tell thee this 
— Desdemona is directly in love with him. 221 

Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible. 

Iago. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be 
instructed. Mark me with what violence she 
first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling 
her fantastical lies : and will she love him still for 
prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her 
eye must be fed ; and what delight shall she have 
to look on the devil? When the blood is made 
dull with the act of sport, there should be, again 
to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, 
loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners 
and beauties ; all which the Moor is defective in : 
now, for want of these required conveniences, 
her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, 
begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the 
Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and 
compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, 
this -ranted,— as it is a most pregnant and un- 
forced position — who stands so eminent in the 
degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave 
very voluble ; no further conscionable than in 
putting on the mere form of civil and humane 
seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and 
most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, 
none : a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of oc- 
casions, that has an eye can stamp and counter- 



OTHELLO. 



[Act ii. 



feit advantages, though true advantage never 
present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the 
knave is handsome, young, and hath all those 
requisites in him that folly and green minds look 
after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman 
hath found him already. 

Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she's fuil 
of most blessed condition. 

Iago. Blessed fig's-end ! the wine she drinks is 
made of grapes : if she had been blessed, she would 
never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding ! 
Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of 
his hand? didst not mark that? 260 

Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but cour- 
tesy. 

Iago. Lechery, by this hand ; an index and 
obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul 
thoughts. They met so near with their lips that 
their breaths embraced together. Villanous 
thoughts, Roderigo ! when these mutualities so 
marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master 
and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion, 
Pish ! But, sir, be you ruled by me : I have 
brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night ; 
for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio 
knows you not. I '11 not be far from you : do you 
find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by 
speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline ; or 
from what other course you please, which the 
time shall more favourably minister. 

Rod. Well. 

Iago. Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, 
and haply may strike at you : provoke him, that 
he may ; for even out of that will I cause these of 
Cyprus to mutiny ; whose qualification shall 
come into no true taste again but by the displac- 
ing of, Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey 
to your desires by the means I shall then have to 
prefer them ; and the impediment most profitably 
removed, without the which there were no ex- 
pectation of our prosperity. 

Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any 
opportunity. 290 

Iago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
the citadel : I must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
Farewell. 

Rod. Adieu. [Exit. 

Iago., That Cassio loves her, I do well be- 
lieve it ; 
That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit : 
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, 
And I dare think he '11 prove to Desdemona 299 
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; 
Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure 
I stand accountant for as great a sin, 
But partly led to diet my revenge, 
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
Hath leap'd into my seat ; the thought whereof 
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards ; 
And nothing can or shall content my soul 
Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, 
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
At least into a jealousy so strong 310 

That judgement cannot cure. Which thing to So, 
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, 
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb — 



For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too — 
Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward 

me, 
For making him egregiously an ass 
And practising upon his peace and quiet 319 

Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused : 
Knavery's plain face is never seen till used. [Exit. 

Scene II. A st?-eet. 

Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People 
following. 
Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and 
valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now 
arrived, importing the mere perdition of the 
Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph ; 
some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man 
to what sport and revels his addiction leads him : 
for, besides these beneficial news, it is the cele- 
bration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure 
should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and 
there is full liberty of feasting from this present 
hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven 
bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general 
Othello ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A hall in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 

Attendants. 
Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- 
night : 
Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
Not to outsport discretion. 

Cas. Iago hath direction what to do ; 
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
Will I look to 't. 

Oth. Iago is most honest. 

Michael, good night: to-morrow with your ear- 
liest 
Let me have speech with you. [To Desdemona] 

Come, my dear love, 
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 
That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. 10 
Good night. 
[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Enter Iago. 

Cas. Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. 

Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet 
ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early 
for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not 
therefore blame : he hath not yet made wanton 
the night with her ; and she is sport for Jove. 

Cas. She's a most exquisite lady. 

Iago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 

Cas. • Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate 
creature. 21 

Iago. What an eye she has! methinks it 
sounds a parley of provocation. 

Cas. An inviting eye ; and yet methinks right 
modest. 

Iago. And when she speaks, is it not an 
alarum to love? 

Cas. She is indeed perfection. 

Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and here 
without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



would fain have a measure to the health of black 
Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, good Iago r I have very 
poor and unhappy brains for drinking : I could 
well wish courtesy would invent some other cus- 
tom of entertainment. 

Iago. O, they are our friends; but one cup: 
I '11 drink for you. 39 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and 
that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what 
innovation it makes here : I am unfortunate in 
the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness 
with any more. 

Iago. What, man ! 'tis a night of revels : the 
gallants desire it. 

Cas. Where are they? 

Iago. Here at the door; Iprayyou, callthemin. 

Cas. Ill do't; but it dislikes me. [Exit. 

Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 50 
With that which he hath drunk to-night already. 
He '11 be as full of quarrel and offence 
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool 

Roderigo, 
Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, 
To Desdemona hath to-night caroused 
Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: 
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, 
That hold their honours in a wary distance, 
The very elements of this warlike isle, 
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, 60 
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 

drunkards, 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may offend the isle. — But here they come : 
If consequence do but approve my dream, 
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 

Re-enter Cassio ; luith him Montano and 
Gentlemen; Servants following -with wine. 
Cas. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse 
already. 

Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, 
as I am a soldier. 

Iago. Some wine, ho ! 70 

I [Sings] And let me the canakin clink, clink; 
And let me the canakin clink : 
A soldier's a man; 
A life's but a span ; 
Why, then, let a soldier drink. 
Some wine, boys ! 

Cas. 'Fore God, an excellent song. 
Iago. I learned it in England, where, indeed, 
they are most potent in potting: your Dane, 
your German, and your swag-beliied Hollander — 
Drink, ho ! — are nothing to your English. 81 

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his 
drinking? 

Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your 
Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow 
your Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, 
ere the next pottle can be filled. 

Cas. To the health of our general ! 
Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I '11 do you 
justice. 90 

Iago. O sweet England ! 

King Stephen was a worthy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 
With that he call'd the tailor lawn. 



He was a wight of high renown, 

And thou art but of low degree : 
'Tis pride that pulls the country down : 
Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
Some wine, ho ! 100 

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than 
the other. 

Iago. Will you hear 't again? 

Cas. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of 
his place that does those things. Well, God 's 
above all ; and there be souls must be saved, and 
there be souls must not be saved. 

Iago. It's true, good lieutenant. 

Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the 
general, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be 
saved. 1 1 1 

Iago. And so do I too, lieutenant. 

Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; 
the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. 
Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. — 
Forgive us our sins! — Gentlemen, let's look to 
our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am 
drunk : this is my ancient; this is my right hand, 
and this is my left: I am not drunk now; I can 
stand well enough, and speak well enough. 120 

All. Excellent well. 

Cas. Why, very well then ; you must not think 
then that I am drunk. [Exit. 

Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's 
set the watch. 

Iago. You see this fellow that is gone before ; 
He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar 
And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, 
The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of him. 130 
I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 
On some odd time of his infirmity, 
Will shake this island. 

Mon, But is he often thus? 

Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep : 
He'll watch the horologe a double set, 
If drink rock not his cradle. 

Mon. It were well 

The general were put in mind of it. 
Perhaps he sees it not ; or his good nature 
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
And looks not on his evils: is not this true? 140 

Enter Roderigo. 
Iago. [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo ! 
I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go. 

[Exit Roderigo. 
Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor 
Should hazard such a place as his own second 
With one of an ingraft infirmity: 
It were an honest action to say 
So to the Moor. 

Iago. Not I, for this fair island : 

I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
To cure him of this evil — But, hark ! what noise? 
[Cry within: ' Help ! help !' 

Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 

Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant? 

( 'as. A knave teach me my duty ! 151 

I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. 
Rod. Beat me 1 



OTHELLO. 



[Act ii. 



Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue? 

[Striking Roderigo. 
M 'on. ' Nay, good* lieutenant; 

[Staying him. 
I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 

Cas. Let me go, sir, 

Or I '11 knock you o'er the mazzard. 
Man. Come, come, you're drunk. 

Cas. Drunk! [They fight. 

I ago. [Aside to Roderigo] Away, I say; go 
out, and cry a mutiny. [Exit Roderigo. 

Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen ; — 
Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir; — 
Help, masters J — Here's a goodly watch indeed ! 
[Bell rings. 
Who's that which rings the bell? — Diablo, ho ! 
The town will rise : God's will, lieutenant, hold ! 
You will be shamed for ever. 

Re-enter Othello and Attendants. 

Oth. What is the matter here? 

Mon. 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the 
death. [Faints. 

Oth. Hold, for your lives ! 

I ago. Hold, ho ! Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, 
— gentlemen, — 
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? 
Hold ! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for 
shame ! 

Oth. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth 
this? 
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that 
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? 171 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage 
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. 
Silence that dreadful bell : it frights the isle 
From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? 
Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge 
thee. 

Iago. I do not know : friends all but now, even 
now, 
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
Devesting them for bed ; and then, but now — 181 
As if some planet had unwitted men — 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
And would in action glorious I had lost 
Those legs that brought me to a part of it ! 

Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus 
forgot? 

Cas. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak. 

Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be 
civil; 190 

The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter, 
That you unlace your reputation thus 
And spend your rich opinion for the name 
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it. 

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger : 
Your officer, Iago, can inform you, — 
While I spare speech, which something now 

offends me, — 
Of all that I do know : nor know I aught 200 

By me that's said or done amiss this night; 
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, 



And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
When violence assails us. 

Oth. Now, by heaven, 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgement collied, 
Assays to lead the way : if 1 once stir, 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 210 

And he that is approved in this offence, 
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
Shall lose me. What ! in a town of war, 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 
'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began 't ? 

Mon. If partially affined, or leagued in office, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
Thou art no soldier. 

Iago. Touch me not so near : 220 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. 
Montano and myself being in speech, 
There comes a fellow crying out for help ; 
And Cassio following him with determined sword, 
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause : 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 230 

Lest by his clamour — as it so fell out — 
The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
And Cassio high in oath ; which till to-night 
I ne'er might say before. When I came back — 
For this was brief — I found them close together, 
At blow and thrust ; even as again they were 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter cannot I report : 240 

But men are men ; the best sometimes forget : 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, 
As men in rage strike those that wish them best, 
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received 
From him that fled some strange indignity, 
Which patience could not pass. 

Oth. I know, Iago, 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ; 
But never more be officer of mine. 

Re-enter Desdemona, attended. 
Look, if my gentle love be not raised up ! 250 
I'll make thee an example. 

Des. What's the matter? 

Oth. All's well now, sweeting; come away 
to bed. 
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon : 
Lead him off. [To Montano, who is led off. 

Iago, look with care about the town, 
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. 
Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life 
To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. 
[Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio. 

Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? 

Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 260 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, 
I have lost my reputation! I have lost the im- 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



891 



mortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. 
My reputation, Iago, my reputation ! 

I ago. As I am an honest man, I thought you 
had received some bodily wound ; there is more 
sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is 
an idle and most false imposition : oft got with- 
out merit, and lost without deserving: you have 
lost no reputation at all, unless you repute your- 
self such a loser. What, man ! there are ways to 
recover the general again : you are but now cast 
in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in 
malice ; even so as one would beat his offenceless 
dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him 
again, and he's yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than to 
deceive so good a commander with so slight, so 
drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? 
and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? 
and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? 
O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no 
name to be known by, let us call thee devil ! 

Iago. What was he that you followed with 
your sword? What had he done to you? 
Cas. I know not. 
Iago. Is 't possible ? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing 
distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. 
O God, that men should put an enemy in their 
mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should, 
with joy, pleasance, revel and applause, transform 
ourselves into beasts ! 

Iago. Why, but you are now well enough : 
how came you thus recovered? 

Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to 
give place to the devil wrath : one unperfectness 
shows me another, to make me frankly despise 
myself. 300 

Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : as 
the time, the place, and the condition of this 
country stands, I could heartily wish this had not 
befallen ; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your 
own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he 
shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many 
mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop 
them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by 
a fool, and presently a beast 1 O strange ! Every 
inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is 
a devil. 

Iago. Come, come, good wine is a good fami- 
liar creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more 
against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you 
think I love you. 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk ! 
Iago. You or any man living may be drunk at 
a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. 
Our general's wife is now the general : I may say 
so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and 
given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and 
denotement of her parts and graces: confess, 
yourself freely to her; importune her help to put 
you in your place again : she is of so free, so kind, 
so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice 
in her goodness not to do more than she is re- 
quested : this broken joint between you and her 
husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes 
against any lay Worth naming, this crack of your 
love shall grow stronger than it was before. 331 
Cas. You advise me well. 



Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and 
honest kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely; and betimes in the 
morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona 
to undertake for me : I am desperate of my for- 
tunes if they check me here. 

Iago. You are in the right. Good night, 
lieutenant ; I must to the watch. 340 

Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [Exit. 

Iago. And what 's he then that says I play the 
villain? 
When this advice is free I give and honast, 
Probal to thinking and indeed the course 
To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy 
The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful 
As the free elements. And then for her 
To win the Moor — were 't to renounce his baptism, 
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 350 

His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am I then a 

villain 
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, 
Directly to his good? Divinity of hell ! 
When devils will the blackest sins put on, 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
As I do now : for whiles this honest fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes 360 

And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, 
That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
And by how much she strives to do him good, 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
So will I turn her virtue into pitch, 
And out of her own goodness make the net 
That shall enmesh them all. 

Re-enter Roderigo. 

How now, Roderigo ! 
Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. 
My money is almost spent ; I have been to-night 
exceedingly well cudgelled ; and I think the issue 
will be, I shall have so much experience for my 
pains, and so, with no money at all and a little 
more wit, return again to Venice. 
Iago. How poor are they that have not pa- 
tience ! 
What wound did ever heal but by degrees? 
Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witch- 
craft ; 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 
Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, 
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd 
Cassio : 381 

Though other things grow fair against the sun, 
Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: 
Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morn- 
ing ; 
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. 
Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: 
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Roderigo.} Two 

things are to be done : 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
I'll set her on; 390 

Myself the while to draw the Moor apart. 



OTHELLO. 



[Act hi. 



And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 

Soliciting his wife : ay, that's the way : 

Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit. 

ACT III. 
Scene I. Before the castle. 
Enter Cassio and sotne Musicians. 
Cas. Masters, play here ; I will content your 
pains ; 
Something that's brief; and bid ' Good morrow, 
general.' [Music. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments 
been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus ? 

First Mus. How, sir, how ! 

Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? 

First Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 

First Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? 9 

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind-instrument 
that I know. But, masters, here's money for 
you : and the general so likes your music, that he 
desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise 
with it. 

F'irst Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 

Clo. If you have any music that may not be 
heard, to't again : but, as they say, to hear music 
the general does not greatly care. 

First Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for 

I '11 away : go ; vanish into air ; away ! 2 1 

[Exeunt Musicians. 

Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I 
hear you. 

Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There 's 
a poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentlewoman 
that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her 
there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of 
speech: wilt thou do this? 

Clo. She is stirring, sir : if she will stir hither, 
I shall seem to notify unto her. 31 

Cas. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown. 

Enter Iago. 

In happy time, Iago. 

Iago. You have not been a-bed, then ? 

Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke 
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
To send in to your wife : my suit to her 
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

Iago. I '11 send her to you presently ; 

And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
Out of the way, that your converse and business 
May be more free. 41 

Cas. I humbly thank you for't. [Exit /ago.] 
I never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 

Enter Emilia. 
Emil. Good morrow, good lieutenant: I am 
sorry 
For your displeasure ; but all will sure be well. 
The general and his wife are talking of it ; 
And she speaks for you stoutly : the Moor replies, 



That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus 
And great affinity and that in wholesome wisdom 
He might not but refuse you, but he protests he 
loves you 50 

And needs no other suitor but his likings 
To take the safest occasion by the front 
To bring you in again. 

Cas. Yet, I beseech you, 

If you think fit, or that it may be done, 
Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
With Desdemona alone. 

Emil. Pray you, come in : 

I will bestow you where you shall have time 
To speak your bosom freely. 

Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room in the castle. 
Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 
Oth. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; 
And by him do my duties to the senate : 
That done, I will be walking on the works ; 
Repair there to me. 
Iago. Well, my good lord, I '11 do 't. 

Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we 

see't? 
Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The garden of the castle. 
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 

Emil. Good madam, do : I warrant it grieves 
my husband, 
As if the case were his. 

Des. O, that 's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, 
Cassio, 
But I will have my lord and 3'ou again 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam, 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. Iknow't; I thank you. You do love my 
lord : 10 

You have known him long ; and be you well as- 
sured 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady, 

That policy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent and my place supplied, 
My general will forget my love and service. 

Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here 
I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee, 20 
If I do vow a friendship, I '11 perform it 
To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; 
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; 
I '11 intermingle every thing he does 
With Cassio's suit : therefore be merry, Cassio ; 
For thy solicitor shall rather die 
Than give thy cause away. 

Emil. Madam, here comes my lord. 

Cas. Madam, I '11 take my leave. 30 

Des. Why, stay, and hear me speak. 



Cos. Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease, 
Unfit for mine own purposes. 
Des. Well, do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 

Enter Othello and Ia«o. 

I ago. Ha 1 I like not that. 

Oth. What dost thou say? 

Iago. Nothing, my lord: or if— I know not 
what. 

Gth. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife ? 

Iago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot 
think it, 
That he would steal away so guilty-like, 
Seeing you coming. 

Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 40 

Des. How now, my lord ! 
I have been talking with a suitor here, 
A man that languishes in your displeasure. 

Oth. Who is't you mean? 

Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my 
lord, 
If I have any grace or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For if he be not one that truly loves you, 
That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, 
I have no judgement in an honest face : 50 

I prithee, call him back. 

Oth. Went he hence now? 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled 
That he hath left part of his grief with me, 
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 

Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other 
time. 

Des. But shall 't be shortly? 

Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper? 

Oth. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner, then? 

Oth. I shall not dine at home ; 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why, then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday 
morn ; 60 

On Tuesday noon, or night ; on Wednesday morn: 
I prithee, name the time, but let it not 
Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; 
And yet his trespass, in our common reason- 
Save that, they say, the wars must make exam- 
ples 
Out of their best — is not almost a fault 
To incur a private check. When shall he come? 
Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul, 
What you would ask me, that I should deny, 
Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael 
Cassio, 70 

That came a-wooing with you, and so many a 

time, 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much, — 

Oth. Prithee, no more : let him come when he 
will: 
I will deny thee nothing. 

Des. Why, this is not a boon ; 

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, 
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, 
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person : nay, when I have a suit 80 
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 
It shall be full of poise and difficult weight 



And fearful to be granted. 

Oth. I will deny thee nothing : 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
To leave me but a little to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you? no : farewell, my lord. 

Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to 
thee straight. 

Des. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach 
you; 
Whatc'er you be, I am obedient. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Oth. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my 
soul, 90 

But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
Chaos is come again. 

Iago. My noble lord, — 

Oth. What dost thou say, Iago? 

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd 
my lady, 
Know of your love? 

Oth. He did, from first to last : why dost 
thou ask? 

Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago ? 

Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted 
with her. 

Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 

Iago. Indeed ! 101 

Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : discern'st thou 
aught in that? 
Is he not honest? 

Iago. Honest, my lord ! 

Oth. Honest ! ay, honest. 

Iago. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oth. What dost thou think? 

Iago. Think, my lord ! 

Oth. Think, my lord ! 

By heaven, he echoes me, 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean some- 
thing : 
I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, 
When Cassio left my wife : what didst not like ? 
And when I told thee he was of my counsel 1 1 1 
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 

'Indeed !' 
And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, 
Show me thy thought. 

Iago. My lord, you know I love you. 

Oth. I think thou dost ; 

And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, 
And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them 

breath, 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
For such things in a false disloyal knave 1 2 1 

Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just 
They are close delations, working from the heart 
That passion cannot rule. 

Iago. For Michael Cassio, '• 

I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. 

Oth. I think so too. 

Iago. Men should be what they seem ; 

Or those that be not, would they might seem none ! 

Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

logo. Why, then, I think Cassio 's an honest 
man. 



894 



OTHELLO. 



[Act 



Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this : 130 

I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of 

thoughts 
The worst of words. 

Iago. Good my lord, pardon me : 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts ? Why, say they are vile and 

false ; 
As where 's that palace whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets and law-days and in session sit 140 
With meditations lawful? 

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, 
Iago, 
Ifthou butthink'st him vvrong'dand makesthis ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

Iago. I do beseech you — 

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, 
As, 1 confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not — that your wisdom yet, 
From one that so imperfectly conceits, 
Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance. 151 
It were not for your quiet nor your good, 
Nor fof my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, 
To let you know my thoughts. 

Oth. What dost thou mean? 

Iago. Good name in man and woman, dear my 
lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, 

nothing ; 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou- 
sands ; 
But he that filches from me my good name 
Robs me of that which not enriches him 160 

And makes me poor indeed. 

Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. 

Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your 
hand ; 
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 

Oth. Ha ! 

Iago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; 

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on : that cuckold lives in bliss 
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly 
loves ! 170 

Oth. O misery ! 

Iago. Poor and content is rich and rich enough, 
But riches fineless is as poor as winter 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor. 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy ! 

Oth. Why, why is this? 

Think' st thou I 'Id make a life of jealousy, 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions? No ; to be once in doubt 
Is once to be resolved : exchange me for a goat, 
When I shall turn the business of my soul 181 
To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, 
Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me 

jealous 
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 



Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt ; 
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago ; 
I '11 see before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 190 
And on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love or jealousy ! 

Iago. I am glad of it ; for now I shall have 
reason 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, 
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ; 
Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure : 
I would not have your free and noble nature, 
Out of self-bounty, be abused ; look to't: 200 
I know our country disposition well ; 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not show their husbands ; their best 

conscience 
Is not to leave 't undone, but keep't unknown. 

Oth. Dost thou say so? 

Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying 
you; 
And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks, 
She loved them most. 

Oth. And so she did. 

Iago. Why, go to then ; 

She that, so young, could give out such a seem- 
ing. 
To seel her father's eyes up close as oak — 210 
He thought ' twas witchcraft — but I am much to 

blame ; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon 
For too much loving you. 

Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. 

Iago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 

Iago. I' faith, I fear it has. 

I hope you will consider what is spoke 
Comes from my love. But I do see you 're moved : 
I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues nor to larger reach 
Than to suspicion. 220 

Oth. I will not. 

Iago. Should you do so, my lord, 

My speech should fall into such vile success 
As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio 's my worthy 

friend — 
My lord, I see you're moved. 

Oth. No, not much moved : 

I do not think but Desdemona's honest. 

Iago. Long live she so ! and long live you to 
think so ! 

Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 

Iago. Ay, there's the point: as — to be bold 
with you — 
Not to affect many proposed matches 
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, 230 
Whereto we see in all things nature tends — 
Foh ! one may smell in such a will most rank, 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. 
But pardon me ; I do not in position 
Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgement, 
May fall to match you with her country forms 
And happily repent. 

Oth. Farewell, farewell : 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



895 



If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, I ago. 240 

I ago. [Going] My lord, I take my leave. 

Oth. Why did I marry ? This honest creature 
doubtless 
Seesandknowsmore, much more, than he unfolds. 

Iago. [Returning] My lord, I would I might 
entreat your honour 
To scan this thing no further; leave it to time : 
Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
For, sure, he fills it up with great ability, 
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, 
You shall by that perceive him and his means: 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 250 
With any strong or vehement importunity; 
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears — 
As worthy cause I have to fear I am — 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 

Oth. Fear not my government. 

Iago. I once more take my leave. [Exit. 

Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 259 
Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard, 
Though that her jesses were mydearheart-strings, 
I 'Id whistle her off and let her down the wind, 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 
That chamberers have, or for I am declined 
Into the vale of years, — yet that's not much — ■ 
She 's gone. I am abused ; and my relief 
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, 
That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, 
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 271 

Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great 

ones; 
Prerogatived are they less than the base ; 
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death : 
Even then this forked plague is fated to us 
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes : 

Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! 
I '11 not believe 't. 

Des. How now, my dear Othello! 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 280 

13y you invited, do attend your presence. 

Oth. I am to blame. 

Des. Why do you speak so faintly? 

Are you not well? 

Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. 'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away 
again : 
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
It will be well. 

Oth. Your napkin is too little : 

[He puts t/ie handkerchief from him; and it 
drops. 
Let it alone. Come, I '11 go in with you. 

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 

Eviil. I am glad I have found this napkin : 290 
This was her first remembrance from the Moor: 
My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token, 
For he conjured her she should ever keep it, 
That she reserves it evermore about her 



To kiss and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'en out, 
And give 't Iago : what he will do with it 
Heaven knows, not I ; 
I nothing but to please his fantasy. 

Re-enter Iago. 

Iago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 300 

Emit. Do not you chide; I have a thing for 
you. 

Iago. A thing for me? it is a common thing — 

Emit. Ha ! 

Iago. To have a foolish wife. 

Emil. O, is that all? What will you give me now 
For that same handkerchief? 

Iago. What handkerchief? 

Emil. What handkerchief! 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona; 
That which so often you did bid me steal. 

Iago. Hast stol'n it from her? 310 

Emil. No, 'faith ; she let it drop by negligence, 
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. 
Look, here it is. 

Iago. A good wench ; give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with 't, that you have 
been so earnest 
To have me filch it? 

Iago. [Snatching it] Why, what 's that to you ? 

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
Give 't me again : poor lady, she'll run mad 
When she shall lack it. 

Iago. Be not acknown on 't ; I have use for it. 
Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 320 

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
And let him find it. Trifles light as air 
Are to the jealous confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ : this may do something. 
The Moor already changes with my poison : 
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, 
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, 
But with a little act upon the blood, 
Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so: 
Look, where he comes ! 

Re-enter Othello. 
Not poppy, nor mandragora, 330 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou owedst yesterday. 

Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? 

Iago. Why, how now, general ! no more of that. 

Oth. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on 
the rack : 
I swear 'tis better to be much abused 
Than but to know 't a little. 

Iago. How now, my lord ! 

Oth. What sense had I of her stol'n hours of 
lust? 
I saw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
I slept the next night well, was free and merry; 
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 341 

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n, 
Let him not know 't, and he's not robb'd at all. 

Iago. I am sorry to hear this. 

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, 
Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 350 



896 



OTHELLO. 



[Act hi. 



Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality, 
Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war ! 
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 

I ago. Is't possible, my lord? 

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a 
whore, 
Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof; 360 

Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul, 
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
Than answer my waked wrath ! 

I ago. Is't come to this? 

Oth. Make me to see't; or, at the least, so 
prove it, 
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop 
To hang a doubt on ; or woe upon thy life ! 

lago. My noble lord, — 

Oth. If thou dost slander her and torture me, 
Never pray more ; abandon all remorse ; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 370 

Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed ; 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
Greater than that. 

Iago. O grace ! O heaven forgive me ! 

Are you a man ? have you a soul or sense ? 
God be wi' you ; take mine office. O wretched fool, 
That livest to make thine honesty a vice ! 

monstrous world! Take note, take note, O 

world, 
To be direcT; and honest is not safe. 

1 thank you for this profit; and from hence 

I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. 

Otk. Nay, stay : thou shouldst be honest. 381 

Iago. I should be wise, for honesty 's a fool 
And loses that it works for. 

Oth. By the world, 

I think my wife be honest and think she is not ; 
I think that thou art just and think thou art not. 
I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as 

fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black 
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives, 
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied! 390 

Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
I do repent me that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied? 

Oth. Would ! nay, I will. 

Iago. And may : but, how ? how satisfied, my 
lord? 
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on — 
Behold her topp'd? 

Oth. Death and damnation ! O ! 

Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, 
To bring them to that prospect: damn them 

then, 
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster 
More than their own ! What then? how then? 
What shall I say? Where's satisfaction? 401 
It is impossible you should see this, 
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, 
If imputation and strong circumstances, 
Which lead direclly to the door of truth, 
Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't 



Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. 

Iago. I do not like the office : 410 

But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, 
Prick'd to 't by foolish honesty and love, 
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ; 
And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
I could not sleep. 

There are a kind of men so loose of soul, 
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs : 
One of this kind is Cassio : 
In sleep I heard him say ' Sweet Desdemona, 
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ; ' 420 

And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my 

hand, 
Cry ' O sweet creature ! ' and then kiss me hard, 
As if he pluck' d up kisses by the roots 
That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then 
Cried ' Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor ! ' 

Oth. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 

Iago. Nay, this was but his dream. 

Otk. But this denoted a foregone conclusion : 
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 

Iago. And this may help to thicken other 
proofs 430 

That do demonstrate thinly. 

Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. 

Iago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing 
done ; 
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand? 

Oth. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first 
gift. 

Iago. I know not that: but such a hand- 
kerchief — 
I am sure it was your wife's — did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

Oth. If it be that,— 

Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 440 
It speaks against her with the other proofs. 

Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand 
lives ! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago ; 
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. 
'Tis gone. 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne 
To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy 

fraught, 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues ! 

Iago. Yet be content. 450 

Oth. O, blood, blood, blood ! 

Iago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps 
may change. 

Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
Whose icy current and compulsive course 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontic and the Hellespont, 
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
Till that a capable and wide revenge 
Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble 
heaven, 460 

[Kneels] In the due reverence of a sacred vow 
I here engage my words. 

Iago. Do not rise yet. 

[Kneels] Witness, you ever-burning lights above, 



Scene ui.] 



OTHELLO. 



S97 



You elements that clip us round about, 
Witness that here Iago doth give up 
The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him com- 
mand, 
And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
What bloody business ever. 

Oth. I greet thy love, 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance 
bounteous, 470 

And will upon the instant put thee to 't : 
Within the'-e three days let me hear thee say 
That Cassio's not alive. 
Iago. My friend is dead; 'tis done at your 
request : 
But let her live. 

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 
Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw, 
To furnish me with some swift means of death 
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 
Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Be/ore the castle. 
Enter Desdem on a, Emilia, and Clown. 

Des. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant 
Cassio lies? 

C/o. I dare not say he lies any where. 

Des. Why, man ? 

C/o. He's a soldier, and for one to say a 
soldier lies, is stabbing. 

Des. Go to : where lodges he? 

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell 
you where I lie. 

Des. Can any thing be made of this? to 

Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for me 
to devise a lodging and say he lies here or he 
lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. 

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified 
by report? 

Clo. I will catechize the world for him; that 
is, make questions, and by them answer. 

Des. Seek him. bid him come hither: tell 
him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and 
hope all will be well. 20 

Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's 
wit; and therefore I will attempt the doinsj it. 

[Exit. 

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, 
Emilia? 

Emil. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my 
purse 
Full of crusadoes: and, but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. 

Emil. Is he not jealous? 

Des. Who, he? I think the sun where he was 
born 30 

Drew all such humours from him. 

Emil. Look, where he comes. 

Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio 
Be call'd to him. 

I'irfcr Othello. 
How is 't with you, my lord? 
Oth. Well, my good lady. [Aside] O, hard- 
ness to dissemble ! — 



How do you, Desdemona? 

Des. Well, my good lord. 

Oth. Give me your hand : this hand is moist, 
my lady. 

Des. It yet hath felt no age nor known no 
sorrow. 

Oth. This argues fruitfulness and liberal 
heart : 
Hot, hot, and moist: this hand of yours requires 
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, 40 
Much castigation, exercise devout ; 
For here "s a young and sweating devil here, 
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so ; 

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 

Oth. A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave 
hands ; 
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
promise. 

Oth. What promise, chuck ? 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak 
with you. 50 

Oth. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me ; 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. 

Oth. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

Oth. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, my lord. 

Oth. That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
She was a charmer, and could almost read 
The thoughts of people: she told her, while she 

kept it, 
'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father 
Entirely to her love, but if she lost it 60 

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathed and his spirits should 

hunt 
After new fancies : she, dying, gave it me ; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
To give it her. I did so : and take heed on 't; 
Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is't possible? 

Oth. 'Tis true : there 's magic in the web of it : 
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 70 

The sun to course two hundred compasses, 
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work; 
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk ; 
And it was dyed in mummy which the skilful 
Conserved of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed ! is't true? 

Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to 't well. 

Des. Then would to God that I had never 
seen 't ! 

Oth. Ha! wherefore? 

Des. Why do you speak so startinglyand rash? 

Oth. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out o' 
the way? 80 

Des. Heaven bless us ! 

Oth. Say you ? 

Des. It is not lost; but what an if it were? 

Oth. How ! 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 



57 



OTHELLO. 



[Act hi. 



Oth. Fetch 't, let me see 't. 

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now. 
This is a trick to put me from my suit : 
Pray you, let Cassio be received again. 

Oth. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind 
misgives. 

Des. Come, come ; 90 

You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 

Oth. The handkerchief! 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

Oth. The handkerchief! 

Des. A man that all his time 

Hath founded his good fortunes on your love, 
Shared dangers with you, — 

Oth. The handkerchief! 

Des. In sooth, you are to blame. 

Oth. Away ! [Exit. 

Emil. Is not this man jealous? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 100 

Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: 
I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 

Emit. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man : 
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food ; 
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, 
They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my hus- 
band ! 

Enter Cassio and Iago. 

I ago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do 't : 
And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 

Des. How now, good Cassio ! what's the news 
with you? 

Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech yon 
That by your virtuous means I may again in 
Exist, and be a member of his love 
Whom I with all the office of my heart 
Entirely honour : I would not be delay'd. 
If my offence be of such mortal kind 
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows, 
Nor purposed merit in futurity, 
Can ransom me into his love again, 
But to know so must be my benefit ; 
So shall I clothe me in a forced content, 120 

And shut myself up in some other course, 
To fortune's alms. 

Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio ! 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
Were he in favour as in humour alter'd. 
So help me every spirit sanclified, 
As I have spoken for you all my best 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure 
For my free speech ! you must awhile be patient : 
What I can do I will ; and more I will 130 

Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 

Iago. Is my lord angry? 

Emil. He went hence but now, 

And certainly in strange unquietness. 

Iago. Can he be angry? I have seen the 
cannon, 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air, 
And, like the devil, from his very arm 
Puff 'd his own brother : — and can he be angry ? 
Something of moment then : I will go meet him : 
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 

Des. I prithee, do so. [Exit Iago. 

Something, sure, of state, _ 140 
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice 
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, 



Hath puddled his clear spirit ; and in such cases 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, 
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so ; 
For let our finger ache, and it indues 
Our other healthful members even to that sense 
Of pain : nay, we must think men are not gods, 
Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal Beshrew me much, Emilia, 150 
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, 
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ; 
But now I find I had suborn'd the witness, 
And he's indidled falsely. 

Emil. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you 
think, 
And no conception nor no jealous toy 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas the day! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; 
They are not ever jealous for the cause, 160 

But jealous for they are jealous : 'tis a monster 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's 
mind ! 

Emil. Lady, amen. 

Des. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk here- 
about : 
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit 
And seek to effecl it to my uttermost. 

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Bianca. 

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 

Cas. What make you from home? 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 170 
I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
What, keep a week away? seven days and nights? 
Eight score eight hours ? and lovers' absent hours, 
More tedious than the dial eight score times? 

weary reckoning ! 

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca : 

1 have this while with leaden thoughts been 

press'd ; 
But I shall, in a more continuate time, 
Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 

[Giving Iter Desdemona's handkerchief. 
Take me this work out. 

Bian. O Cassio, whence came this? 180 

This is some token from a newer friend : 
To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
Is't come to this? Well, well. 

Cas. Go to, woman ! 

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth, 
From whence you have them. You are jealous 

now 
That this is from some mistress, some remem- 
brance : 
No, in good troth, Bianca. 

Bian. Why, whose is it? 

Cas. I know not, sweet: I found it in my 
chamber. 
I like the work well : ere it be demanded — 
As like enough it will — I 'Id have it copied : 190 
Take it, and do't ; and leave me for this time. 

Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 

Cas. I do attend here on the general ; 
And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
To have him see me woman'd. 



Scene iv.] 



OTHELLO. 



899 



Bian. Why, I pray you ? 

Cas. Not that I love yo\i not. 

Bian. But that you do not love nie. 

I pray you, bring me on the way a little, 
And say if I shall see you soon at night. 

Cas. 'Tis but a little way that I can bring you ; 
For I attend here : but I '11 see you soon. 200 

Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanced. 
{Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Cyprus. Before the castle. 

Enter Othello and Iago. 

Iago. Will you think so ? 

Oth. Think so, Iago ! 

Iago. What, 

To kiss in private ? 

Oth. An unauthorized kiss. 

Iago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed 
An hour or more, not meaning any harm? 

Oth. Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm ! 
It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, 
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt 
heaven. 

Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : 
But if I give my wife a handkerchief, — 10 

Oth. What then ? 

Iago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord ; and, 
being hers, 
She may, I think, bestow 't on any man. 

Oth. She is protectress of her honour too : 
May she give that? 

Iago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen ; 
They have it very oft that have it not : 
But, for the handkerchief, — 

Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have 
forgot it. 
Thou said'st — O, it comes o'er my memory, 20 
As doth the raven o'er the infected house, 
Boding to all — he had my handkerchief. 

Iago. Ay, what of that? 

Oth. That's not so good now. 

Iago. What, 

If I had said I had seen him do you wrong? 
Or heard him say, — as knaves be such abroad, 
Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
But they must blab — 

Oth. Hath he said any thing? 

Iago. He hath, my lord; but be you well 
assured, 30 

No more than he '11 unswear. 

Oth. What hath he said ? 

Iago. 'Faith, that he did — I know not what he 
did. 

Oth. What? what? 

Ia%o. Lie — 

Oth. With her? 

Iago. With her, on her ; what you will. 

Oth. Lie with her ! lie on her ! We say lie on 
her, when they belie her. Lie with her ! that's 
fulsome. — Handkerchief — confessions — handker- 
chief! — To confess, and be hanged for his labour ; 
— first, to be hanged, and then to confess. — I 
tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in 



such shadowing passion without .some instruction. 
It is not words that shake me thus. Pish! Noses, 
ears, and lips. — Is't possible? — Confess — hand- 
kerchief! — O devil! {Falls in a trance. 

Iago. Work on, 
My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are 

caught ; 
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho ! my lord ! 
My lord, I say! Othello! 

Enter Cassio. 

How now, Cassio ! 

Cas. What's the matter? 50 

Iago. My lord is fall'n into an epilepsy : 
This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 

Cas. Rub him about the temples. 

Iago. . No, forbear; 

The lethargy must have his quiet course: 
If not, he foams at mouth and by and by 
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs : 
Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
He will recover straight : when he is gone, 
I would on great occasion speak with you. 59 

{Exit Cassio. 
How is it, general? have you not hurt your head? 

Oth. Dost thou mock me? 

Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven. 

Would you would bear your fortune like a man ! 

Oth. A horned man's a monster and a beast. 

Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous 
city, 
And many a civil monster. 

Oth. Did he confess it ? 

Iago. Good sir, be a man ; 

Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked 
May draw with you : there's millions now alive 
That nightly lie in those unproper beds 
Which they dare swear peculiar : your case is 
better. 70 

O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
And to suppose her chaste ! No, let me know ; 
And knowing what I am, I know what she shall 
be. 

Oth. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. 

Iago. Stand you awhile apart; 

Confine yourself but in a patient list. 
Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your 

grief— 
A passion most unsuiting such a man — 
Cassio came hither: I shifted him away, 
And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy, 80 

Bade him anon return and here speak with me; 
The which he promised. Do but encave yourself, 
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, 
That dwell in every region of his face ; 
For I will make him tell the tale anew, 
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
He hath, and is again to cope your wife : 
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience ; 
Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen, 
And nothing of a man. 

Oth. Dost thou hear, Iago? 90 

I will be found most cunning in my patience; 
But — dost thou hear? — most Woody. 

Iago. That's not amiss; 

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw? 

[Ot/iello retires. 



5 7- 



900 



OTHELLO. 



[Act iv. 



Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 

A housewife that by selling her desires 

Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature 

That dotes on Cassio ; as 'tis the strumpet's plague 

To beguile many and be beguiled by one : 

He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 99 

From the excess of laughter. Here he comes : 

Re-enter Cassio. 
As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 
And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures and light behaviour, 
Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant? 

Cas. The worser that you give me the addition 
Whose want even kills me. 

Iago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure 
on 't. 
[Speaking lower] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca' s 

power, 
How quickly should you speed ! 

Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! 

Otk. Look, how he laughs already ! 1 10 

Iago. I never knew woman love man so. 

Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i' faith, she 
loves me. 

Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it 
out. 

Iago. Do you hear, Cassio? 

Oth. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er : go to ; well said, well said. 

Iago. She gives it out that you shall marry 
her: 
Do you intend it? 

Cas. Ha, ha, ha! 120 

Oth. Do you triumph, Roman? do you tri- 
umph ? 

Cas. I marry her! what? a customer! Pri- 
thee, bear some charity to my wit ; do not think 
it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha! 

Oth. So, so, so, so : they laugh that win. 

Iago. 'Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry 
her. 

Cas. Prithee, say true. 

Iago. I am a very villain else. 

Oth. Have you scored me? Well. 130 

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out : 
she is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own 
love and flattery, not out of my promise. 

Oth. Iago beckons me ; now he begins the 
story. 

Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me 
in every place. I was the other day talking on 
the sea-bank with certain Venetians ; and thither 
comes the bauble, and, by this hand, she falls me 
thus about my neck — 140 

Oth. Crying 'O dear Cassio!' as it were: 
his gesture imports it. 

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me ; 
so hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! 

Oth. Now he tells how she plucked him to 
my chamber. O, I see that nose of yours, but 
not that dog I shall throw it to. 

Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 

Iago. Before me ! look, where she comes. 

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a per- 
fumed one. 151 

Enter Bianca. 
What do you mean by this haunting of me? 



Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ! 
What did you mean by that same handkerchief 
you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take 
it. I must take out the work? — A likely piece of 
work, that you should find it in your chamber, 
and not know who left it there ! This is some 
minx's token, and I must take out the work? 
There; give it your hobby-horse: wheresoever 
you had it, I'll take out no work on 't. t6i 

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca ! how now ! 
how now ! 

Oth. By heaven, that should be my hand- 
kerchief! 

Bian. An you '11 come to supper to-night, yen 
may; an you will not, come when you are next 
prepared for. [Exit. 

Iago. After her, after her. 

Cas. 'Faith, I must; she'll rail in the street 
else. 171 

Iago. Will you sup there? 

Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 

Iago. Well, I may chance to sec you ; for I 
would very fain speak with you. 

Cas. Prithee, come; will you? 

Iago. Go to ; say no more. [Exit Cassio. 

Oth. [Advancing] How shall I murder him, 
Iago? 

Iago. Did you perceive how he laughed at 
his vice? 181 

Oth. O Iago ! 

Iago. And did you see the handkerchief? 

Oth. Was that mine? 

Iago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how he 
prizes the foolish woman your wife ! she gave it 
him, and he hath given it his whore. 

Oth. I would have him nine years a-killing. 
A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 

Iago. Nay, you must forget that. 190 

Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be 
damned to-night ; for she shall not live : no, my 
heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts 
my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter crea- 
ture : she might lie by an emperor's side and 
command him tasks. 

Iago. Nay, that's not your way. 

Oth. Hang her ! I do but say what she is : so 
delicate with her needle : an admirable musician : 
O ! she will sing the savageness out of a bear : of 
so high and plenteous wit and invention : — ■ 201 

Iago. She 's the worse for all this. 

Oth. O, a thousand thousand times : and then, 
of so gentle a condition ! 

Iago. Ay, too gentle. 

Oth. Nay, that's certain: but yet the pity 
of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of it, Iago! 

Iagv. If you are so fond over her iniquity, 
give her patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, 
it comes near nobody. 210 

Oth. I will chop her into messes: cuckold 
me! 

Iago. O, 'tis foul in her. 

Oth. With mine officer ! 

Iago. That's fouler. 

Oth. Get me some poison, Iago; this night: 
I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and 
beauty unprovide my mind again: this night, 
Iago. 219 

Iago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in 
her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. : 



Scene i.] 



OTHELLO. 



901 



Oth. Good, good: the justice of it pleases: 
very good. 

lago. And for Cassio, let me be his under- 
taker : you shall hear more by midnight. 

Oth. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.'] 

What trumpet is that same ? 
Iago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis 
Lodovico 
Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with 
him. 

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Lod. Save you, worthy general ! 

Oth. With all my heart, sir. 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet 
you. [Gives him a letter. 

Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
[Opens the letter, and reads. 

Dcs. And what's the news, good cousin 
Lodovico? 

Iago. I am very glad to see you, signior ; 
Welcome to Cyprus. 

Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant 
Cassio? 

Iago. Lives, sir. 

Des. Cousin, there's fall'n between him and 
my lord 
An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. 

Oth. Are you sure of that? 

Des. My lord? 

Oth. [Reads] 'This fail you not to do, as you 
will — ' 240 

Lod. He did not call ; he's busy in the paper. 
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio? 

Des. A most unhappy one : I would do much 
To atone them, for the love I bear to Caesio. 

Oth. Fire and brimstone ! 

Dcs. My lord? 

Oth. Are you wise ? 

Des. What, is he angry? 

Lod. May be the letter moved him ; 

For, as I think, they do command him home, 
Deputing Cassio in his government. 

Des. Trust me, I am glad on't. 

Oth. Indeed! 

Des. My lord? 

Oth. I am glad to see you mad. 

Des. Why, sweet Othello, — 250 

Oth. [Striking her] Devil! 

Des. I have not deserved this. 

Lod. My lord, this would not be believed in 
Venice, 
Though I should swear I saw't : 'tis very much : 
Make her amends; she weeps. 

Oth. O devil, devil ! 

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. 
Out of my sight ! 

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going. 

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady: 
I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 260 

Oth. Mistress ! 

Des. My lord? 

Oth. What would you with her, sir? 

Lod. Who, I, my lord? 

Oth. Ay ; you did wish that I would make her 
turn : 
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, 



And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep; 
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient, 
Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. 
Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted passion ! — 
I am commanded home. Get you away ; 269 
I '11 send for you anon. Sir, I obey the mandate, 
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! 

[Exit Desdemona. 
Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-night, 
I do entreat that we may sup together: 
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats and 
monkeys ! [Exit. 

Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full 
senate 
Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature 
Whom passion could not shake? whose solid 

virtue 
The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
Could neither graze nor pierce? 
Iago. He is much changed. 

Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of 
brain ? 280 

Iago. He's that he is : I may not breathe my 
censure. 
What he might be, — if what he might he is not — 
I would to heaven he were ! 

Lod. What, strike his wife ! 

Iago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; yet would 
I knew 
That stroke would prove the worst ! 

Lod. Is it his use? 

Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
And new-create this fault ? 

Iago. Alas, alas! 

It is not honesty in me to speak 
What I have seen and known. You shall observe 

him, 
And his own courses will denote him so 290 

That I may save my speech : do but go after, 
And mark how he continues. 

Lod. I am sorry that I am deceived in him. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room in t/ie castle. 
Enter Othello and Emilia. 

Oth. You have seen nothing then? 

Emil. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect. 

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she 
together. 

Emil. But then I saw no harm, and then I 
heard 
Each syllable that breath made up between them. 

Oth. What, did they never whisper? 

Emil. Never, my lord. 

Oth. Nor send you out o' the way? 

Emil. Never. 

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, 
nor nothing? 

Emil. Never, my lord. 10 

Oth. That's strange. 

Emil. 1 durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, 
Remove your thought ; it doth abuse your bosom. 
If any wretch have put this in your head, 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true, 
There's no man happy; the purest of their wives 
Is foul as slander. 



902 



OTHELLO. 



[Act iv. 



Oth. Bid her come hither : go. 

[Exit Emilia. 
She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd 20 
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
A closet lock and key of villanous secrets : 
And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen 
her do't. 

Enter Desdemona with Emilia. 

Des. My lord, what is your will? 

Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither. 

Des. What is your pleasure ? 

Oth. Let me see your eyes ; 

Look in my face. 

Des. What horrible fancy's this? 

Oth. [To Emilia] Some of your function, 
mistress ; 
Leave procreants alone and shut the door ; 
Cough, or cry 'hem,' if any body come : 
Your mystery, your mystery : nay, dispatch. 30 
[Exit Emilia. 

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech 
import? 
I understand a fury in your words, 
But not the words. 

Oth. Why, what art thou ? 

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 

And loyal wife. 

Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils them- 
selves 
Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double 

damn'd : 
Swear thou art honest. 

Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 

Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false 
as hell. 

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? how 
am I false? 40 

Oth. O Desdemona ! away ! away ! away ! 

Des. Alas the heavy day ! Why do you weep ? 
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord? 
If haply you my father do suspect 
An instrument of this your calling back, 
Lay not your blame on me : if you have lost him, 
Why, I have lost him too. 

Oth. Had it pleased heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd 
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head, 
Steep' d me in poverty to the very lips, 50 

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, 
I should have found in some place of my soul 
A drop of patience : but, alas, to make me 
+A fixed figure for the time of scorn 
To point his slow unmoving finger at ! 
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well : 
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, 
Where either I must live, or bear no life ; 
The fountain from the which my current runs, 
Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 60 

Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads 
To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion 

there, 
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin, — 
Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. 

Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the sham- 
bles, 
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, 



Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet 
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst 
ne'er been born ! 
Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I com- 



mitted? 



70 



Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly 
book, 
Made to write 'whore' upon? What committed ! 
Committed ! O thou public commoner ! 
I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
That would to cinders burn up modesty, 
Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed ! 
Heaven stops the nose at it and the moon winks, 
The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets 
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
And will not hear it. What committed ! 80 

Impudent strumpet! 

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 

Oth. Are not you a strumpet? 

Des. No, as I am a Christian : 

If to preserve this vessel for my lord 
From any other foul unlawful touch 
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. 

Oth. What, not a whore? 

Des. No, as I shall be saved. 

Oth. Is 't possible? 

Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 

Oth. I cry you mercy, then : 

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice 
That married with Othello. [Raising his voice] 
You, mistress, 90 

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
And keep the gate of hell ! 

Re-enter Emilia. ' 

You, you, ay, you ! 
We have done our course ; there 's money for 

your pains : 
I pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel. 

[Exit. 
Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman con- 
ceive ? 
How do you, madam? how do you, my good 
lady? 
Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 
Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with 

my lord ? 
Des. With who? 

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 100 

Des. Who is thy lord? 

Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 

Des. I have none : do not talk to me, Emilia ; 
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none, 
But what should go by water. Prithee, to-night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets: remember; 
And call thy husband hither. 
Emil. Here's a change indeed! [Exit. 

Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet. 
How have I been behaved, that he might stick 
The small'st opinion on my least misuse? 

Re-enter Emilia ■with Iago. 
Iago. What is your pleasure, madam? How 
is't with you? no 

Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach 
young babes 
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks : 
He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith, 
I am a child to chiding. 



Scene ii.] 



OTHELLO. 



9°3 



Iago. What's the matter, lady? 

Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored 
her, 
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, 
As true hearts cannot bear. 
Des. Am I that name, Iago? 
Iago. What name, fair lady? 

Des. Such as she says my lord did say I was. 
Emil. He call'd her whore : a beggar in his 
drink 120 

Could not have laid such terms upon his callat. 
Iago. Why did he so ? 
Des. I do not know; I am sure I am none 

such. 
Iago. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the 

day ! 
Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble matches, 
j Her father and her country and her friends, 
To be call'd whore ? would it not make one weep? 
Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
Iago. Beshrew him for't ! 

How comes this trick upon him ? 
Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 

Emil. I will behang'd, if some eternal villain, 
Some busy and insinuating rogue, 131 

Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office. 
Have not devised this slander; I'll be hang'ci 
1 else. 

Iago. Fie, there is no such man ; it is impos- 
sible. 
Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 
Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw 
his bones ! 
Why should he call her whore ? who keeps her 

company? 
What place? what time? what form? what likeli- 
hood? 
The Moor's abused by some most villanous knave, 
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow. 

heaven, that such companions thou'ldst unfold, 
And put in every honest hand a whip 

To lash the rascals naked through the world 
Even from the east to the west ! 

Iago. Speak within door. 

Emil. O, fie upon them ! Some such squire 
he was 
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, 
And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 

Iago. You are a fool ; go to. 

Des. O good Iago, 

What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of 
heaven, 150 

1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : 
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed, 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 
Delighted them in any other form ; 

Or that I do not yet, and ever did, 
And ever will — though he do shake me off 
To beggarly divorcement — love him dearly, 
Comfort forswear me ! Unkindnessmay do much; 
And his unkindness may defeat my life, 160 

But never taint my love. I cannot say 'whore :' 
1 1 does abhor me now I speak the word ; 
To do the act that might the addition earn 
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
Iago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his 
humour : 



The business of the state does him offence, 
And he does chide with you. 
Des. If 'twere no other, — 
Iago. 'Tis but so, I warrant. 

\Tnimpets within. 
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
The messengers of Venice stay the meat: 170 
Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 

\_E.vennt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Roderigo. 
How now, Roderigo ! 

Rod. I do not find that thou dealest justly 
with me. 

Iago. What in the contrary? 

Rod. Ever j' day thou daffest me with some 
device, Iago ; and rather, as it seems to me now, 
keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest 
me with the least advantage of hope. I will 
indeed no longer endure it, nor am I yet persuaded 
to put up in peace what already I have foolishly 
suffered. 

Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 

Rod. ' Faith, I have heard too much, for your 
words and performances are no kin together. 

Iago. You charge me most unjustly. 

Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted 
n^self out of my means. The jewels you have 
had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half 
have corrupted a votarist : you have told me she 
hath received them and returned me expectations 
and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, 
but I find none. 

Iago. Well ; go to ; very well. 

Rod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ; 
nor 'tis not very well: nay, I think it is scurvy, 
and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 

Iago. Very well. 

Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will 
make myself known to Desdemona : if she will 
return me my jewels, I will give over my suit 
and repent my unlawful solicitation ; if not, assure 
yourself I will seek satisfaction of you. 

Iago. You have said now. 

Rod. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest 
intendment of doing. 

Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee, 
and even from this instant do build on thee a bet- 
ter opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, 
Roderigo: thou hast taken against mra most 
just exception; but yet, I protest, I have dealt 
most directly in thy affair. 

Rod. It hath not appeared. 

Iago. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, 
and your suspicion is not without wit and judge- 
ment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee 
indeed, which I have greater reason to believe 
now than ever, I mean purpose, courage and 
valour, this night show it : if thou the next night 
following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from 
this world with treachery and devise engines for 
my life. 

Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason and 
compass? 

Iago. Sir, there is especial commission come 
from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 

Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and 
Desdemona return again to Venice. 

Iago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania and 



9<M 



OTHELLO. 



[Act iv. 



takes away with him the fair Desdemona, unless 
his abode be lingered here by some accident : 
wherein none can be so determinate as the re- 
moving of Cassio. 

Rod. Mow do you mean, removing of him? 

Iago. Why, by making him uncapable of 
Othello's place ; knocking out his brains. 

Rod. And that you Would have me to do? 

Iago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and 
a right. He sups to-night with a harlotry, and 
thither will I go to him: he knows not yet 
of his honourable fortune. ■ If you will watch his 
going thence, which I will fashion to fall out 
between twelve and one, you may take him at 
your pleasure: I will be near to second your 
attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, 
stand not amazed at it, but go along with me ; I 
will show you such a necessity in his death that 
you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. 
It is now high supper-time, and the night grows 
to waste : about it. 250 

Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 

Iago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another roo?n in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, 
Emilia, and Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself 

no further. 
Oth. O, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to walk. 
Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank 

your ladyship. 
Des. Your honour is most welcome. 
Oth. Will you walk, sir? 

O, — Desdemona, — ■ 
Des. My lord ? 

Oth. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be 
returned forthwith : dismiss your attendant there : 
look it be done. 

Des. I will, my lord. 10 

[Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. 

Emit. How goes it now ? he looks gentler than 

he did. 
Des. He says he will return incontinent : 
He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 

Emit. Dismiss me ! 

Des. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
We must not now displease him. 

Emit. I would you had never seen him ! 
Des. So would not I : my love doth so approve 
him, 
That even his stubbornness, his checks, his 
frowns, — 20 

Prithee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in 
them. 
Emit. I have laid those sheets you bade me 

on the bed. 
Des. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are 
our minds ! 
If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me> 
In one of those same sheets. 
Emil. Come, come, you talk. 

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : 
She was in love, and he she loved proved mad 
And did forsake her: she had a song of 'willow ;' 



An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it: that song to-night 30 
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do, 
But to go hang my head all at one side, 
And sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dispatch. 
Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown? 
Des. No, unpin me here. 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 
Emil. A very handsome man. 
Des. He speaks well. 

Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have 

walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his 

nether lip. 40 

Des. [Singing] The poor soul sat sighing by a 

sycamore tree, 

Sing all a green willow ; 

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, willow, willow : 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur d 
her moans; 
Sing willow, willow, willow; 
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften' d the 
stones; — 
Lay by these : — 

[Singing] Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon : — 50 

[Singing] Sing all a green willow must be my 
garland. 
Let nobody blame him ; his scorn I approve, — 
Nay, that's not next. — Hark! who is't that 
knocks? 
Emil. It's the wind. 

Des. [Singing] I call'd my love false love; 
but what said he then ? 

Sing willow, willow, willow : 
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe 
men. — 
So, get thee gone ; good night. Mine eyes do itch ; 
Doth that bode weeping? 

Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. 

Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men, 

these men ! 60 

Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia, — 

That there be women do abuse their husbands 

In such gross kind? 

Emil. There be some such, no question. 

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 

world ? 
Emil. Why, would not you ? 
Des. No, by this heavenly light ! 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ; 
I might do't as well i' the dark. 
Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 

world? 

Emil. The world's a huge thing : it is a great 

price 

For a small vice. 

Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not. 70 

Emil. In troth, I think I should; and undo't 

when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a 

thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, 

nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty 

exhibition ; but, for the whole world, — why, who 

would not make her husband a cuckold to make 

him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for 't. 

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong 

For the whole world. 79 

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the 

world ; and having the world for your labour, 'tis 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



9<>5 



a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly 
make it right. 

Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the 
vantage as would store the world they played for. 
But I do think it is their husbands' faults 
If wives do fall : say that they slack their duties, 
And pour our treasures into foreign laps, 
Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 90 

Throwing restraint upon us ; or say they strike us, 
Or scant our former having in despite ; 
Why, we have galls, and though we have some 

grace, 
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know 
Their wives have sense like them : they see and 

smell 
And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
As husbands have. What is it that they do 
When they change us for others? Is it sport? 
I think it is: and doth affection breed it? 
I think it doth : is't frailty that thus errs? 100 
It is so too : and have not we affections, 
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ? 
Then let them use us well : else let them know, 
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so. 

Des. Good night, good night: heaven me such 
uses send, 
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Cyprus. A street. 

. Enter Iago and Roderigo. 
Iago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight 
will he come : 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home : 
Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I '11 be at thy elbow : 
It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that, 
And fix most firm thy resolution. 

Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in't. 
Iago. Here, at thy hand : be bold, and take 
thy stand. [Retires. 

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 9 
'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword : he dies. 
Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to 
the sense, 
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill 

Cassio, 
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
Every way makes my gain : live Roderigo, 
He calls me to a restitution large 
Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him, 
As gifts to Desdemona ; 
It must not be : if Cassio do remain, 
He hath a daily beauty in his life 
That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 20 
May unfold me to him; there stand I in much 

peril : 
No, he must die. But so : I hear him coming. 

Enter Cassio. 

Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he. — Villain, thou 

diest ! [Makes a />ass at Cassio. ! 

Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, I 
But that my coat is better than thou know'st: 



I will make proof of thine. 

[Draws, and wounds Roderigo. 
Rod. O, I am slain ! 

[Iago from behind wounds Cassio in the 
leg, and exit. 
Cas. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho ! mur- 
der ! murder ! [Falls. 

Enter Othello. 
Oth. The voice of Cassio : Iago keeps his 

word. 
Rod. O, villain that I am ! 
Oth. It is even so. 

Cas. O, help, ho ! light ! a surgeon ! 30 

Oth. 'Tis he: — O brave Iago, honest and just, 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! 
Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead, 
And your unblest fate hies : strumpet, I come. 
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 

blotted ; 
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
spotted. [Exit. 

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano. 

Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage? mur- 
der ! murder ! 
Gra. 'Tis some mischance; the cry is very- 
direful. 
Cas. O, help ! 

Lod. Hark ! 40 

Rod. O wretched villain \ 
^ Lod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy night : 
These may be counterfeits: let's think 't unsafe 
To come in to the cry without more help. 
Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to 

death. 
Lod. Hark ! 

Re-enter Iago, with a light. 

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light 
and weapons. 

Iago. Who's there? whose noise is this that 
cries on murder? 

Lod. We do not know. 

Iago. Did not you hear a cry? 

Cas. Here, here ! for heaven's sake, help me ! 

Iago. What's the matter? 50 

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 

Lod. The same indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 

Iago. What are you here that cry so griev- 
ously? 

Cas. Iago? O, I amspoil'd, undone by villains! 
Give me some help. 

Iago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have 
done this ? 

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout, 
And cannot make away. 

Iago. O treacherous villains ! 

What are you there? come in, and give some 
help. [To Lodovico and Gratiano. 

Rod. O, help me here ! 60 

Cas. That's one of them. 

Iago. O murderous slave ! O villain ! 

[Stabs Roderigo. 

Rod. O damn'd Iago ! O inhuman dog ! 

Iago. Kill men i' the dark ! — Where be these 
bloody thieves? — 
How silent is this town ! — Ho! murder! murder! — 



cp6 



OTHELLO. 



[Act v. 



What may you be? are you of good or evil? 

Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 

I ago. Signior Lodovico? 

Lod. He, sir. 

Iago. I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt 
by villains. 

Gra. Cassio ! 70 

Iago. How is 't, brother ! 

Cas. My leg is cut in two. 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Light, gentlemen: I'll bind it with my shirt. 

Enter Bianca. 
Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't that 

cried? 
Iago. Who is't that cried ! 
Bia7i. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 
O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio \ 
Iago. O notable strumpet ! Cassio, may 'you 
suspect 
Who they should be that have thus mangled you ? 
Cas. No. 80 

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have been 

to seek you. 
Iago. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair, 
To bear him easily hence ! 

Bian. Alas, he faints ! O Cassio, Cassio, 

Cassio ! 
Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspe<5l this trash 
To be a party in this injury. 
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come ; 
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no? 
Alas, my friend and my dear countryman 
Roderigo ! no : — yes, sure : — O heaven ! Roderigo. 
Gra. What, of Venice? 91 

Iago. Even he, sir : did you know him ? 
Gra. Know him ! ay. 

Iago. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle 
pardon ; 
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, 
That so neglected you. 

Gra. I am glad to see you. 

Iago. How do you, Cassio ? O, a chair, a chair ! 
Gra. Roderigo ! 

Iago. He, he, 'tis he. [A chair brought in.~\ 

O, that's well said ; the chair. 

Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; 

I'll fetch the general's surgeon. [To Bianca] 

For you, mistress, 100 

Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, 

Cassio, 
Was my dear friend : what malice was between 
you? 
Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know the 

man. 
Iago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale? O, 
bear him out o' the air. 

[Cassio and Roderigo are borne off. 
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, mis- 
tress? 
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye? 
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. 
Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her : 
Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
Though tongues were out of use. no 

Enter Emilia. 
Etnil. 'Las, what's the matter? what's the 
matter, husband? 



Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark 
By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped: 
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
Emit. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cas- 
sio ! 
Iago. This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, 
Emilia, 
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night 
[To Bianca] What, do you shake at that? 

Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I there- 
fore shake not. 
Iago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. 
Etnil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet ! 121 

Bian. I am no strumpet ; but of life as honest 
As you that thus abuse me. 

Emit. As I ! foh ! fie upon thee ! 

Iago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cas- 
sio dress'd. 
Come, mistress, you must tell's another tale. 
Emilia, run you to the citadel, 
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. 
Will you go on? I pray. [Aside] This is the 

night 
That either makes me or fordoes me quite. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A bedchamber in the castle: Des- 
demona in bed asleefi; a light burning. 

Enter Othello. 

Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 
It is the cause. Yet I '11 not shed her blood; 
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
Put out the light, and then put out the light: 
If I quench thee, thou naming minister, 
I can again thy former light restore, 
Should I repent me : but once put out thy light, 
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, n 
I know not where is that Promethean heat 
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd 

the rose, 
I cannot give it vital growth again, 
It must needs wither : I'll smell it on the tree. 

[Kissing her. 
Ah, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
Justice to break her sword ! One more, one more. 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, 
And love thee after. One more, and this the last : 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 20 
But they are cruel tears : this sorrow's heavenly; 
It strikes where it doth love. She wakes. 

Des. Who's there? Othello? 

Oth. Ay, Desdemona. 

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 

Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona ? 

Des. Ay, my lord. 

Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace, 
Solicit for it straight. 

Des. Alas, my lord, what do you mean by that ? 

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk by: 
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit; 31 

No ; heaven forfend ! I would not kill thy soul. 

Des. Talk you of killing ? 

Oth. Ay, I do. 

Des. Then heaven 



Scene ii.] 



OTHELLO. 



907 



Have mercy on me ! 

Oth. Amen, with all my heart ! 

Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me 

Oth. Hum ! 

Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then 
When your eyes roll so : why I should fear I know- 
not, 
Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet I feel I fear. 

Oth. Think on thy sins. 

Des. They are loves I bear to you. 40 

Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest. 

Des. That death's unnatural that kills for 
loving. 
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? 
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
These are portents ; but yet 1 hope, I hope, 
Thev do not point on me. 

Oth. Peace, and be still ! 

Des. I will so. What's the matter? 

Oth. That handkerchief which I so loved and 
gave thee 
Thou gavest to Cassio. 

Des. No, by my life and soul ! 

Send for the man, and ask him. 

Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, 50 

Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thy death-bed. 

Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 

Oth. Yes, presently: 

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
For to deny each article with oath 
Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception 
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 

Des. Then Lord have mercy on me ! 

Oth. I say, amen. 

Des. And have you mercy too ! I never did 
Offend you in my life ; never loved Cassio 
But with such general warranty of heaven 60 

As I might love ; I never gave him token. 

Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in's 
hand. 

perjured woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
And makest me call what I intend to do 

A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 

1 saw the handkerchief. 

Des. He found it then ; 

I never gave it him : send for him hither ; 
Let him confess a truth. 

Oth. He hath confess'd. 

Des. What, my lord? 

Oth. That he hath used thee. 

Des. How? unlawfully? 

Oth. Ay. 70 

Des. He will not say so. 

Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; 

Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't. 

Des. O ! my fear interprets : what, is he dead ? 

Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great 
revenge 
Had stomach for them all. 

Des. Alas ! he is betray'd and I undone. 

Oth. Out, strumpet ! weep'st thou for him to 
my face? 

Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not ! 

Oth. Down, strumpet ! 

Des. Kill me to-morrow : let me live to-night ! 

Oth. Nay, if you strive,— 81 

Des. But half an hour ! 

Oth. Being done, there is no pause. 

Des. But while I say one prayer ! 



Oth. 



It is too late. 
{He stifles her. 
Emit. [ Withiti\ My lord, my lord ! what, ho ! 

my lord, my lord ! 
Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet 
quite dead? 
I that am cruel am yet merciful ; 
I would not have thee linger in thy pain : 
So, so. 
Emil. [ Within] What, ho ! my lord, my lord ! 
Oth. Who's there? 

Emil. {Within] O, good my lord, I would 
speak a word with you ! go 

Oth. Yes: 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's 
dead. 
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death. — 
The noise was here. Ha ! no more moving? 
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were 't 

good ? — 
I think she stirs again :— no. What's best to do? 
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife: 
My wife ! my wife '. what wife? I have no wife. 
O, insupportable ! O heavy hour ! 
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe 
Should yawn at alteration. 

Emil. [Within] I do beseech you 101 

That I may speak with you, O, good my lord ! 
Oth. I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia : 
Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw. 
Where art thou ? [ Unlocks the door. 

Enter Emilia. 
What's the matter with thee now? 

Emil. O, my good lord, yonder's foul mur- 
ders done ! 

Oth. What, now? 

Emil. But now, my lord. 

Oth. Tt is the very error of the moon ; 
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, 
And makes men mad. m 

Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young 
Venetian 
Call'd Roderigo. 

Oth. Roderigo kill'd ! 

And Cassio kill'd ! 

E-mil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd ! then murder's out of 
tune, 
And sweet revenge grows harsh. 

Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 

Emil. Alas, what cry is that? 

Oth. That! what? 

Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice. 
Help ! help, ho ! help ! O lady, speak again ! 120 
Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak! 

Des. A guiltless death I die. 

Emil. O, who hath done this deed? 

Des. Nobody; I myself. Farewell: 
Commend me to my kind lord : O, farewell ! [Dies. 

Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 

Emil. ^ Alas, who knows? 

Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 

Emil. She said so : I must needs report the 
truth. 

Oth. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell: 
Twas I that kill'd her. 

Emit. O, the more angel she, 130 

And you the blacker devil ! 



OTHELLO. 



[Act v. 



Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 

Emit. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a 
devil. 

Oth. She was false as water. 

Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say- 

That she was false : O, she was heavenly true ! 

Oth. Cassio did top her ; ask thy husband else. 
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all. 

Emil. My husband ! 140 

Oth. Thy husband. 

Emil. That she was false to wedlock? 

Oth. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true, 
If heaven would make me such another world 
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
I 'Id not have sold her for it. 

Emil. My husband ! 

Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first : 

An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
That sticks on filthy deeds. 

Emil. My husband ! 

Oth. What needs this iteration, woman? I 
say thy husband. 150 

Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks 
with love ! 
My husband say that she was false ! 

Oth. He, woman ; 

I say thy husband : dost understand the word ? 
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. 

Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart : 
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 

Oth. Ha ! 

Emil. Do thy worst : 
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven 160 
Than thou wast worthy her. 

Oth. Peace, you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do 
me harm 
As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! 
As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed — 
I care not for thy sword ; I '11 make thee known, 
Though I lost twenty lives. — Help! help, ho! 

help! 
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress ! Murder ! 
murder ! 

£?//^r Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others. 

Mon. What is the matter? How now, gene- 
ral ! 

Emil. O, are you come, Iago? you have done 
well, 
That men must lay their murders on your neck. 

Gra. What is the matter? 171 

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man : 
He says thou told'st him that his wife was false : 
I know thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain : 
Speak, for my heart is full. 

Iago. I told him what I thought, and told no 
more 
Than what he found himself was apt and true. 

Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false ? 

Iago. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie ; an odious, damned lie ; 
Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie. 181 

She false with Cassio ! — did you say with Cassio ? 

Iago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm 
your tongue. 



Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am 
bound to speak : 
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed,— 

A II. O heavens forfend ! 

Emil. And your reports have set the murder on. 

Oth. Nay, stare not, masters : it is true, indeed. 

Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 

Mon. O monstrous act ! 

Emil. Villany, villany, villany ! 190 

I think upon't, I think: I smell 't: O villany ! — 
I thought so then : — I'll kill myself for grief: — 

villany, villany ! 

Iago. What, are you mad ? I charge you, get 
you home. 

Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
speak : 
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now. 
Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. 

Oth. O ! O ! O ! [He falls on the bed. 

Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar; 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent 
That e'er did lift up eye. 

Oth. [Rising] O, she was foul ! 200 

1 scarce did know you, uncle : there lies your 

niece, 
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 

stopp'd : 
I know this act shows horrible and grim. 

Gra. Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father's 
dead : 
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now, 
This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
And fall to reprobation. 

Oth. 'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows 210 

That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd it: 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognizance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand : 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
My father gave my mother. 

Emil. O heaven ! O heavenly powers ! 

Iago. Come, hold your peace. 

E771U. 'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace! 

No, I will speak as liberal as the north : 220 

Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, 
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I '11 speak. 

Iago. Be wise, and* get you home. 

Emil. I will not. 

[Iago offers to stab Emilia. 

Gra. Fie ! 

Your sword upon a woman ? 

Emil. O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief 
thou speak'st of 
I found by fortune and did give my husband ; 
For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle, 
He begg'd of me to steal it. 

Iago. Villanous whore ! 229 

Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas ! I found it, 
And I did give't my husband. 

Iago. Filth, thou best ! 

Emil. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentle- 
men. 
O murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool 
Do with so good a woman? 

Oth. Are there no stones in heaven 



Scene ii.] 



OTHELLO. 



909 



But what serve for the thunder? — Precious villain ! 

[He runs at I ago: I ago, from behind, stabs 

Emilia, and exit. 

Gra. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd 

his wife. 
Em.il. Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' 

side. 
Gra. He's gone, but his wife 's kill'd. 
Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this 
weapon, 
Which I have here recover'd from the Moor: 240 
Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass, 
But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain, 
For 'tis a damned slave. 

[Exeunt Montana a fid Gratiano. 
Oth. I am not valiant neither, 

But every puny whipster gets my sword : 
But why should honour outlive honesty? 
Let it go all. 

Emit. What did thy song bode, lady? 
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, 
And die in music. [Singing] Willow, willow, 

willow. — 
Moor, she was chaste ; she loved thee, cruel 

Moor; 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 250 
So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies. 

Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber ; 
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper : — 
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. 

Gra. [ IVithin] If thou attempt it, it will cost 
thee dear: 
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 

Oth. Look in upon me then and speak with me, 
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 

Re-enter Gratiano. 

Gra. What is the matter ? 

Oth. Behold, I have a weapon ; 

A better never did itself sustain 260 

Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, 
That, with this little arm and this good sword, 
I have made my way through more impediments 
Than twenty times your stop: but, O vain boast! 
Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now. 
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd ; 
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
Do you go back dismay'd? 'tis a lost fear ; 
Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 270 

And he retires. Where should Othello go? 
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd 

wench ! 
Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, 
This look of thine will hurl jny soul from heaven, 
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl ! 
Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave ! 
Whip me, ye devils, 

From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 280 
O Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ! 
Oh! Oh! Oh! 

Enter Lodovico, Montano, CASSIO carried in 
a chair, and Officers -with I ago, prisoner. 

Lod. Where is this rash and mcst unfortunate 
man? 



Oth. That's he that was Othello : here I am. 

Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain 
forth. 

Oth. I look down towards his feet ; but that's 
a fable. 
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 

\ 1 1 'oitnds I ago. 

Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 

I ago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 

Oth. I am not sorry neither : I 'Id have thee 
live ; 
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 290 

Lod. O thou Othello, that wert once so good, 
Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave, 
What shall be said to thee ? 

Oth. Why, any thing : 

An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. 

Lod. This wretch hath part confess*d his 
villany : 
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? 

Oth. Ay. 

Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 

Oth. I do believe it, and I ask you pardon. 
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil 301 
Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body ? 

/ago. Demand me nothing : what you know, 
you know : 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 

Lod. What, not to pray ? 

Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 

Oth. Well, thou dost best. 

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath be- 
> fall'n, 
Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter 
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo ; 
And here another : the one of them imports 310 
The death of Cassio to be undertook 
By Roderigo. 

Oth. O villain ! 

Cas. Most heathenish and most gross ! 

Lod. Now here 's another discontented paper, 
Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems, 
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain ; 
But that belike Iago in the interim 
Came in and satisfied him. 

Oth. O the pernicious caitiff! 

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
That was my wife's ? 

Cas. I found it in my chamber : 320 

And he himself confess' d but even now 
That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose 
Which wrought to his desire. 

Oth. O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

Cas. There is besides- in Roderigo's letter, 
How he upbraids Iago. that he made him 
Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
That I was cast : and even but now he spake, 
After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, 
Iago set him on. 

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go 
with us : 330 

Your power and your command is taken off, 
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, 
If there he any cunning crueity 
That can torment him much and hold him long, 
It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest, 
Till that the nature of your fault be known 
To the Venetian state. Come, bring him away. 



gio 



OTHELLO. 



[Act v. 



Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go. 
I have done the state some service, and they 

know't. 339 

No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, 
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
Nor set down aught in malice : then must you 

speak 
Of one that loved not wisely but too well ; 
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought 
Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand, 
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued 

eyes, 
Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees _ 350 

Their medicinal gum. Set you down this ; 
And say besides, that in Aleppo once, 
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, 
I took by the throat the circumcised dog, 



And smote him, thus. {Stabs himself. 

Lod. O bloody period ! 

Gra. All that's spoke is marr'd. 

Oth. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee : no way 
but this; 
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. 

{Falls on the bed, and dies. 

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no 
weapon ; 360 

For he was great of heart. 

Lod. [To Iago] O Spartan dog, 

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; 
This is thy work : the objecl poisons sight ; 
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house, 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed on you. To you, lord governor, 
Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
The time, the place, the torture : O, enforce it ! 
Myself will straight aboard; and to the state 370 
This heavy a<5t with heavy heart relate. \_Exeimt. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Mark- Antony, "l 

Octavius Cvesak, )■ triumvirs. 

M. .Emilius Lepidus, J 

Sextus Pompkius. 

Domitius Enobarbus, 

Ventidius, 

Eros, 

SCARUS, 

Dercetas, 

Demetrius, 

Philo, 

Mec.^nas, "\ 
Agrippa, 



friends to An- 
tony. 



J 



V friends to Caesar. 



Dolabell 

Proculeils 

Thyreos, 

Gallus, 

Menas, 1 

Menecrates, Y friends to Pompey. 

Varrius, J 

ACT I. 

Scene I. Alexandria. A room in Cleopatra's 
palace.' 

Etiter Demetrius and Philo. 
Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
Overflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, 
That o'er the files and musters of the war 
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now 

turn, 
The office and devotion of their view 
Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, 
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, 
And is become the bellows and the fan 
To cool a gipsy's lust. 

Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, her 
Ladies, tlie Train, with Eunuchs fanning her. 
Look, where they come : 10 
Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
j The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see. 

Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 
Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be 

reckon'd. 
Cleo. I '11 set a bourn how far to be beloved. 
Ant. Then must thou needs find out new 
heaven, new earth. 

Enter an Attendant. 

Att. News, my good lord, from Rome. 

Ant. Grates me: the sum. 

Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony : 
Fulvia perchance is angry ; or, who knows 20 
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
His powerful mandate to you, 'Do this, or this; 
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 



Taurus, lieutenant-general to Caesar. 
Canidius, lieutenant-general to Antony. 
Silius, an officer in Ventidius's army. 
Euphronius, an ambassador from Antony to 

Caesar. 
Alexas, ■) 

Mardian, a Eunuch, ( attendants on Cleo- 
Seleucus, f patra. 

Diomedes, / 

A Soothsayer. 
A Clown. 

Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. 

Octavia, sister to Cassarand wife to Antony. 

j ' ' 'I attendants on Cleopatra. 

Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other At- 
tendants. 

Scene: In several parts 0/ the Roman empire. 



Perform't, or else we damn thee.' 

Ant. How, my love! 

Cleo. Perchance ! nay, and most like : 
You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. 
Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? 

both? 
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's queen, 
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine 
Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays 
shame 31 

When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The mes- 
sengers ! 

Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide 
arch 
Of the ranged empire fall ! Here is my space. 
Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
Is to do thus ; when such a mutual pair 

\Embracing. 
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind, 
On pain of punishment, the world to weet , 

We stand up peerless. 

Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 40 

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? 
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony 
Will be himself. 

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. 

Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours. 
Let's not confound the time with conference 

harsh : 
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
Without some pleasure now. What sport to-night? 

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 

Ant. Fie, wrangling queen! 

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh, 
To weep; whose every passion fully strives 50 
To make itself, in thee, fair and admired! 
No messenger, but thine ; and all alone 



912 



ANTONY A ND CL E OP A TR A . 



[Act 



To-night we'll wander through the streets and 

note 
The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 
Last night you did desire it : speak not to us. 

[Exeunt Afit. and Cleo. with their train. 
Dem. Is Cassar with Antonius prized so slight? 
Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
He comes too short of that great property 
Which still should go with Antony. 

Dem. I am full sorry 

That he approves the common liar, who 60 

Thus speaks of him at Rome : but I will hope 
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. Another room. 

Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and a Sooth- 
sayer. 

Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any 
thing Alexas, almostmost absolute Alexas, where's 
the soothsayer that you praised so to the queen? 
O, that I knew this husband, which, you say, 
must charge his horns with garlands ! 

Alex. Soothsayer! 

Sooth. Your will? 

Char. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that 
know things? 

Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy 
A little I can read. 

Alex. Show him your hand. 10 

Enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine 
enough 
Cleopatra's health to drink. 

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 

Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 

Char. Pray, then, foresee me one. 

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 

Char. He means in flesh. 

Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 

Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 

Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 

Char. Hush! 21 

Sooth. You shall be more beloving than be- 
loved. 

Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 

Alex. Nay, hear him. 

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let 
me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and 
widow them all: let me have a child at fifty, to 
whom Herod of Jewry may do homage : find me 
to marry me with Oclavius Cassar, and compa- 
nion me with my mistress. 30 

Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you 
serve. 

Char. O excellent! I love long life better 
than figs. 

Sooth, You have seen and proved a fairer 
former fortune 
Than that which is to approach. 

Char. Then belike my children shall have no 
names : prithee, how many boys and wenches 
must I have? 

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, 
And fertile every wish, a million. 

Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 40 



Alex. You think none but your sheets are 
privy to your wishes. 

Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. 

Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. 

Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
shall be— drunk to bed. 

Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if no- 
thing else. 

Char. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
famine.' 50 

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot 
soothsay. 

C/iar. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful 
prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Pri- 
thee, tell her but a worky-day fortune. 

Sooth.. Your fortunes are alike. 

Iras. But how, but how? give me particulars. 

Sooth. I have said. 

Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than 
she ? 60 

Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
better than I, where would you choose it? 

Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! 
Alexas, — come, his fortune, his fortune ! O, let 
him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet I sis, I 
beseech thee ! and let her die too, and give him 
a worse ! and let worse follow worse, till the worst 
of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 
a cuckold ! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though 
thou deny me a matter of more weight ; good 
Isis, I beseech thee ! 

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer 
of the people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see 
a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly 
sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded : there- 
fore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him 
accordingly ! 

Char. Amen. 79 

Alex. Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make 
me a cuckold, they would make themselves 
whores, but they 'Id do't! 

Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. 

Char. Not he ; the queen. 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Cleo. Saw you my lord? 

Eno. No, lady. 

Cleo. Was he not here ? 

Char. No, madam. 

Cleo. He was disposed to mirth ; but on the 
sudden 
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus ! 

Eno. Madam? 

Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's 
Alexas ? 

Alex. Here, at your service. My lord ap- 
proaches. 90 

Cleo, We will not look upon him : go with us. 
[Exeunt. 

EnterAwTONYwithaMessengcrand Attendants. 

Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 

Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 

Mess. Ay : 
But soon that war had end, and the time 's state 
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 

Caesar ; 
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



9i3 



Upon the first encounter, drave them. 

A7it. Well, what worst? 

Mess. The nature of bad news infects the 
teller. 99 

Ant. When it concerns the fool or coward. On : 
Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus ; 
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
I hear him as he flatter' d. 

Mess. Labienus — 

This is stiff news — hath, with his Parthian force, 
Extended Asia from Euphrates ; 
His conquering banner shook from Syria 
To Lydia and to Ionia ; 
Whilst— 

Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say, — 

Mess. O, my lord ! 

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the gene- 
ral tongue : 
Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome ; 1 10 
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults 
With such full license as both truth and malice 
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth 

weeds, 
When our quick minds lie still; and our ills 

told us 
Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. 

Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. 

Ant. From Sicyon, ho, the news ! Speak 
_ there ! 

First Att. The man from Sicj'on, — is there 
such an one? 

Sec. Att. He stays upon your will. 

Ant. Let him appear. 

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 120 
Or lose myself in dotage. 

Enter another Messenger. 
What are you? 
Sec. Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 
Ant. Where died she? 

I Sec. Mess. In Sicyon : 

■ Her length of sickness, with what else more 
serious 
[mporteth thee to know, this bears. 

[Gives a letter. 
Ant. Forbear me. 

[Exit Sec. Messenger. 
There \s a great spirit gone ! Thus did I de- 
sire it : 
What our contempt doth often hurl from us, 
•Ve wish it ours again ; the present pleasure, 
By revolution lowering, does become 129 

The opposite of itself : she's good, being gone ; 
The hand could pluck her back that shoved 

her on. 
[ must from this enchanting queen break off: 
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know. 
My idleness doth hatch. How now ! Enobarbus ! 

Re-enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. What's your pleasure, sir? 

Ant. I must with haste from hence. 

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women : we 
;ee how mortal an unldndness is to them ; if they 
suffer our departure, death's the word. 

Ant. I must be g 140 

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women 
die : it were pity to cast them away fur nothing; 
ihough, between them and a great cause, they 



should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catch- 
ing but the least noise of this, dies instantly ; 
I have seen her die twenty time< upon far poorer 
moment : I do think there is mettle in death, 
which commits some loving act upon her, she 
hath such a celerity in dying. 

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 150 

Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made 
of nothing but the finest part of pure love: we 
cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears ; 
they are greater storms and tempests than alma- 
nacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; 
if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well 
as Jove. 

Ant. Would I had never seen her! 

Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a won- 
derful piece of work ; which not to have been 
blest withal would have discredited your travel. 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Sir? 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Fulvia ! 

Ant. Dead. 

Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sa- 
crifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take 
the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the 
tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that 
when old robes are worn out, there are members 
to make new. If there were no more women 
but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the 
case to be lamented : this grief is crowned with 
consolation ; your old smock brings forth a new 
petticoat : and indeed the tears live in an onion 
that should water this sorrow. 

Ant. The business she hath broached in the 
state 
Cannot endure my absence. 179 

Eno. And the business you have broached 
here cannot be without you ; especially that of 
Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. 

Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers 
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
The cause of our expedience to the queen, 
And get her leave to part. For not alone 
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
Do strongly speak to us ; but the letters too 
Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
Petition us at home : Se.xtus Pompcius 190 

Hath given the dare to Ca;sar, and commands 
The empire of the sea: our slippery people, 
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver 
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw 
Pompey the Great and all his dignities 
Upon his son : who, high in name and power. 
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
For the main soldier: whose quality, going on, 
The sides o' the world may danger : much is 
breeding, 1 ,9 

Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure. 
To such whose place is under us, requires 
Our quick remove from hence. 

Eno. I shall dot. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. Another room. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras. 

Ai.exas. 
Cleo. Where 



5* 



9 i4 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act 



Char. I did not see him since. 

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what 
he does: 
I did not send you : if you find him sad, 
Say I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
That I am sudden sick : quick, and return. 

[Exit A le.vas. 
Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
dearly, 
You do not hold the method to enforce 
The like from him. 

Cleo. What should I do, I do not? 

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him 

in nothing. 
Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool; the way to 
lose him. 10 

Char. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, 
forbear : 
In time we hate that which we often fear. 
But here comes Antony. 

Enter Antony. 

Cleo. I am sick and sullen. 

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my 
purpose, — 

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian ; I shall 
fall: 
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
Will not sustain it. 

Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 

Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me. 

Ant. What's the matter? 

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some 
good news. 
What says the married woman ? You may go : 20 
Would she had never given you leave to come ! 
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here : 
1 have no power upon you ; hers you are. 

Ant. The gods best know, — 

Cleo. O, never was there queen 

So mightily betray'd ! yet at the first 
I saw the treasons planted. 

Ant. Cleopatra, — 

Cleo. Why should I think you can be mine 
and true, 
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, 
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous mad- 
ness, 
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, 30 
Which break themselves in swearing ! 

Ant. Most sweet queen, — 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your 
going, 
Eut bid farewell, and go: when you sued 

staying, 
Then was the time for words : no going then ; 
Eternity was in our lips and eyes, 
Bliss in our brows' bent ; none our parts so poor, 
But was a race of heaven : they are so still, 
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
Art turn'd the greatest liar. 

Ant. How now, lady ! 

Cleo. I would I had thy inches ; thou shouldst 
know 40 

There were a heart in Egypt. 

Ant. Hear me, queen : 

The strong necessity of time commands 
Our services awhile ; but my full heart 
Remains in use with you. Our Italy 



Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pompeius 
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome : 
Equality of two domestic powers 
Breed scrupulous faction: the hated, grown to 

strength, 
Are newly grown to love : the condemn' d Pompey, 
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace 50 

Into the hearts of such as have not thrived 
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ; 
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
By any desperate change : my more particular, 
And that which most with you should safe my 

going, 
Is Fulvia's death. 

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give 
me freedom, 
It does from childishness : can Fulvia die? 

Ant. She's dead, my queen: 
Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read 60 
The garboils she awaked ; at the last, best : 
See when and where she died. 

Cleo. O most false love ! 

Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill 
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, 
In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be. 

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to 
know 
The purposes I bear ; which are, or cease, 
As you shall give the advice. By the fire 
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence 
Thy soldier, servant ; making peace or war 70 
As thou affecTst. 

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; 

But let it be : I am quickly ill, and well, 
So Antony loves. 

Ant. My precious queen, forbear; 

And give true evidence to his love, which stands 
An honourable trial. 

Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 

I prithee, turn aside and weep for her ; 
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears 
Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene 
Of excellent dissembling; and let it look 
Like perfect honour. 

Ant. You '11 heat my blood : no more. 80 

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is 
meetly. 

Ant. Now, by my sword, — ■ 

Cleo. And target. Still he mends; 

But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Char- 
mian, 
How this Herculean Roman does become 
The carriage of his chafe. 

Ant. I'll leave you, lady. 

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 

Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it: 
Sir, you and I have loved, but there's not it ; 
That you know well : something it is I would, — 
O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 90 

And I am all forgotten. 

A?it. But that your royalty 

Holds idleness your subject, I should take you 
For idleness itself. 

Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour 

To bear such idleness so near the heart 
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ; 
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
Eye well to you : your honour calls you hence ; 
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, 



Scene in.] 



A NTON Y A XD CL E OP A TR A . 



9i5 



And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword 
Sit laurel victory ! and smooth success 100 

Be strew' d before your feet ! 

Ant. Let us go. Come; 

Our separation so abides, and flies, 
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, 
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 
Away! [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Rome. Casals house. 

Enter Octavius C.ESAR, reading- a letter, 
Lepidus, and their Train. 

Cces. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth 
know. 
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate 
Our great competitor : from Alexandria 
This is the news : he fishes, drinks, and wastes 
The lamps of night in revel ; is not more manlike 
Than Cleopatra : nor the queen of Ptolemy 
Mi ire womanly than he ; hardly gave audience, or 
Vouchsafed to think he had partners : you shall 

find there 
A man who is the abstract of all faults 
That all men follow. 

Lep. I must not think there are 10 

Evils enow to darken all his goodness : 
His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, 
More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary, 
Rather than purchased ; what he cannot change, 
Than what he chooses. 

Cces. You are too indulgent. Let us grant, it 
is not 
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; 
To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; 19 
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
With knaves that smell of sweat : say this becomes 

him, — 
As his composure must be rare indeed 
I Whom these things cannot blemish, — yet must 
I Antony 

I No way excuse his soils, when we do bear 
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
His vacancy with his voluptuousness. 
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones, 
Call on him for't: but to confound such time, 
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as 

loud 
As his own state and ours, — 'tis to be chid 30 

As we rate boys, who, being mature in know- 
ledge, 
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, 
And so rebel to judgement. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Lep. Here's more news. 

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and 
every hour, 
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report 
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 
And it appears he is beloved of those 
That only have fear'd Caesar : to the ports 
The discontents repair, and men's reports 
Give him much wrong'd. 

Cces. I should have known no less. 

It hath been taught us from the primal state, 41 
That he which is was wish'd until he were; 



And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth 

love, 
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common 

body, 
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, 
( ioes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
To rot itself with motion. 

Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word, 

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, 
Make the sea serve them, which they ear and 

wound 
With keels of every kind: many hot inroads 50 
They make in Italy; the borders maritime 
Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt : 
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon 
Taken as seen; for Pompey' s name strikes more 
Than could his war resisted. 

Cces. Antony, 

Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once 
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel 
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, 
Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
Than savages could suffer: thou didst drink 61 
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle 
Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then 

did deign 
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; 
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, 
The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps 
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh, 
Which some did die to look on : and all this — 
It wounds thine honour that I speak it now — 
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 70 
So much as lank'd not. 

Lep. 'Tis pity of him. 

Cces. Let his shames quickly 
Drive him to Rome : 'tis time we twain 
Did show ourselves i' the field ; and to that end 
Assemble we immediate council : Pompey 
Thrives in our idleness. 

Lep. To-morrow, Caesar, 

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 
Both what by sea and land I can be able 
To front this present time. 

Cces. Till which encounter, 

It is my business too. Farewell. 80 

Lep. Farewell, my lord : what you shall know 
meantime 
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, 
To let me be partaker. 

Cces. Doubt not, sir ; 

I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Alexandria. Cleopatra 's palace. 

Enter Cleopatka, Charmian, Iras, and 
Makuian. 

Cleo. Charmian ! 

Char. Madam? 

Cleo. Ha, ha! 
Give me to drink mandragora. 

Char. Why. madam? 

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of 
time 
My Antony is away. 

Char. You think of him too much. 

Cleo. O, 'tis treason ! 

Ckar. Madam, I trust, not so. 



58- 



gi6 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act ii. 



Cleo. Thou, eunuch Mardian ! 

Mar. What 's your highness' pleasure ? 

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no 
pleasure 
In aught an eunuch has : 'tis well for thee, 10 
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affeclions ? 

Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 

Cleo. Indeed ! 

Mar. Not in deed, madam ; for I can do 
nothing 
But what indeed is honest to be done : 
Yet have I fierce affections, and think 
What Venus did with Mars. 

Cleo. O Charmian, 

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or 

sits he? 
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? 20 

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
Do bravely, horse ! for wot'st thou whom thou 

movest ? 
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now, 
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old 

Nile?' 
For so he calls me : now I feed myself 
With most delicious poison. Think on me, 
That am with Phcebus' amorous pinches black, 
And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Csesar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I was 30 
A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my 

brow; 
There would he anchor his aspect and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alex as, from Caesar. 

Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ! 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tincT: gilded thee. 
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? 

Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen, 39 

He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — 
This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart. 

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 

Alex. ' Good friend,' quoth he, 

' Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
■ This treasure of an oyster ; at whose foot, 
To mend the petty present, I will piece 
Her opulent throne with kingdoms ; all the east, 
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded, 
tAnd soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, 
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have 

spoke 
Was beastly dumb'd by him. 

Cleo. What, was he sad or merry ? 50 

Alex. Like to the time o' the year between 
the extremes 
Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry. 

Cleo. O well-divided disposition ! Note him, 
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man ; but 

note him : 
He was not sad, for he would shine on those 
That make their looks by his ; he was not merry, 
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay 
In Egypt with his joy ; but between both : 
O heavenly mingle ! Be'st thou sad or merry, 
The violence of either thee becomes, 60 



So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts? 

Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers 
Why do you send so thick ? 

Cleo. Who's born that day 

When I forget to send to Antony, 
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. 
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, 
Ever love Csesar so? 

Char. O that brave Csesar ! 

Cleo. Be choked with such another emphasis ! 
Say, the brave Antony. 

Char. _ The valiant Caesar ! 

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 
If thou with Caesar paragon again 71 

My man of men. 

Char. By your most gracious pardon, 

I sing but after you. 

Cleo. My salad days, 

When I was green in judgement : cold in blood, 
To say as I said then ! But, come, away ; 
Get me ink and paper : 

He shall have every day a several greeting, 
Or I '11 unpeople Egypt. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. Messina. Pompey 's house. 

Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas, 
in warlike manner. 

Pom. _ If the great gods be just, they shall 
assist 
The deeds of justest men. 

Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 

That what they do delay, they not deny. 

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, 
decays 
The thing we sue for. 

Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, 

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
Deny us for our good ; so find, we profit 
By losing of our prayers. 

Pom. I shall do well : 

The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope 
Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony 1 1 
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
No wars without doors : Caesar gets money where 
He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both, 
Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves, 
Nor either cares for him. 

Men. Caesar and Lepidus 

Are in the field : a mighty strength they carry. 

Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false. 

Men. From Silvius, sir. 

Pom. He dreams : I know they are in Rome 
together, 
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, 
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip! 21 

Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, 
Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks 
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ; 
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour 
Even till a Lethe'd dulness ! 

Enter Varrius. 

How now, Varrius ! 
Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver : 



4 



Scene i.] 



A NTON V A ND CL EOPA TEA . 



9i7 



Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 

Expected : since he went from Egypt 'tis 30 

A space for further travel. 

Pom. I could have given less matter 

A better ear. Menas, I did not think 
This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his 

helm 
For such a petty war : his soldiership 
Is twice the other twain : but let us rear 
The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony. 

Men, I cannot hope 

Csesar and Antony shall well greet together : 
His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar; 
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think, 
Not moved by Antony. 

Pom. I know not, Menas, 

How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
Were't not that we stand up against them all, 
'Twere pregnant they should square between 

themselves; 
For they have entertained cause enough 
To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
May cement their divisions and bind up 
The petty difference, we yet not know. 
Be't as our gods will have't ! It only stands 50 
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. 
Come, Menas. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Eome. The house 0/ Lepidus. 
Enter Exobarbus and Lepidus. 

Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, 
And shall become you well, to entreat your cap- 
tain 
To soft and gentle speech. 

Eno. I shall entreat him 

To answer like himself: if Caesar move him, 
Let Antony look over Caesar's head 
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
I would not shave 't to-day. 

Lep. 'Tis not a time 

For private stomaching. 

Eno. Every time 

Serves for the matter that is then born in 't. 10 

Lep. But small to greater matters must give 
way. 

Eno. Not if the small come first. 

Lep. Your speech is passion : 

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
The noble Antony. 

Enter Antony and Ventidius. 

Eno. And yonder, Caesar. 

Enter Cmsar, Meoenas, and AGRIPPA. 

Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia: 
Hark, Ventidius. 

Cces. I do not know, 

Mecaenas; ask Agrippa. 

Lep. Noble friends, 

That which combined us was most great, and let 

not 
A leaner a<5tion rend us. What's amiss, 
May it be gently heard : when we debate 20 

< >ur trivial difference loud, we do commit 
Murder in healing wounds : then, noble partners, 
The rather, for I earnestly beseech, 



Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, 
Nor curstness grow to the matter. 

Ant. 'Tis spoken well. 

Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
I should do thus. [Flourish. 

Cars. Welcome to Rome. 

Ant. Thank you. 

Cces. Sit. 

Ant. Sit, sir. 

Cces. Nay, then. 

Ant. I learn, you take things ill which are 
not so, 
Or being, concern you not. 

Cces. I must be laugh'd at, 30 

If, or for nothing or a little, I 
Should say myself offended, and with you 
Chiefly i' the world ; more laugh'd at, that I 

should 
Once name you derogately, when to sound your 

name 
It not concern'd me. 

Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 

What was't to you? 

Cces. No more than my residing here at Rome 
Might be to you in Egypt: yet, if you there 
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
Might be my question. 

Ant. How intend you, practised? 40 

Cces. You may be pleased to catch at mine 
intent 
By what did here befal me. Your wife and bro- 
ther 
Made wars upon me; and their contestation 
Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 

Ant. You do mistake your business; my bro- 
ther never 
Did urge me in his act : I did inquire it ; 
And have my learning from some true reports, 
That drew their swords with you. Did he not 

rather 
Discredit my authority with yours; 
And make the wars alike against my stomach, 50 
Having alike your cause? Of this my letters 
Before did satisfy you. If you '11 patch a quarrel, 
As matter whole you have not to make it with, 
It must not be with this. 

Cces. You praise yourself 

By laying defects of judgement to me; but 
You patch'd up your excuses. 

Ant. Not so, not so: 

I know you could not lack, I am certain on 't, 
Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, 
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 60 
Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
I would you had her spirit in such another : 
The third o' the world is yours; which with a 

snaffle 
You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 

Eno. Would we had all such wives, that the 
men might go to wars with the women ! 

Ant. So much uncurbable, her garboils, 
Caesar, 
Made out of her impatience, which not wanted 
Shrewdness of policy too, I grieving grant 
Did you too much disquiet : for that you must 7 ■ 
I hit say, I could not help it. 

Ccps. I wrote to - 

When rioting in Alexandria; you 



gi8 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act ii. 



Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
Did gibe my missive out of audience. 

Ant. Sir, 

He fell upon me ere admitted : then 
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
Of what Lwas i' the morning : but next day 
I told him of myself; which was as much 
As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow 
Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, 80 

Out of our question wipe him. 

Cces. You have broken 

The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
Have tongue to charge me with. 

J_ e * ' Soft, Caesar! 

Ant. No, 

Lepidus, let him speak : 

The honour is sacred which he talks on now, 
Supposing that 1 lack'd it. But, on, Csesar ; 
The article of my oath. 

Cms. To lend me arms and aid when I required 
them ; 
The which you both denied. 

Ant. Neglected, rather ; 

And then when poison'd hours had bound me up go 
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
I '11 play the penitent to you : but mine honesty 
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia, 
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ; 
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
So far ask pardon as befits mine honour 
To stoop in such a case. 

Lep. 'Tis noble spoken. 

Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no 
further 
The griefs between ye : to forget them quite 100 
Were to remember that the present need 
Speaks to atone you. 

Lep. Worthily spoken, Mecainas. 

Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love 
for the instant, you may, when you hear no more 
words of Pompey, return it again: you shall 
have time to wrangle in when you have nothing 
else to do. 

Ant. Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. 

Eno. That truth should be silent I had almost 
forgot. IIQ 

Ant. You wrong this presence; therefore 
speak no more. 

Eno. Go to, then; your considerate stone. 

Cces. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
The manner of his speech; for't cannot be 
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to 

edge 
O' the world I would pursue it. 

Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, — 

Cces. Speak, Agrippa. 

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
Admired Oclavia : great Mark Antony 121 

Is now a widower. 

Cces. Say not so, Agrippa : 

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
Were well deserved of rashness. 

Ant. I am not married, Caesar: let me hear 
Agrippa further speak 

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity, 
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 



With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
Oclavia to his wife; whose beauty claims 130 
No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak 
That which none else can utter. By this mar- 
riage, 
All little jealousies, which now seem great, 
And all great fears, which now import their 

dangers, 
Would then be nothing : truths would be tales, 
Where now half tales be truths : her love to both 
Would, each to other and all loves to both, 
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ; 
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, 140 

By duty ruminated. 

Ant. Will Caesar speak? 

Cces. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
With what is spoke already. 

Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 

If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' 
To make this good ? 

Cces. The power of Caesar, and 

His power unto Oclavia. 

Ant. May I never 

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, 
Dream of impediment ! Let me have thy hand : 
Further this act of grace ; and from this hour 
The heart of brothers govern in our loves 150 

And sway our great designs ! 

Cces. There is my hand. 

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
Did ever love so dearly: let her live 
To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never 
Fly off our loves again ! 

Lep. Happily, amen ! 

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 
'gainst Pompey ; 
For he hath laid strange courtesies and great 
Of late upon me : I must thank him only, 
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report ; 
At heel of that, defy him. 

Lep. Time calls upon 's: 160 

Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
Or else he seeks out us. 

Ant. Where lies he? 

Cces. About the mount Misenum. 

Ant. What is his strength by land? 

Cces. Great and increasing : but by sea 
He is an absolute master. 

Ant. So is the fame. 

Would we had spoke together ! Haste we for it : 
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we 
The business we have talk'd of. 

Cces. With most gladness ; 

And do invite you to my sister's view, 170 

Whither straight I'll lead you. 

Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 

Not lack your company. 

Lep. ' Noble Antony, 

Not sickness should detain me. 

[Flourish. Exeunt Ccesar, Antony, 
and Lepidus. 

Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 

Etio. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecae- 
nas ! My honourable friend, Agrippa ! 

Agr. Good Enobarbus! 

Mec. We have cause to be glad that matters 
are so well digested. You stayed well by 't in 
Egypt. 1 So 



Scene ii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



919 



Eno. Ay, sir ; we did sleep day out of counte- 
nance, and made the night light with drinking. 

Mec. Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a 
breakfast, and but twelve persons there ; is this 
true? 

E no. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we 
had much more monstrous matter of feast, which 
worthily deserved noting. 

Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report 
be square to her. 190 

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she 
pursed up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. 

Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my re- 
porter devised well for her. 

Eno. I will tell you. 
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
The winds were love-sick with them ; the oars 

were silver, 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water which they beat to follow faster, 201 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
It beggar'd all description : she did lie 
In her pavilion — c!oth-of-gold of tissue — 
O'er-pidturing that Venus where we see 
The fancy outwork nature : on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers-colour' d fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
And what they undid did. 

Agr. O, rare for Antony ! 210 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers : the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone, 220 
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too 
And made a gap in nature. 

Agr. Rare Egyptian ! 

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, 
Invited her to supper: she replied, 
It should be better he became her guest; 
Which she entreated : our courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard 

speak, 
Being barber' d ten times o'er, goes to the feast, 
And for his ordinary pays his heart 230 

P"or what his eyes eat only. 

Agr. Royal wench ! 

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed : 
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 

Eno. I saw her once 

Hop forty paces through the public street ; 
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, 
That she did make defect perfection, 
And, breathless, power breathe forth. 

Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 

Eno. Never; he will not : 
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 240 

Her infinite variety : other women cloy 
The appetites they feed : but she makes hungry 
Where most she satisfies: for vilest thincrs 



Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests 
Bless her when she is riggish. 

Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
The heart of Antony, Oclavia is 
A blessed lottery to him. 

Agr. Let us go. 

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest 249 
Whilst you abide here. 

Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. Cccsars house. 

Enter Antony, C.'f.sar, Octavia betid . 
a?ui Attendants. 

Ant. The world and my great office will some- 
times 
Divide me from your bosom. 

Ocla. All which time 

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
To them for you. 

Ant. Good night, sir. My Oclavia, 

Read not my blemishes in the world's report: 
I have not kept my square ; but that to come 
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear 

lady. 
Good night, sir. 
Cces. Good night. 

{Exeunt Ccesar and Oflavia. 

Enter Soothsayer. 

Ant. Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in 
Egypt? 10 

Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, 
nor you 
Thither ! 

Ant. If you can, your reason? 

Sooth. I see it in 

My motion, have it not in nly tongue: but yet 
Hie you to Egypt again. 

Ant. Say to me, 

Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine ? 

Sooth. Caesar's. 
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side: 
Thy demon, that 's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 20 

Where Caesar's is not ; but. near him, thy angel 
Becomes a fear, as being o'crpowcr d : therefore 
Make space enough between you. 

Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth. To none but thee ; no more, but when 
to thee. 
If thou dost play with him at any game, 
Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck, 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds: thy lustre 

thickens, 
When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him; 
But, he away, 'tis noble. 

Get thee gone : 30 

Say to Ventidius I would speak with him : 

[ Exit Soothsayer. 
lie shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap, 
He hath spoken true: the very dice obey him ; 
And in our spurts my better cunning faints 
Under his chance: if we draw bus. he -peeds; 
His cocks do win the battle still of mine. 
When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever 
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to 1 



920 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act 



And though I make this marriage for my peace, 
F the east my pleasure lies. 

Enter Ventidius. 

O, come, Ventidius, 40 
You must to Parthia : your commission 's ready ; 
Follow me, and receive 't. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The same. A street. 
Enter Lepidus, Mec^enas, #«^Agrippa. 
Lep. Trouble yourselves no further : pray you, 
hasten 
Your generals after. 

Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we '11 follow. 
Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's 
dress, 
Which will become you both, farewell. 

Mec. We shall, 

As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount 
Before you, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your way is shorter; 

My purposes do draw me much about : 
You '11 win two days upon me. 

Mec. 1 c- j t 

A j Sir, good success ! 

Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. 10 

Scene V. Alexandria. Cleopatra 's palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and 

Alexas. 
Cleo. Give me some music ; music, moody food 
Of us that trade in love. 
Attend. The music, ho ! 

Enter Mardian the Eunuch. 

Cleo. Let it alone; let's to billiards: come, 
Charmian. 

Char. My arm is sore ; best play with Mardian. 

Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd 
As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, 
sir? 

Mar. As well as I can, madam. 

Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though 't 
come too short, 
The actor may plead pardon. I '11 none now : 
Give me mine angle; we'll to the river: there, 
My music playing far off, I will betray 11 

Tawny-finn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
Their slimy jaws ; and, as I draw them up, 
I '11 think them every one an Antony, 
And say 'Ah, ha ! you're caught.' 

Char. 'Twas merry when 

You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
With fervency drew up. 

Cleo. That time,— O times !— 

I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night 
I laugh'd him into patience: and next morn, 20 
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; 
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
I wore his sword Philippan. 

Enter a Messenger. 

O, from Italy! 
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
That long time have been barren. 



Mess. Madam, madam, — 

Cleo. Antonius dead ! — If thou say so, villain, 
Thou kill'st thy mistress: but well and free, 
If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
My bluest veins to- kiss; a hand that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 30 

Mess. First, madam, he is well. 

Cleo. Why, there's more gold. 

But, sirrah, mark, we use 
To say the dead are well : bring it to that, 
The gold I give thee will I melt and pour 
Down thy ill-uttering throat. 

Mess. Good madam, hear me. 

Cleo. Well, go to, I will ; 

But there's no goodness in thy face : if Antony 
Be free and healthful, — so tart a favour 
To trumpet such good tidings ! If not well, 
Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with 
snakes, 40 

Not like a formal man. 

Mess. Will 't please you hear me ? 

Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou 
speak'st : 
Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well, 
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, 
I '11 set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
Rich pearls upon thee. 

Mess. Madam, he 's well. 

Cleo. Well said. 

Mess. And friends with Caesar. 

Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man. 

Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than 
ever. 

Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 

Mess. But yet, madam, — 

Cleo. I do not like ' But yet,' it does allay 50 
The good precedence; fie upon ' But yet' ! 
' But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend, 
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, 
The good and bad together: he's friends with 

Caesar ; 
In state of health thou say'st; and thou say'st 
free. 

Mess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such 
report : 
He 's bound unto Odtavia. 

Cleo. For what good turn ? 

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 

Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 

Mess. Madam, he's married to Oclavia. 60 

Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon 
thee ! {Strikes him down. 

Mess. Good madam, patience. 

Cleo. What say you ? Hence, 

[Strikes him again. 
Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me ; I '11 unhair thy head : 

[She hales him up and down. 
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in 

brine, 
Smarting in lingering pickle. 

Mess. Gracious madam, 

I that do bring the news made not the match. 

Cleo. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give 
thee, 
And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou 

hadst 
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage ; 70 



Scene v.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



gai 



And I will boot thee with what gift beside 
Thy modesty can beg. 

A less. He's married, madam. 

Cleo. Rogue, thou hast lived too long. 

[Draws a knife. 

Mess. Nay, then I'll run. 

What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. 

I Exit. 

Char. Good madam, keep yourself within 
yourself: 
The man is innocent. 

Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. 
Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
Turn all to serpents ! Call the slave again : 
Though I am mad, I will not bite him: call. So 

CJiar. He is afeard to come. 

Cleo. I will not hurt him. 

[Exit Charmian. 
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
A meaner than myself; since I myself 
Have given myself the cause. 

Re-enter Charmian and Messenger. 

Come hither, sir. 
Though it be honest, it is never good 
To bring bad news : give to a gracious message 
An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
Themselves when they be felt. 

Mess. I have done my duty. 

Cleo. Is he married? 
I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 90 

If thou again say ' Yes.' 

Mess. He's married, madam. 

Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold 
there still? 

Mess. Should I lie, madam? 

Cleo. O, I would thou didst, 

So half my Egypt were submerged and made 
A cistern for scaled snakes ! Go, get thee hence : 
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? 

Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 

Cleo. He is married? 

Mess. Take no offence that I would not offend 
you: 
To punish me for what you make me do 100 

Seems much unequal: he's married to Octavia. 

Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave 
of thee, 
That art not what thou'rt sure of! Get thee hence : 
The merchandise which thou hast brought from 

Rome 
Are all too dear for me : lie they upon thy hand, 
And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger. 

Char. Good your highness, patience. 

Cleo. In praising Antony, I have dispraised 
Cassar. 

Char. Many times, madam. 

Cleo. I am paid for't now. 

Lead me from hence : 

I faint : O Iras, Charmian ! 'tis no matter. no 
Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
Report the feature of Oclavia, her years, 
Her inclination, let him not leave out 
The colour of her hair : bring me word quickly. 

[Exit Alexas. 
Let him for ever go : — let him not — Charmian, 
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 



The other way's a Mars. Bid you Alexas 

1 To Mardian. 
Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Char- 
mian, ' 
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Near Misen um. 

Flourish. Enter Po.mpey and Menas at one 

door, -with drum and trumpet: at another, 

C*sar, Antony, Lepidus, Enqbarbus, Mb- 

c.knas, with Soldiers marching. 

Font. Your hostages I have, so have you 
mine ; 
And we shall talk before we fight. 

Cces. Most meet 

That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
I >ur written purposes before us sent ; 
Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword, 
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth 
That else must perish here. 

Pom. To you all three, 

The senators alone of this great world, 
Chief factors for the gods, I do not know 10 

Wherefore my father should revengers want, 
Having a son and friends ; since Julius Caesar, 
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 
There saw you labouring for him. What was't 
That moved pale Cassius to conspire ; and what 
Made the all-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, 
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous free- 
dom, 
To drench the Capitol ; but that they would 
Have one man but a man? And that is it 19 

Hath made me rig my navy ; at whose burthen 
The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
Cast on my noble father. 

Cas. Take your time. 

Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with 
thy sails ; 
We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou 

know'st 
How much we do o'er-count thee. 

Pom. At land, indeed, 

Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house : 
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
Remain in't as thou mayst. 

Lcfi. Be pleased to tell us — 

For this is from the present — how you take 30 
The offers we have sent you. 

Cces. There's the point. 

Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
What it is worth embraced. 

Cces. And what may follow, 

To try a larger fortune. 

Pom. You have made me offer 

Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send 
Measures of wheat to Rome; this 'greed upon, 
To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
Our targes undinted. 

. Ant. Le/>. That's our offe>-. 

Pom. Know, then, 40 

T came before you here a man prepared 
To take this offer: but Mark Antony 
Put me to some impatience : though I lose 



922 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act 



The praise of it by telling, you must know, 
When Caesar and your brother were at blows, 
Your mother came to Sicily and did find 
Her welcome friendly. 

Ant. I have heard it, Pompey ; 

And am well studied for a liberal thanks 
Which I do owe you. 

Pom. Let me have your hand : 

I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 50 

Ant. The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks 
to you, 
That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; 
For I have gained by't. 

Cces. Since I saw you last, 

There is a change upon you. 

Pom. Well, I know not 

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face ; 
But in my bosom shall she never come, 
To make my heart her vassal. 

Lep. Well met here. 

Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are 
agreed : 
I crave our composition may be written, 
And seal'd between us. 

Cces. That's the next to do. 60 

Pom. We '11 feast each other ere we part ; 
and let's 
Draw lots who shall begin. 

Ant. That will T, Pompey. 

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first 
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius 

Caesar 
Grew fat with feasting there. 

Ant. You have heard much. 

Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 

Ant. And fair words to them. 

Pom. Then so much have I heard : 
And I have heard, Apollodorus carried — ■ 

Eno. No more of that : he did so. 

Pom. What, I pray you? 70 

Eno . A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. 

Pom. I know thee now: how farest thou, 
soldier? 

Eno. Well; 

And well am like to do ; for, I perceive, 
Four feasts are toward. 

Pom. Let me shake thy hand ; 

I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight, 
When I have envied thy behaviour. 

Eno. Sir, 

I never loved 3'ou much ; but I ha' praised ye, 
When you have well deserved ten times as much 
As I have said you did. 

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 80 

It nothing ill becomes thee. 
Aboard my galley I invite you all : 
Will you lead, lords? 

Cces. A nt. Lep. Show us the way, sir. 

Pom. Come. 

[Exeunt all but Menus and Enobarbus. 

Men. [Aside'] Thy father, Pompey, would 
ne'er have made this treaty. — You and I have 
known, sir. 

Eno. At sea, I think. 

Men. We have, sir. 

Eno. You have done well by water. 

Men. And you by land. 90 

Eno. I will praise any man that will praise 



me ; though it cannot be denied what I have done 
by land. 

Men. Nor what I have done by water. 

Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your 
own safety : you have been a great thief by sea. 

Men. And you by land. 

Eno. There I deny my land service. But 
give me your hand, Menas : if our eyes had 
authority, here they might take two thieves 
kissing. 101 

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er 
their hands are. 

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a 
true face. 

Men. No slander ; they steal hearts. 

Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 

Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to 
a drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away 
his fortune. no 

Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back 
again. 

Men. You've said, sir. We looked not for 
Mark Antony here: pray you, is he married to 
Cleopatra ? 

Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia. 

Men. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius 
Marcellus. 

Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 

Men. Pray ye, sir? 120 

Eno. 'Tis true: 

Men. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit to- 
gether. 

Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, 
I would not prophesy so. 

Men. I think the policy of that purpose made 
more in the marriage than the love of the parties. 

Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, the 
band that seems to tie their friendship together 
will be the very strangler of their amity: Octavia 
is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. 131 

Men. Who would not have his wife so? 

Eno. Not he that himself is not so ; which is 
Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish 
again : then shall the sighs of Odtavia blow the 
fire up in Caesar ; and, as I said before, that which 
is the strength of their amity shall prove the im- 
mediate author of their variance. Antony will 
use his affection where it is : he married but his 
occasion here. 140 

Men. Arid thus it may be. Come, sir, will 
you aboard? I have a health for you. 

Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our 
throats in Egypt. 

Men. Come, let's away. [Exeunt. 

SceJie VII. On boat'd Pompey 1 s galley, off 
Misenum. 

Music plays. E titer two or three Servants -with 
a batiquet. 

First Serz'. Here they'll be, man. Some o' 
their plants are ill-rooted already; the least wind 
i' the world will blow them down. 

Sec. Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 

First Serv. They have made him drink alms- 
drink. 

Sec. Serv. As they pinch one another by the 
disposition, he cries out ' No more ;' reconciles 
them to his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 



Scene vii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



9=.- 



First Serv. But it raises the greater war be- 
tween him and his discretion. 11 

Sec. Scrv. Why, this it is to have a name in 
great men's fellowship : I had as lief have a reed 
that will do me no service as a partisan I could 
not heave. 

First Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, 
and not to be seen to move in't, are the holes 
where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster 
the cheeks. 

A sen?iet sounded. Enter Cesar, Antony, 
Lepidus, Pompey, Agrippa, Miccenas, Eno- 
barbus, Menas, with other captains. 

Ant. [To Ceesar] Thus do they, sir: they take 
the flow o' the Nile 20 

By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know, 
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth 
Or foison follow: the higher Nilus swells, 
The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsman 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
And shortly comes to harvest. 

Lep. You 've strange serpents there. 

Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of 
your mud by the operation of your sun : so is your 
crocodde. 31 

Ant. They are so. 

Pom. Sit, — and some wine ! A health to Le- 
pidus ! 

Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I '11 
ne'er out. 

Eno. Not till you have slept; I fear me you'll 
be in till then. 

Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptole- 
mies' pyramiscs are very goodly things; without 
contradiction, I have heard that. 41 

Men. [Aside to Pom.] Pompey, a word. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] Say in 

mine ear: what is't? 

Men. [Aside to Pom.} Forsake thy scat, I do 
beseech thee, captain, 
And hear me speak a word. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] Forbear me till anon. 
This wine for Lepidus ! 

Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? 

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as 
broad as it hath breadth : it is just so high as it 
is, and moves with it own organs : it lives by 
that which nourisheth it ; and the elements once 
out of it, it transmigrates. 51 

. L^ep. What colour is it of? 

Ant. Of it own colour too. 

Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. 

Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. 

Ccps. Will this description satisfy him? 

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, 
else he is a very epicure. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] Go hang, sir, hang! 
Tell me of that? away ! 
Do as I bid you. Where's this cup I call'd for? 

Men. [Aside to Pom.] If for the sake of merit 
thou wilt hear me, 61 

Rise from thy stool. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] I think thou'rt mad. 
The matter? [Rises, andwalki 

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy for- 
tunes. 



Pom. Thou hast served me with much faith. 
What 's else to say? 
Be jolly, lords. 

Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 

Keep off them, for you sink. 
Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world? 
Pom. What say'st thou? 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? 

That's twice. 
Pom. How should that be ? 
Men. Bat entertain it, 69 

And, though thou think me poor, I am the man 
Will give thee all the world. 
Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 

Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the 
cup. 
Thou art, if thou darest be, the enrthly Jove: 
Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, 
Is thine, if thou wilt ha 't. 
Pom. Show me which way. 

Men. These three world-sharers, these com- 
petitors, 
Are in thy vessel : let me cut the cable ; 
And, when we are put off, fall to their throats : 
All there is thine. 

Pom. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, 

And not have spoke on 't ! In me 'tis villany ; 8 j 
In thee 't had been good service. Thou must 

know, 
'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour; 
Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue 
Hath so betray'd thine acl: being done unknown, 
I should have found it afterwards well done; 
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 

Men, [Aside] For this, 
I '11 never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. 
Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis 

offer'd, 
Shall never find it more. 
Pom. This health to Lepidus ! 90 

Ant. Bear him ashore. I '11 pledge it for him, 

Pompey. 
Eno. Here's to thee, Menas! 
Men. Enobarbus, welcome ! 

Pom. Fill till the cup be hid. 
Eno. There 's a strong fellow, Menas. 

[Pointing to the Attendant who carries 
off Lepidus. 
Men. Why? 

Eno. A' bears the third part of the world, man ; 
see'st not? 

Men. The third part, then, is drunk : would 
it were all, 
That it might go on wheels ! 
Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 100 

Men. Come. 

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
Ant. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, 
ho! 
Here is to Caesar ! 

Cars. I could well forbear 't. 

It's monstrous labour, when 1 wash my brain, 
And it grows fouler. 

Ant. Be a child o' the time. 

Ccrs. Possess it, I '11 make answer : 
But I had rather fast from all four days 
Than drink so much in one. 

Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To 
Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 



9 ?4 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act hi. 



And celebrate our drink? 

Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier, in 

Ant. Come, let's all take hands, 
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our 

sense 
In soft and delicate Lethe. 

E710. All take hands. 

Make battery to our ears with the loud music : 
The while I '11 place you : then the boy shall sing ; 
The holding every man shall bear as loud 
As his strong sides can volley. 

[Music plays. Enobarbus places them 
hand in hand. 

The Song. 
Come, thou monarch of the vine, 120 

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne ! 
In thy fats our cares be drown'd, 
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd : 
Cup us, till the world go round, 
Cup us, till the world go round ! 

Cces. What would you more? Pompey, good 
night. Good brother, 
Let me request you off: our graver business 
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part; 
You see we have burnt our cheeks : strong Eno- 

barb 
Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own tongue 
Splits what it speaks: the wild disguise hath 
almost 13 1 

Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good 

night. 
Good Antony, your hand. 
Pom. I '11 try you on the shore. 

Ant. And shall, sir: give's your hand. 
Pom. O Antony, 

You have my father's house, — But, what? we are 

friends. 
Come, down into the boat. 
Eno. Take heed you fall not. 

[Exeunt all but Enobarbus and Alenas. 
Menas, I '11 not on shore. 

Men. No, to my cabin. 

These drums ! these trumpets, flutes ! what ! 
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
To these great fellows : sound and be hang'd, 
sound" out ! [Sound a flourish, with drums. 
Eno. Ho! says a'. There's my cap. 141 

Men. Ho ! Noble captain, come. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. A plain in Syria. 

Enter Ventidius as it were in triumph, with 
Silius, and other Romans, Officers, and Sol- 
diers; the dead body of Pacorus borne before 
him. 

Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck ; 
and now 
Pleased fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
Make me revenger. Bear the king's son's body 
Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 

Sil. Noble Ventidius, 

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, 
The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through 

Media, 
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 



The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and 10 

Put garlands on thy head. 

Ven. O Silius, Silius, 

I have done enough ; a lower place, note well, 
May make too great an act : for learn this, Silius ; 
Better to leave undone, than by our deed 
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve 's 

away. 
Caesar and Antony have ever won 
More in their officer than person : Sossius, 
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, 
For quick accumulation of renown, 19 

Which he achieved by the minute, lost his favour. 
Who does i' the wars more than his captain can 
Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition, 
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, 
Than gain which darkens him. 
I could do more to do Antonius good, 
But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence 
Should my performance perish. 

Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, that 

Without the which a soldier, and his sword, 
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to 

Antony? 
Ven. I '11 humbly signify what in his name, 30 
That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks, 
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
We have jaded out o' the field. 

Sil. Where is he now? 

Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither, with 

what haste 
The weight we must convey with 's will permit, 
We shall appear before him. On, there ; pass 

along ! [Exeunt. 



Scene II. 



Rome. 
Ccesat 



An ante-chamber in 
s house. 



Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbus 

at another. 
Agr. What, are the brothers parted ? 
Eno. They have dispatch'd with Pompey, he 
is gone ; 
The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus, 
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
With the green sickness. 
Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 

Eno. A very fine one : O, how he loves 

Caesar ! 
Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark 

Antony ! 
Eno. Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. 
Agr. What's Antony ? The god of Jupiter. 10 
Eno. Spake you of Caesar? How! the non- 
pareil ! 
Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! 
Eno. Would you praise Caesar, say ' Caesar:' 

go no further. 
Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excel- 
lent praises. 
Eno. But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves 
Antony: 
Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, 

poets, cannot 
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho ! 
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, 



Scene ii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



925 



Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
Agr. Both he loves. 

Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. 
[Trumpets within.] So; 20 

This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and fare- 
well. 

Enter Cesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Oct avia. 

A fit. No further, sir. 

Cces. You take from me a great part of myself; 
Use me well in 't. Sister, prove such a wife 
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest 

band 
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony, 
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set 
Betwixt us as the cement of our love, 
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 30 

The fortress of it ; for better might we 
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts 
This be not cherish'd. 

Ant. Make me not offended 

In your distrust. 

Cces. I have said. 

Ant. You shall not find, 

Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
For what you seem to fear : so, the gods keep you, 
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! 
We will here part. 

Cces. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee 
well : 
The elements be kind to thee, and make 40 

Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well. 

Oft. My noble brother ! 

Ant. The April's in her eyes: it is love's 
spring, 
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful. 

Oil. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; 
and — 

Cces. What, 
Oclavia? 

Oil. I '11 tell you in your ear. 

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, 
nor can 
Her heart inform her tongue, — the swan's down- 
feather, 
That stands upon the swell at full of tide, 
And neither way inclines. 50 

Eno. [Aside to Agr.] Will Caesar weep? 

Agr. [Aside to Eno.] He has a cloud in 's face. 

Eno. [Aside to Agr.] He were the worse for 
that, were he a horse ; 
So is he, being a man. 

Agr. [Aside to Eno.] Why, Enobarbus, 
When Antony found Julius Caesar dead. 
He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept 
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 

Eno. [Aside to Agr.] That year, indeed, he 
was troubled with a rheum ; 
What willingly he did confound he wail'd, 
Believe 't, till I wept too. 

Cces. No, sweet Octavia, 

You shall hear from me still; the time shall not 
Out-go my thinking on you. 

Ant. Come, sir, come ; 60 

I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love: 
Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go, 
And give you to the gods. 

Cces. Adieu ; be happy ! 



Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light 
To thy fair way ! 

Cces. Farewell, farewell ! [Kisses Oclavia. 
Ant. Farewell! 

[ Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 

Scene III. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 
palace. 

Entjr Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and 
Alex as. 



CL-o. Where is the fellow? 



Alex. Half afeard to come. 

Cleo. Go to, go to. 

Enter tlie Messenger as before. 
Come hither, sir. 

Alex. Good majesty, 

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you 
But when you are well pleased. 

; Cleo. That Herod's head 

I'll have : but how, when Antony is gone 
Through whom I might command it? Come 
thou near. 

Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 

Cleo. Didst thou behold Odtavia? 

Mess. Ay, dread queen. 

Cleo. Where ? 10 

Mess. Madam, in Rome ; 
I look'd her in the face, and saw her led 
Between her brother and Mark Antony. 

Cleo. Is she as tall as me ? 

Mess, She is not, madam. 

Cleo. Didst hear her speak? is she shrill- 
tongued or low? 

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is low- 
voiced. 

Cleo. That's not so good: he cannot like her 
long. 

Char. Like her! O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 

Cleo. I think so, Charmian : dull of tongue, 
and dwarfish ! 
What majesty is in her gait? Remember, 20 
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 

Mess. She creeps : 

Her motion and her station are as one ; 
She shows a body rather than a life, 
A statue than a breather. 

Cleo. Is this certain? 

Mess. Or I have no observance. 

Char. Three in Egypt 

Cannot make better note. 

Cleo. He's very knowing; 

I do perceive 't : there's nothing in her yet : 
The fellow has good judgement. 

Char. Excellent. 

Cleo. Guess at her years, I prithee. 

Mess. Madam, 

She was a widow, — 

Cleo. Widow! Charmian, hark. 30 

Mess. And I do think she's thirty. 

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't long 
or round? 

Mess. Round even to faultiness. 

Cleo. For the most part, too, they are foolish 
that are so. 
Her hair, what colour? 

Mess. Brown, madam : and her forehead 
As low as she would wish it. 



926 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act in 



C ieo - There 's gold for thee. 

Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : 
I will employ thee back again ; I find thee 
Most fit for business : go make thee ready ; 40 
Our letters are prepared. [Exit Messenger. 

Char. A proper man. 

Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much 
That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him, 
This creature's no such thing. 

Char. Nothing, madam. 

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and 
should know. 

Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, 
And serving you so long ! 

Clco. I have one thing more to ask him yet, 
good Charmian: 
But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me 
Where I will write. All may be well enough. 50 

Char. I warrant you, madam. {Exeunt. 



Provide your 



ho7ise. 



Scene IV. Athens. A room in Antony 1 . 
Enter Antony and Octavia. 
Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
Of semblable import, — but he hath waged 
New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his & will, and 

read it 
To public ear: 

Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could not 
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me : 
When the best hint was given him, he not took't, 
Or did it from his teeth. 

Oft. O my good lord, 10 

Believe not all ; or, if you must believe, 
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, 
If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
Praying for both parts : 
The good gods will mock me presently, 
When I shall pray, ' O, bless my lord and hus- 
band ! ' 
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win 

brother, 
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway 
'Twixt these extremes at all. 
_ Ant - Gentle Oaavia, 20 

Let your best love draw to that point, which 

seeks 
Best to preserve it : if I lose mine honour, 
Ilose myself: better I were not your: 
Than yours so branchless. But, ; 

quested, 

Yourself shall go between 's : the mean time, lady, 
I'll raise the preparation of a war 
Shall stain your brother: make your soonest 

haste ; 
So your desires are yours. 

°tt- Thanks to my lord. 

The Jove of power make me most weak, most 

weak, 
Your reconciler ! Wars 'twixt you twain would be 
As if the world should cleave, and that slain 
men 3I 

Should solder up the rift. 

Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, 
Turn your displeasure that way; for our faults 
Can never be so equal, that your love 



you re- 



Can equally move with them. 

going ; 
Choose your own company, and command what 

cost 
Your heart has mind to. {Exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. Another room. 
Enter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting. 
Eno. How now, friend Eros ! 
Eros. There 's strange news come, sir. 
Eno. What, man? 

Eros. Cajsar and Lepidus have made wars 
upon Pompey. 
Eno. This is old : what is the success? 
Eros. Csesar, having made use of him in the 
wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rival- 
ity_; would not let him partake in the glory of the 
action : and not resting here, accuses him of 
letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey ; upon 
his own appeal, seizes him : so the poor third is 
up, till death enlarge his confine. 
Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, 
no more ; 
And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony? 
Eros. He 's walking in the garden— thus ; and 
spurns 
The rush that lies before him ; cries, ' Fool 

Lepidus !' 
And threats the throat of that his officer 
1 hat murder'd Pompey. 

Eno. Our great navy's rigg'd. 20 

Eros. For Italy and Csesar. More, Domitius ; 
My lord desires you presently : mv news 
I might have told hereafter. 

Eno. i 'Twill be naught : 

But let it be. Bring me to Antony. 
Eros. Come, sir. {Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Rome. Ctzsars house. 
Enter Cesar, Agrippa, and Mecenas. 
Cees. Contemning Rome, he has done all this, 
and more, 
Tn Alexandria: here's the manner oft : 
I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
Were publicly enthroned : at the feet sat 
Cassarion, whom they call my father's son, 
And all the unlawful issue that their lust 
Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
He gave the stablishment of Egypt ; made her 
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, JO 

Absolute queen. 
Mec. This in the public eye? 

Ccbs. Fthe common show-place, where they 
exercise. 
His sons he there proclaimed the kings of kings : 
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy he assign'd 
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : she 
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audience, 
As 'tis reported, so. 

Mec. Let Rome be thus 

Inform'd. 

Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence 20 

Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 



Scene vi.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Cess. The people know it; and have now re- 
ceived 
His accusations. 

Agr. Who does he accuse? 

Cces. Caesar : and that, having in Sicily 
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him 
His part o' the isle: then does he say, he lent me 
Some shipping unrestored : lastly, he frets 
I That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
Should be deposed ; and, being, that we detain 
All his revenue. 

Agr. Sir, this should be answer* d. 30 

Cces. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 
I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel; 
That he his high authority abused, 
And did deserve his change: for what I have 

conquer'd, 
I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, 
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
Demand the like. 

Mec. He'll never yield to that. 

Cces. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. 

Enter Octavia with her tram. 

Oft. Hail, Caesar, and my lord ! hail, most 
dear Caesar ! 39 

Ccrs. That ever I should call thee castaway ! 

Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you 
cause. 

Cces. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You 
come not 
Like Caesar's sister: the wife of Antony 
Should have an army for an usher, and 
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach 
Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way 
Should have borne men ; and expectation fainted, 
Longing for what it had not ; nay, the dust 
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 49 
Raised by your populous troops : but you are come 
A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented 
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, 
Is often left unloved : we should have met you 
By sea and land; supplying every stage 
With an augmented greeting. 

Oct. Good my lord, 

To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did 
On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted 
My grieved ear withal ; whereon, I begg'd 
His pardon for return. 

Cces. Which soon he granted, 60 

Eeing an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 

Oct. Do not say so, my lord. 

Ccrs. I have eyes upon him, 

And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
Where is he now ? 

Oct. My lord, in Athens. 

Cces. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra 
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his 

empire 
Up to a whore; who now are levying 
The kings o' the earth for war : he hath assembled 
Bocchus, the king of Libya ; Archelaus, 
Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king 70 

Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adal'.as; 
Kin.L, r Malcnus of Arabia ; King of Pont; 
Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king 
Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amyntas, 
The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, 



9° 



With a more larger list of sceptres. 

Ll <l- Ay me, most wretched, 

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends 
That do afflict each other ! 

Cces. Welcome hither : 

A our letters did withhold our breaking forth ; 79 
Jill we perceived, both how you were wrong led, 
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart : 
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
O'er your content these strong necessities; 
But let determined things to destiny 
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome ; 
Nothing more dear to me. You are abused 
Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods, 
To do you justice, make them ministers 
Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort ; 
And ever welcome to us. 

Agr. Welcome, lady. 

__ Mec. Welcome, dear madam. 
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you : 
Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
In his abominations, turns you off; 
And gives his potent regiment to a trull, 
That noises it against us. 

Oil. Is it so, sir? 

Cces. Most certain. Sister, welcome : pray you, 
Be ever known to patience : my dear'st si.ster ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Near Aclium. Antony scamp. 
Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. 

Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 

Eno. But why, why, why? 

Cleo. Thou hast forspoke my being in these 
wars, 
And say'st it is not fit. 

Eno. Well, is it, is it? 

Cleo. If not denounced against us, why should 
not we 
Be there in person? 

Eno. [Aside] Well, I could reply: 
If we should serve with horse and mares together, 
The horse were merely lost ; the mares would bear 
A soldier and his horse. 

Cleo. What is 't you say? 10 

Eno. Yourpresence needs must puzzle Antony ; 
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's 

time, 
What should not then be spared. He is already 
Traduced for levity ; and 'tis said in Rome 
That Photinns an eunuch and your maids 
Manage this war. 

Cleo. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot 

That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' the 

war, 
And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it ; 
I will not stay behind. 

Eno. Nay, I have done. 20 

Here comes the emperor. 

Enter Antony and Canidius. 

Ant. ^ Is it not strange, Canidius, j 

That from Tarentum and Brundusium 
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, 
And take in Torync? You have heard on 't, sweet? \ 

Cleo. Celerity is never more admired 
Than by the negligent. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act hi 



Ant. _ A good rebuke, 

Which might have well becomed the best of men, 
To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we 
Will tight with him by sea. 

Cleo. By sea ! what else? 

Can. Why will my lord do so ? 

Ant. For that he dares us to't. 33 

Eno. So hath my lord dared him to single fight. 

Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
Where Caesar fought with Pompey: but these 

offers, 
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; 
And so should you. 

Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd ; 

Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people 
Ingross'd by swift impress; in Caesar's fleet 
Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought : 
Their ships are yare ; yours, heavy : no disgrace 
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 40 

Being prepared for land. 

Ant. By sea, by sea. 

Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
Distract your army, which doth most consist 
Of war-mark'd footmen ; leave unexecuted 
Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
The way which promises assurance ; and 
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
From firm security. 

Ant. _ I '11 fight at sea. 

Cleo. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. 50 

A pit. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ; 
And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the bead of 

Actium 
Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail, 
We then can do 't at land. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Thy business ? 
Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is des- 
cried ; 
Caesar has taken Toryne. 
Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis impos- 
sible ; 
Strange that his power should be. Canidius, 
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
And our twelve thousand horse. We '11 to our ship : 
Away, my Thetis ! 

Enter a Soldier. 

How now, worthy soldier ! 61 

Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea ; 
Trust not to rotten planks : do you misdoubt 
This sword and these my wounds? Let the 

Egyptians 
And the Phoenicians go a-ducking : we 
Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
And fighting foot to foot. 

Ant. Well, well: away! 

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Enobarbus. 

Sold. By Hercules, I think I am i' the right. 

Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action 
grows 
Not in the power on 't : so our leader's led, 70 
And we are women's men. 

Sold. _ You keep by land 

The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 

Can. Marcus Ocfavius, Marcus Justeius, 
Publicola, and Caelius, are for sea : 



But we keep whole by land. This speed of 

Caesar's 
Carries beyond belief. 

Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 

His power went out in such distractions as 
Beguiled all spies. 

Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you? 

Sold. They say, one Taurus. 

Can. Well I know the man. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. The emperor calls Canidius. 80 

Can. With news the time 's with labour, and 
throes forth, 
Each minute, some. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. A plain near Aclium. 

Enter Cesar, and Taurus, with his army, 
marching. 
Cces. Taurus ! 
Taur. My lord? 

Ca>s. Strike not by land; keep whole: pro- 
voke not battle, 
Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed 
The prescript of this scroll : our fortune lies 
Upon this jump. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX. Another part 0/ the plain. 
Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
Ant. Set we our squadrons on yond side o' 
the hill, 
In eye of Caesar's battle ; from which place 
We may the number of the ships behold, 
And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 



Scene X. 



Another part of the plain. 



Canidius marcheth with his land army one 
way over the stage; and Taurus, the lieu- 
tenant o/Cmsar, the other way. After their 
going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight. 

Alarupn. Enter Enobarbus. 
Eno. Naught, naught, all naught! I can 
behold no longer : 
The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, 
With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder : 
To see't mine eyes are blasted. 

Enter Scarus. 

Scar. Gods and goddesses, 

All the whole synod of them ! 

Eno. What's thy passion? 

Scar. The greater cantle of the world is lost 
With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
Kingdoms and provinces. 

Eno. _ How appears the fight? 

Scar. On our side like the token'd pestilence, 
Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of 
Egypt,— IO 

Whom leprosy o'ertake ! — i' the midst o' the fight, 
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, 
The breese upon her, like a cow in June, 
Hoists sails and flies. 

Eno. That I beheld : 
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not 



Scene x.] 



A NTON V A ND CLE OP A TR A . 



929 



Endure a further view. 

Scar. She once being loof'd, 

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard, 
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her: 21 
I never saw an action of such shame ; 
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
Did violate So itself. 

Eno. Alack, alack ! 

Enter Canidius. 

Coji. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, 
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well : 
O, he has given example for our flight, 
Most grossly, by his own ! 

Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? 

Why, then, good night indeed. 30 

Can. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. 

Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend 
What further comes. 

Can. To Caesar will I render 

My legions and my horse : six kings already 
Show me the way of yielding. 

Eno. I '11 yet follow 

The wounded chance of Antony, though my 

reason 
Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt 

Scene XI. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 
fa lace. 

Enter Antony with Attendants. 
Ant. Hark ! the land bids me tread no more 
upon't ; 
It is ashamed to bear me ! Friends, come hither : 
I am so lated in the world, that I 
Have lost my way for ever : I have a ship 
Laden with gold ; take that, divide it ; fly, 
And make your peace with Caesar. 

A II. Fly ! not we. 

Ant. I have fled myself; and have instructed 
cowards 
To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be 

gone; 
I have myself resolved upon a course 
Which has no need of you ; be gone : 10 

My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O, 
I follow'd that I blush to look upon : 
My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
For fear and doting. Friends, be gone: you 

shall 
Have letters from me to some friends that will 
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
Nor make replies of loathness : take the hint 
Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
I Which leaves itself : to the sea-side straightway : 
, I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 21 
1 Leave me, I pray, a little : pray you now : 
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command, 
Therefore I pray you : I '11 see you by and by. 

[Sits down. 

Enter Cleopatra led by Charmian and Iras ; 
E ros following. 
Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him, comfort 

him. 
Iras. Do, most dear queen. 



Char. Do ! why : what else? 

Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno ! 

Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 

Eros. See you here, sir? 30 

Ant. O fie, fie, fie ! 

Char. Madam ! 

Iras. Madam, O good empress! 

Eros. Sir, sir, — 

Ant. Yes, my lord, yes ; he at Philippi kept 
His sword e'en like a dancer; while I struck 
The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I 
That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
In the brave squares of war: yet now — No matter. 

Cleo. Ah, stand by. 41 

Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 

Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him : 
He is unqualified with very shame. 

Cleo. Well then, sustain me : O ! 

Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen ap- 
proaches : 
Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but 
Your comfort makes the rescue. 

Ant. I have offended reputation, 
A most unnoble swerving. 

Eros. Sir, the queen. 50 

Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? 
See, 
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes 
By looking back what I have left behind 
'Stroy'd in dishonour. 

Cleo. O my lord, my lord, 

Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought 
You would have follow'd. 

Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well 

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
And thou shouldst tow me after : o'er my spirit 
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that 
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 60 
Command me. 

Cleo. O, my pardon ! 

Ant. Now I must 

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who 
With half the bulk o' the world play*d as I 

pleased, 
Making and marring fortunes. You did know 
How much you were my conqueror ; and that 
My sword, made weak by my affeclion, would 
Obey it on all cause. 

Cleo. Pardon, pardon ! 

Ant. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates 
All that is won and lost: give me a kiss; 70 

Even this repays me. We sent our schoolmaster ; 
Is he come back ? Love, I am full of lead. 
Some wine, within there, and our viands ! For- 
tune knows 
We scorn her most when most she offers blows. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene XII. Egypt. Caesar scamp. 

Enter C^sar, Doi.akki.la, Thyreus, with 
others. 
Ca"s. Let him appear that 's come from Antony. 
Know you him? 

Dol. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster : 

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, 



59 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act hi. 



Which had superfluous kings for messengers 
Not many moons gone by. 

Enter Euphronius, ambassador from Antony. 

Cces. Approach, and speak. 

Euph. Such as I am, I come from Antony : 
I was of late as petty to his ends 
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle-leaf 
To his grand sea. 

Cces. Be 't so : declare thine office. 10 

Euph. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, 
and 
Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted, 
He lessens his requests ; and to thee sues 
To let him breathe between the heavens and 

earth, 
A private man in Athens : this for him. 
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness ; 
Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves 
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
Now hazarded to thy grace. 

Cces. For Antony, 

I have no ears to his request. The queen 20 

Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she 
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
Or take his life there : this if she perform, 
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 

Euph. Fortune pursue thee ! 

Cces. Bring him through the bands. 

[Exit Euphronius. 

[To Thy reus] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis 

time : dispatch ; 
From Antony win Cleopatra : promise, 
And in our name, what she requires ; add more, 
From thine invention, offers : women are not 
In their best fortunes strong ; but want will 
perjure 30 

The ne'er-touch'd vestal: try thy cunning, Thy- 

reus; 
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
Will answer as a law. 

Thyr. Caesar, I go. 

Cces. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, 
And what thou think' st his very action speaks 
In every power that moves. 

Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt. 



Scene XIII. 



A lexandria. 
palace. 



Cleopatra'. 



Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, 
and Iras. 

Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus? 

Euo. Think, and die. 

Cleo. Is Antony or we in fault for this? 

Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
Lord of his reason. What though you fled 
From that great face of war, whose several 

ranges 
Frighted each other? why should he follow? 
The itch of his affection should not then 
Have nick'd his captainship ; at such a point, 
When half to half the world opposed, he being 
The fmeered question : 'twas a shame no less 10 
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, 
And leave his navy gazing. 

Cleo. Prithee, peace. 



Etiter Antony with Euphronius, the 
A mbassador. 

Ant. Is that his answer? 

Euph. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. The queen shall then have courtesy, so 
she 
Will yield us up. 

Euph. He says so. 

A n t. Let her know 't. 

To the boy Cassar send this grizzled head, 
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
With principalities. 

Cleo. That head, my lord ? 19 

A 7it. To him again : tell him he wears the rose 
Of youth upon him ; from which the world should 

note 
Something particular : his coin, ships, legions, 
May be a coward's ; whose ministers would prevail 
Under the service of a child as soon 
As i' the command of Caesar : I dare him therefore 
To lay his gay comparisons apart, 
And answer me declined, sword against sword, - 
Ourselves alone. I'll write it: follow me. 

[Exeunt Antony and Euphronius. 

Eno. [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled 
Caesar will 29 

Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show, 
Against a sworder ! I see men's judgements are 
A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
Do draw the inward quality after them, 
To suffer all alike. That he should dream, 
Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will 
Answer his emptiness! Csssar, thou hast sub- 
dued 
His judgement too. 

Enter an Attendant. 
A tt. A messenger from Caesar. 

Cleo. What, no more ceremony? See, my 
women ! 
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose 
That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. 40 
[Exit A ttendant. 
Eno. [Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to 
square. 
The loyalty well held to fools does make 
Our faith mere folly : yet he that can endure 
To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord 
Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
And earns a place i' the story. 

Enter Thyreus. 

Cleo. Caesar's will ? 

Thyr. Hear it apart. 

Cleo. None but friends : say boldly. 

Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 

Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has ; 
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master 50 
Wili leap to be his friend : for us, you know 
Whose he is we are, and that is, Caesar's. 

Thyr. So. 

Thus then, thou most renown'd : Caesar entreats, 
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, 
Further than he is Caesar. 

Cleo. Go on : right royal. 

Thyr. He knows that you embrace not Antony 
As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 

Cleo. O ! 



Scene xiii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



93* 



Thyr. The scars upon your honour, there- 
fore, he 
Does pity, as constrained blemishes, 
Not as deserved. 

Cleo. He is a god, and knows 60 

What is most right: mine honour was not yielded, 
But conquer'd merely. 

Eno. [Aside] To be sure of that, 

I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky, 
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit. 

Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 

What you require of him? for he partly begs 
To be desired to give. It much would please him, 
That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits, 
To hear from me you had left Antony, 70 

tAnd put yourself under his shrowd, 
The universal landlord. 

Cleo. What 's your name? 

Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 

Cleo. Most kind messenger, 

Say to great Caesar this: in deputation 
I kiss his conquering hand : tell him, I am prompt 
To lay my crown at's feet, and there to kneel : 
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
The doom of Egypt. 

Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 

Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
If that the former dare but what it can, 80 

No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
My duty on your hand. 

Cleo. Your Caesar's father oft, 

When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, 
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
As it rain'd kisses. 

Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders ! 

What art thou, fellow ? 

Thyr. One that but performs 

The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
To have command obey'd. 

Eno. [Aside] You will be whipp'd. 

Ant. Approach, there 1 Ah, you kite! Now, 
gods and devils ! 
Authority melts from me : of late, when I cried 
'Ho!' 90 

Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth, 
And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am 
Antony yet. 

Enter Attendants. 
Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 
Eno. [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's 
whelp 
Than with an old one dying. 

Ant. Moon and stars ! 

Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tribu- 
taries 
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them 
So saucy with the hand of she here, — what's her 

name, 
Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, 
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, 100 
And whine aloud for mercy: take him hence. 
Thyr. Mark Antony ! 

Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd, 

Bring him again : this Jack of Caesar's shall 



Bear us an errand to him. 

[Exeunt Attendants with Thyreus. 
You were half blasted ere I knew you : ha! 
Have I my pillow left impressed in Rome, 
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
And by a gem of women, to be abused 
By one that looks on feeders? 

Cleo. Good my lord, — 

Ant. You have been a boggier ever : no 

But when we in our viciousness grow hard — 
O misery on't ! — the wise gods seel our eyes ; 
In our own filth drop our clear judgements; 

make us 
Adore our errors; laugh at's, while we strut 
To our confusion. 

Cleo. O, is't come to this? 

Ant. I found you as a morsel cold upon 
Dead Caesar's trencher ; nay, you were afragment 
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, 
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
Luxuriously pick'd out: for, I am sure, 120 

Though you can guess what temperance should be, 
You know not what it is. 

Cleo. Wherefore is this? 

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards 
And say ' God quit you !' be familiar with 
My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal 
And plighter of high hearts! O, that I were 
Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
The horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
And to proclaim it civilly, were like 
A haiter'd neck which does the hangman thank 
For being yare about him. 

Re-enter Attendants with Thyreus. 

Is he whipp'd? 131 

First A tt. Soundly, my lord. 

Ant. Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? 

First A tt. He did ask favour. 

Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
Thou wast not made his daughter ; and be thou 

sorry 
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since 
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : hence- 
forth 
The white hand of a lady fever thee, 
Shake thou to look on 't. Get thee back to Caesar, 
Tell him thy entertainment: look, thou say 140 
He makes me angry with him ; for he seems 
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, 
Not what he knew I was: he makes me angry; 
And at this time most easy 'tis to do't, 
When my good stars, that were my former guides, 
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their tires 
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
My speech and what is done, tell him he has 
Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom 
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, 
As he shall like, to quit me : urge it thou : 151 
Hence with thy stripes, begone ! [Exit Thyreus. 

Cleo. Have you done yet? 

Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 

Is now eclipsed ; and it portends alone 
The fall of Antony ! 

Cleo. I must stay his time. 

Ant. To flatter C.e-ar, would you mingle eyes 
With one that ties his points? 

Cleo. Not know me yet? 

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me? 

59—2 



932 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act iv. 



Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so, 

From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, 
And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
Drop in my neck : as it determines, so 161 

Dissolve my life ! The next Caesarion smite ! 
Till by degrees the memory of my womb, 
Together with my brave Egyptians all, 
By the discandying of this pelleted storm, 
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile 
Have buried them for prey ! 

Ant. I am satisfied. 

Caesar sits down in Alexandria ; where 
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy too 170 

Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most sea- 
like. 
Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou 

hear, lady? 
If from the field I shall return once more 
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood ; 
I and my sword will earn our chronicle : 
There's hope in't yet. 

Cleo. That's my brave lord ! 
Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breathed, 
And fight maliciously : for when mine hours 
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 180 
Of me for jests ; but now I '11 set my teeth, 
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, 
Let's have one other gaudy night : call to me 
All my sad captains ; fill our bowls once more ; 
Let's mock the midnight bell. 

Cleo. It is my birth-day : 

I had thought to have held it poor ; but, since my 

lord 
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 
Ant. We will yet do well. 
Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
A nt. Do so, we '11 speak to them ; and to-night 
I '11 force 190 

The wine peep through their scars. Come on, 

my queen ; 
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight, 
I '11 make death love me ; for I will contend 
Even with his pestilent scythe. 

[Exeunt all but Enobarbus. 
Eno. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To 
be furious, 
Is to be frighted out of fear ; and in that mood 
The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still, 
A diminution in our captain's brain 
Restores his heart : when valour preys on reason, 
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 200 
Some way to leave him. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. Before A lexandria. Ccesars cainp. 

Enter Caesar, Agrippa, and Mec^enas, with 
his Army; Caesar reading a letter. 
Cces. He calls me boy ; and chides, as he had 
power 
To beat me out of Egypt ; my messenger 
He hath whipp'd with rods ; dares me to personal 

combat, 
Caesar to Antony : let the old ruffian know 
I have many other ways to die ; meantime 
Laugh at his challenge. 
Mec. Caesar must think, 



When one so great begins to rage, he 's hunted 
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
Make boot of his distraction : never anger 
Made good guard for itself. 

Cess. Let our best heads 10 

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
We mean to fight : within our files there are, 
Of those that served Mark Antony but late, 
Enough to fetch him in. See it done : 
And feast the army ; we have store to do't, 
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Alexandria. Cleopatrd 's palace. 

EnterAviTONY, Cleopatra, Enobarbus,Char- 
mian, Iras, Alexas, with others. 

Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 

Eno. No, 

Ant. Why should he not? 

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better 
fortune, 
He is twenty men to one. 

Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 

By sea and land I '11 fight : or I will live, 
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? 

Eno. I '11 strike, and cry 'Take all.' 

Ant. Well said ; come on. 

Call forth my household servants : let 's to-night 
Be bounteous at our meal. 

Enter three or four Servitors. 

Give me thy hand, 10 
Thou hast been rightly honest ; — so hast thou ; — 
Thou, — and thou, — and thou : — you have served 

me well, 
And kings have been your fellows. 

Cleo. [Aside to Eno.] What means this? 

Eno. [Aside to Cleo.] 'Tis one of those odd 
tricks which sorrow shoots 
Out of the mind. 

Ant. And thou art honest too. 

I wish I could be made so many men, 
And all of you clapp'd up together in 
An Antony, that I might do you service 
So good as you have done. 

All. The gods forbid ! 

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to- 
night : 20 
Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me 
As when mine empire was your fellow too, 
And suffer'd my command. 

Cleo. [Aside to Eno.] What does he mean? 

Etio. [Aside to Cleo.] To make his followers 
weep. 

Ant. Tend me to-night ; 
May be it is the period of your duty : 
Haply you shall not see me more ; or if, 
A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrow 
You'll serve another master. I look on you 
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
I turn you not away ; but, like a master 30 

Married to your good service, stay till death : 
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
And the gods yield you for't ! 

Eno. What mean you, sir, 

To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; 
And I, an ass, am onion-eyed : for shame, 



Scene ii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Transform us not to women. 

Ant. Ho, ho, ho! 

Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus ! 
Grace grow where those drops fall ! My hearty 

friends, 
You take me in too dolorous a sense; 
For I spake to you for your comfort ; did desire 

you 40 

To burn this night with torches : know, my hearts, 
I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you 
Where rather I '11 expect victorious life 
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come, 
And drown consideration. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. Before t lie palace. 

Enter tivo Soldiers to their guard. 
First Sold. Brother, good night: to-morrow 

is the day. 
Sec. Sold. It will determine one way: fare 

you well. 
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? 
First Sold. Nothing. What news? 
Sec. Sold. Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good 

night to you. 
First Sold. Well, sir, good night. 

Enter two other Soldiers. 
Sec. Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch. 
Third Sold. And you. Good night, good night. 
[ They place themselves in every corner of 
the stage. 
Fourth Sold. Here we : and if to-morrow 
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 10 

Our landmen will stand up. 

Third Sold. 'Tis a brave army, 

And full of purpose. 

[Music of the hautboys as under the stage. 
Fourth Sold. Peace ! what noise ? 
First Sold. List, list ! 

Sec. Sold. Hark ! 
First Sold. Music i' the air. 

Third Sold. Under the earth. 

Fourth Sold. It signs well, does it not? 
Third Sold. No. 

First Sold. Peace, I say ! 

What should this mean? 

Sec. Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom An- 
tony loved, 
Now leaves him. 

First Sold. Walk ; let 's see if other watchmen 
Do hear what we do J 

[They advance to another post. 
Sec. Sold. flow now, masters ! 

All. [Speaking together] How now ! 

How now ! do you hear this? 
First Sold. Ay ; is't not strange? 20 

Third Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you 

hear? 
First Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have 
quarter ; 
Let's see how it will give off. 
All. Content. 'Tis strange. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The same. A room in the palace. 

Enter Antony and Cleopatra, Charmian, 
and others attending. 
Ant. Eros! mine armour, Eros ! 



Cleo. Sleep a little. 

Ant. No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine ar- 
mour, Eros! 

Enter Eros -with armour. 
Come, good fellow, put mine iron on: 
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
Because we brave her; come. 

Cleo. Nay, I '11 help too. 

What's this for? 

Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 

The armourer of my heart: false, false ; this, this. 

Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help: thus it must be. 

Ant. Well, well: 

We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow ? 
Go put on thy defences. 

Eros. Briefly, sir. 10 

Cleo. Is not this buckled well? 

Ant. Rarely, rarely: 

He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm. 
Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire 
More tight at this than thou : dispatch. O love, 
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
The royal occupation ! thou shouldst see 
A workman in't. 

Enter an armed Soldier. 

Good morrow to thee ; welcome : 
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge : 
To business that we love we rise betime, 20 

And go to 't with delight. 

Sold. A thousand, sir, 

Early though 't be, have on their riveted trim, 
And at the port expect you. 

[Shout. Trumpets flourish. 

Enter Captains and Soldiers. 

Capt. The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. 

All. Good morrow, general. 

Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads : 

This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said. 
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me : 
This is a soldier's kiss : rebukeable [Kisses her. 
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 31 
On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee 
Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight, 
Follow me close ; I'll bring you to't. Adieu. 

[Exeu?it Antony, Eros, Captains, and 
Soldiers. 

Char. Please you, retire to your chamber. 

Cleo. Lead me. 

He goes forth gallantly. That heand Caesar might 
Determine this great war in single fight ! 
Then, Antony, — but now — Well, on. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Alexandria. Antonys camp. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros ; a 
Soldier meeting them. 
Sold. The gods make this a happy day to 

Antony ! 
Ant. Would thou and those thy scars had 
once prevail'd 
To make me fight at land ! 

Sold. Hadst thou done so, 

The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 



934 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act iv. 



That has this morning left thee, would have still 
Follow'd thy heels. 

Ant. Who 's gone this morning? 

Sold. Who ! 

One ever near thee : call for Enobarbus, 
He shall not hear thee ; or from Caesar's camp 
Say ' I am none of thine.' 

Ant. What say'st thou? 

Sold. Sir, 

He is with Caesar. 

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 10 

He has not with him. 

Ant. Is he gone? 

Sold. Most certain. 

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it ; 
Detain no jot, I charge thee : write to him — 
I will subscribe — gentle adieus and greetings; 
Say that I wish he never find more cause 
To change a master. O, my fortunes have 
Corrupted honest men ! Dispatch. — Enobarbus ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. A lexandria. Ccesar's camp. 

Flourish. Enter Cesar, Agrippa, with Eno- 
barbus, and others. 

Cces. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight : 
Our will is Antony be took alive ; 
Make it so known. 

Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit. 

Cces. The time of universal peace is near : 
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd 

world 
Shall bear the olive freely. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Antony 

Is come into the field. 

Cces. Go charge Agrippa 

Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
That Antony may seem to spend his fury 10 

Upon himself. [Exeunt all but Enobarb?cs. 

Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry on 
Affairs of Antony ; there did persuade 
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, 
And leave his master Antony : for this pains 
Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius and the rest 
That fell away have entertainment, but 
No honourable trust. I have done ill ; 
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely, 
That I will joy no more. 

Enter a Soldier of Caesar's. 

Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 20 

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
His bounty overplus : the messenger 
Came on my guard ; and at thy tent is now 
Unloading of his mules. 

Eno. I give it you. 

Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus. 
I tell you true : best you safed the bringer 
Out of the host; I must attend mine office, 
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor 
Continues still a Jove. [Exit. 

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, 30 
And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid 
My better service, when my turpitude 



Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows my 

heart : 
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do't, 

I feel. 
I fight against thee ! No : I will go seek 
Some ditch wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 
My latter part of life. [Exit. 

Scene VII. Field 0/ battle between the camps. 

Alarum. Brians and trumpets. Enter Agrippa 
and others. 
Agr. Retire, we have engaged ourselves too 
far: 
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression 
Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. 

Alarums. Enter Antony, and Scarus 
wounded. 
Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought in- 
deed ! 
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home 
With clouts about their heads. 
Ant. Thou bleed' st apace. 

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
But now 'tis made an H. 
Ant. They do retire. 

Scar. We '11 beat 'em into bench-holes : I have 
yet 
Room for six scotches more. 10 

Enter Eros. 

Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advant- 
age serves 
For a fair victory. 

Scar. Let us score their backs, 

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind : 
'Tis sport to maul a runner. 

Ant. I will reward thee 

Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
For thy good valour. Come thee on. 

Scar. I '11 halt after. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. 

Alarum. Enter Antony, in a march; Scarus, 
with others. 
Ant. We have beat him to his camp : run one 

before, 
And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, 
P>efore the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood 
That has to-day escaped. I thank you all ; 
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought 
Not as you served the cause, but as 't had been 
Each man's like mine; you have shown all 

Heftors. 
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, 
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful 

tears 
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and 

kiss 10 

The honour'd gashes whole. [ To Scarus] Give 

me thy hand ; 

Enter Cleopatra, attended. 
To this great fairy I '11 commend thy acts, 
Make her thanks bless thee. [To Cleo.] O thou 
day o' the world, 



Scene viii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



935 



Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all, 
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
Ride on the pants triumphing ! 

Cleo. Lord of lords ! 

O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from 
The world's great snare uncaught? 

Ant. My nightingale, 

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl ! 
though grey 
! Do something mingle with our younger brown, 
yet ha' we 20 

j A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand : 
I Kiss it, my warrior : he hath fought to-day 
j As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
I Destroy'd in such a shape. 

Cleo. I '11 give thee, friend, 

An armour all of gold ; it was a king's. 

Ant. He has deserved it, were it carbuncled 
Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: 
Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; 30 

Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe 

them: 
Had our great palace the capacity 
j To camp this host, we all would sup together, 
, And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
1 Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, 
With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines; 
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds 

together, 
Applauding our approach. {Exeunt. 39 

Scene IX. Ccesar's camp. 
Sentinels at tJieir post. 
First Sold. If we be not relieved within this 
hour, 
We must return to the court of guard : the night 
Is shiny ; and they say we shall embattle 
By the second hour i' the morn. 

Sec. Sold. This last day was 

A shrewd one to 's. 

Enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 

Third Sold. What man is this ? 

Sec. Sold. Stand close, and list him. 

Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 
When men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
Before thy face repent ! 

First Sold. Enobarbus ! 

Third Sold. Peace ! 10 

Hark further. 

Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, 
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, 
That life, a very rebel to my will, 
May hang no longer on me : throw my heart 
Against the flint and hardness of my fault ; 
Which, being dried with grief, will break to 

powder, 
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
Forgive me in thine own particular ; 20 

But let the world rank me in register 
A master-leaver and a fugitive : 
O Antony ! O Antony ! \Dies. 



Sec. Sold. Let's speak 

To him. 

First Sold. Let's hear him, for the things he 
speaks 
May concern Caesar. 

'Third Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 

First Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer 
as his 
Was never yet for sleep. 

Sec. Sold. Go we to him. 

Third Sold. Awake, sir, awake ; speak to us. 

Sec. Sold. Hear you, sir? 

First Sold. The hand of death hath raught 
him. [Drums afar off.'] Hark ! the drums 
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 31 
To the court of guard; he is of note : our hour 
Is fully out. 

Third Sold. Come on, then ; 
He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the body. 

Scene X. Between the two camps. 
Enter Antony and Scarus, with their Army. 

Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea; 
We please them not by land. 

Scar. For both, my lord. 

Ant. I would they 'Id fight i' the fire or i' the 
air; 
We 'Id fight there too. But this it is; our foot 
Upon the hills adjoining to the city 
Shall stay with us : order for sea is given ; 
tThey have put forth the haven. . . 
Where their appointment we may best discover, 
And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. 9 

Scene XL Another part 0/ the same. 
Enter C^SAR, and his Army. 
Cces. But being charged, we will be still by 
land, 
Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force 
Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, 
And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 

Scene XII. Another part of the same. 

Enter Antony and Scarus. 
Ant. Yet they are not join'd: where yond 
pine does stand, 
I shall discover all : i '11 bring thee word 
Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit. 

Scar. Swallows have built 

In Cleopatra's sails their nests : the augurers 
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly, 
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts, 
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear, 
Of what he has. and has not. 

I A la rum afar off, as at a sea-fight. 

Re-enter Antony. 
Ant. All is lost ; 

This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me : 10 

My fleet hath yielded to the foe ; and yonder 
They cast their caps up and carouse together 
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore ! 'tis 

thou 
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart 
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly ; 



936 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act iv. 



For when I am revenged upon my charm, 
I have done all. Bid them all fly ; begone. 

{Exit Scarus. 
sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts 
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 21 
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
On blossoming Caesar ; and this pine is bark'd, 
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am : 
O this false soul of Egypt ! this grave charm, — 
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them 

home ; 
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, — 
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
Beguiled me to the very heart of loss. 
What, Eros, Eros ! 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt ! 30 
Cleo. Why is my lord enraged against his love ? 
Ant. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, 
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, 
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians : 
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 
Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shown 
For poor' st diminutives, for doits ; and let 
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
With her prepared nails. 

[Exit Cleopatra. 
'Tis well thou 'rt gone, 
If it be well to live ; but better 'twere 40 

Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho ! 
The shirt of Nessus is upon me : teach me, 
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage : 
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon; 
And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest 

club, 
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die : 
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and 

I fall 
Under this plot ; she dies for't. Eros, ho ! [Exit. 

Scene XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 
palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and 
Mardian. 

Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more mad 
ThanTelamon for his shield ; the boar of Thessaly 
Was never so emboss' d. 

Char. To the monument ! 

There lock yourself, and send him word you are 

dead. 
The soul and body rive not more in parting 
Than greatness going off. 

Cleo. To the monument ! 

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
Say, that the last I spoke was 'Antony,' 
And word it, prithee, piteously : hence, Mardian, 
And bring me how he takes my death. To the 
monument! [Exeunt. 10 

Scene XIV. T fie same. Another room. 

Enter Antony and Eros. 
Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? 
Eros. Ay, noble lord. 



Ant. Sometime we see a cloud that's dragon- 
ish ; 
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, 
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock, 
A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, 
And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen these 

signs ; 
They are black vesper's pageants. 

Eros. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 
thought 
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, 10 
As water is in water. 

Eros. It does, my lord. 

A ?it. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is 
Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
I made these wars for Egypt : and the queen, — 
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine ; 
Which whilst it was mine had annex'd unto't 
A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my 

glory 
Unto an enemy's triumph. 20 

Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
Ourselves to end ourselves. 

Enter Mardian. 

O, thy vile lady I 
She has robb'd me of my sword. 

Mar. No, Antony ; 

My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled 
With thine entirely. 

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ! 

She hath betray'd me and shall die the death. 

Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once, 
And that she has discharged : what thou wouldst do 
Is done unto thy hand: the last she spake 
Was 'Antony ! most noble Antony !' 30 

Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
The name of Antony ; it was divided 
Between her heart and lips: she render'd life, 
Thy name so buried in her. 

Ant. Dead, then? 

Mar. Dead. 

Ant. Unarm, Eros ; the long day's task is done, 
And we must sleep. [To Mar.] That thou de- 
part' st hence safe, 
Does pay thy labour richly : go. [Exit Mardian. 

Off, pluck off: 
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides ! 
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent, 40 
Crack thy frail case ! Apace, Eros, apace. 
No more a soldier : bruised pieces, go ; 
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. 

[Exit Eros. 
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
All length is torture : since the torch is out, 
Lie down, and stray no farther: now all labour 
Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles 
Itself with strength: seal then, and all is done. 
Eros ! — I come, my queen : — Eros ! — Stay for me : 
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in 
hand, 5 1 

And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze : 



Scene xiv.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



937 



Dido and her .<Eneas shall want troops, 

And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros ! 

Re-enter Eros. 

Eros. What would my lord? 

A fit. Since Cleopatra died, 

I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods 
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
Quarter' d the world, and o'er green Neptune's 

back 
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack 
The courage of a woman ; less nobh mind 60 

Than she which by her death our Caesar tells 
' I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, Eros, 
That, when the exigent should come,, which now 
Is come indeed, when I should see behind nis 
The inevitable prosecution of 
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, 
Thouthenwouldstkillme: do't; the time is come : 
Thou strikest not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeai'st. 
Put colour in thy cheek. 

Eros. The gods withhold me ! 

Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, 70 
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 

A fit. Eros, 

Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see 
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down 
His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat 
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded 
His baseness that ensued? 

Eros. I would not see't. 

Ant. Come, then; for with a wound I must be 
cured. 
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
Most useful for thy country. 

Eros. O, sir, pardon me ! 80 

A fit. When I did make thee free, sworest thou 
not then 
To do this when I bade thee ? Do it at once ; 
Or thy precedent services are all 
But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come. 

Eros. Turn from me, then, that noble count- 
enance, 
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 

Ant. Lo thee ! [Turning frotu him. 

Eros. My sword is drawn. 

Ant. Then let it do at once 

The thing why thou hast drawn it. 

Eros. My dear master, 

My captain, and my emperor, let me say, 90 

Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 

Ant. 'Tis said, man; and farewell. 

Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now ? 

Ant. Now, Eros. 

Eros. Why, there then : thus I do escape the 
sorrow 
Of Antony's death. [Kills himself. 

Ant. Thrice-nobler than myself ! 

Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what 
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and 

Eros 
Have by their brave instruction got upon me 
A nobleness in record : but I will be 
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't 100 
As to a lover's bed. Come, then ; and, Eros, 
Thy master dies thy scholar : to do thus 

[Falling on his sword. 



I learn'd of thee. How ! not dead? not dead? 
The guard, ho I O, dispatch me ! 

Enter Dercetas and Guard. * 

First Guard. What's the noise? 

Ant. I have done my work ill, friends: O, 
make an end 
Of what I have begun. 

Sec. Guard. The star is fali'n. 

First Guard. And time is at his period. 

All. Alas, and woe! 

Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead. 

First Guard. Not I. 

Sec. Guard. Nor I. 109 

Third Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard. 

Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy fol- 
lowers fly. 
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings, 
Shall enter me with him. 

Enter Diomedes. 

Dio. Where 's A nlon y ? 

Der. There, Diomed there, j 

Dio. Lives he? ' 

Wilt thou not answer, man ? [Exit Dercetas. 

Ant. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy 
sword, and give me 
Sufficing strokes for death. 

Dio. Most absolute lord, 

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 

Ant. \\ hen did she send thee? 

Dio. Now, my lord. 

Ant. Where is she? 

Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a 
prophesying fear 120 

Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw — 
Which never shall be found — you did suspect 
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage 
Would not be purged, she sent you word she was 

dead; 
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
I dread, too late. 

Ant. Too late, good Diomed: call my guard, 
I prithee. 

Dio. What, ho, the emperor's guard! The 
guard, what, ho ! 
Come, your lord calls ! 130 

Enter four or Jive o/t/ie Guard ^/Antony. 

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
bides; 
'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 
First Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may 
not live to wear 
All your true followers out. 
A II. Most heavy day ! 

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please 
sharp fate 
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that wel- 
come 
Which comes to punish us, and wc punish it 
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up: 
I have led you oft : carry me now, good friends, 
And have my thanks for all. 140 

[Exeunt, bearing Antony. 



938 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act iv. 



Scene XV. The same. A monument. 

Enter Cleopatra, and her maids aloft, with 
Charmian and Iras. 

Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 

Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 

Cleo. No, I will not : 

All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
But comforts we despise ; our size of sorrow, 
Proportion' d to our cause, must be as great 
As that which makes it. 

Enter, below, Diomedes. 

How now ! is he dead? 
Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead. 
Look out o' the other side your monument ; 
His guard have brought him thither. 

Enter, below, Antony, borne by the Guard. 

Cleo. O sun, 

Burn the great sphere thou movest in ! darkling 
stand 10 

The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, 
Antony, Antony ! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, 

help; 
Help, friends below ; let's draw him hither. 

Ant. Peace ! 

Not Csesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. 

Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
Should conquer Antony ; but woe 'tis so ! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only 
I here importune death awhile, until 
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 20 

I lay upon thy lips. 

Cleo. I dare not, dear, — 

Dear my lord, pardon, — I dare not, 
Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall 
Be brooch'd with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, 

have 
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe : 
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes 
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony, — 
Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up : 
Assist, good friends. 31 

Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 

Cleo. Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs 
my lord ! 
Our strength is all gone into heaviness, 
That makes the weight: had I great Juno's 

power, 
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, 
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, — 
Wishers were ever fools, — O, come, come, come ; 
[ They heave A ntony aloft to Cleopatra. 
And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast 

lived : 
Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power, 
Thus would I wear them out. 

All. A heavy sight! 40 

A nt. I am dying, Egypt, dying : 
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 
Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail so 
high, 
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
Provoked by my offence. 



Ant. One word, sweet queen: 

Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O ! 

Cleo. They do not go together. 

Ant. Gentle, hear me : 

None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. 

Cleo. My resolution and my hands I'll trust ; 
None about Caesar. 50 

Ant. The miserable change now at my end 
Lament nor sorrow at ; but please your thoughts 
In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
Wherein I lived, the greatest prince o' the world, 
The noblest ; and do now not basely die, 
Not cowardly put off my helmet to 
My countryman, — a Roman by a Roman 
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going; 
I can no more. 

Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die ? 

Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide 60 

In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
No better than a sty? O, see, my women, 

[A ntony dies. 
The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord ! 
O, wither'd is the garland of the war, 
The soldier's pole is fall'n : young boys and girls 
Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, 
And there is nothing left remarkable 
Beneath the visiting moon. [Faints. 

Char. O, quietness, lady! 

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 

Char. Lady! 

Iras. Madam ! 

Char. O madam, madam, madam ! 

Iras. Royal Egypt, 70 

Empress ! 

Char. Peace, peace, Iras ! 

Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman, and com- 
manded 
By such poor passion as the maid that milks 
And does the meanest chares. It were for me 
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ; 
To tell them that this world did equal theirs 
Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but naught; 
Patience is sottish, and impatience does 
Become a dog that's mad: then is it sin 80 

To rush into the secret house of death, 
Ere death dare come to us ? How do you, women ? 
What, what ! good cheer ! Why, how now, Char- 
mian ! 
My noble girls ! Ah, women, women, look, 
Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take 

heart : 
We'll bury him ; and then, what's brave, what's 

noble, 
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, 
And make death proud to take us. Come, away : 
This case of that huge spirit now is cold : 
Ah, women, women ! come ; we have no friend 
But resolution, and the briefest end. 91 

[Exeunt; those above bearing off 
Antony's body. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. Alexandria. Ctzsar's camp. 
Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mec>e- 
nas, Gallus, Proculeius, and others, his 
council of war. 

Cces. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; 
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks 



Scene i.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



939 



The pauses that he makes. 



Dol. 



Caesar, I shall. [Exit. 



Enter Dercetas, with tJie sword of Antony. 

Cces. Wherefore is that? and what art thou 
that darest 
Appear thus to us ? 

Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; 

Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy ■ 
Best to be served : whilst he stood up and spoke, 
He was my master ; and I wore my life 
To spend upon his haters. If thou please 
To take me to thee, as I was to him 10 

I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not, 
I yield thee up my life. 

Cces. What is't thou say'st? 

Der. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. 

Cces. The breaking of so great a thing should 
make 
A greater crack : fthe round world 
Should have shook lions into civil streets, 
And citizens to their dens: the death of Antony 
Is not a single doom ; in the name lay 
A moiety of the world. 

Der. He is dead, Caesar; 

Not by a public minister of justice, 20 

Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand, 
Which writ his honour in the adls it did, 
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, 
Splitted the heart. This is his sword ; 
I robb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
With his most noble blood. 

Cces. Look you sad, friends? 

The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings. 

Agr. And strange it is, 

That nature must compel us to lament 
Our most persisted deeds. 

Mec. His taints and honours 30 

Waged equal with him. 

Agr. A rarer spirit never 

Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us 
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd. 

Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before 
him, 
He needs must see himself. 

Cces. O Antony ! 

I have follow'd thee to this; but we do lance 
Diseases in our bodies : I must perforce 
Have shown to thee such a declining day, 
Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
In the whole world : but yet let me lament, 40 
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
That thou, my brother, my competitor 
In top of all design, my mate in empire, 
Friend and companion in the front of war, 
The arm of mine own body, and the heart 
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, — that our 

stars, 
Unreconciliable, should divide 
Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends, — 
But I will tell you at some meeter season : 

Enter an Egyptian. 
The business of this man looks out of him ; 50 
We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you? 
Egyp. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my 
mistress. 
Confined in all she has, her monument, 



Of thy intents desires instruction, 
That she preparedly may frame herself 
To the way she 's forced to. 

Cces. Bid her have good heart : 

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 
How honourable and how kindly we 
Determine for her ; for Caesar cannot live 
To be ungentle. 

Egyp- So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit. 60 

Cces. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say, 
We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts 
The quality of her passion shall require, 
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
She do defeat us ; for her life in Rome 
Would be eternal in our triumph : go, 
And with your speediest bring us what she says, 
And how you find of her. 

Pro. Caesar, I shall. [Exit. 

Cces. Gallus, go you along. [Exit Gallus.] 
Where's Dolabella, 
To second Proculeius ? 

All. Dolabella! 70 

Cces. Let him alone, for I remember now 
How he's employ'd : he shall in time be ready. 
Go with me to my tent ; where you shall see 
How hardly I was drawn into this war ; 
How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
In all my writings: go with me, and see 
What I can show in this. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Alexandria. A room in the monu- 
nient. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 

Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar ; 
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave, 
A minister of her will : and it is great 
To do that thing that ends all other deeds; 
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change ; 
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug, 
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. 

Enter, to the gates of the 7tionument, Procu- 
leius, Gallus, and Soldiers. 

Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the Queen of 
Egypt ; 
And bids thee study on what fair demands 10 
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 

Cleo. What 's thy name? 

Pro. My name is Proculeius. 

Cleo. Antony 

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
I do not greatly care to be deceived, 
That have no use for trusting. If your master 
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him, 
That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son, 
He gives me so much of mine own, as I 20 

Will kneel to him with thanks. 

Pro. Be of good cheer ; 

You're fall'n into a princely hand, fear nothing : 
Make your full reference freely to my lord, 
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
On all that need : let me report to him 
Your sweet dependency ; and you shall find 
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness, 
Where he for grace is kneel'd to. 



94Q 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act v. 



Cleo. Pray you, tell him 

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 30 

A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly 
Look him i' the face. 

Pro. This I'll report, dear lady. 

Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied 
Of him that caused it. 

Gal. You see how easily she may be surprised : 
[Here Proculeius and two of the Guard 
ascend the monumentby a ladder placed 
against a window, and, having descend- 
ed, come behind Cleopatra. Some of 
rhe Guard '.unbar and open the gates. 

[ To Proculeitts and tlie Guard} Guard her till 
Caesar come. Exit. 

Iras. Royal queen ! 

Char. O Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen. 

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 

[Drawing a dagger. 

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold : 

[Seises"and disartns her. 
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 40 
Relieved, but not betray'd. 

Cleo. What, of death too, 

That rids our dogs of languish? 

Pro. Cleopatra, 

Do not abuse my master's bounty by 
The undoing of yourself : let the world see 
His nobleness well acted, which your death 
Will never let come forth. 

Cleo. Where art thou, death? 

Come hither, come! come, come, and take a 

queen 
Worth many babes and beggars ! 

Pro. O, temperance, lady ! 

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I '11 not drink, sir ; 
If idle talk will once be necessary, _ 50 

I '11 not sleep neither : this mortal house I '11 ruin, 
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
Will not wait pinion' d at your master's court; 
Nor once be chastised with the sober eye 
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up 
And show me to the shouting varletry 
Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt 
Be gentle grave unto me ! rather on Nilus' mud 
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies 
Blow me into abhorring ! rather make 60 

My country's high pyramides my gibbet, 
And hang me up in chains ! 

Pro. You do extend 

These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
Find cause in Caesar. 

Enter Dolabella. 

Dol. Proculeius, 

What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, 
And he hath sent for thee : for the queen, 
I '11 take her to my guard. 

Pro. So, Dolabella, 

It shall content me best : be gentle to her. 
[To Cleo.] To Caesar I will speak what you shall 

please, 
If you'll employ me to him. 

Cleo. Say, I would die. 70 

[Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers. 

Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? 

Cleo. I cannot tell. 

Dol. Assuredly you know me. 



Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or 
known. 
You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams ; 
Is't not your trick? 

Dol. I understand not, madam. 

Cleo. I dream'd there was an Emperor Antony : 
O, such another sleep, that I might see 
But such another man ! 

Dol. If it might please ye, — 

Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and 
therein stuck 
A sun and moon, which kept their course, and 
lighted 80 

The little O, the earth. 

Dol. Most sovereign creature, — 

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm 
Crested the world : his voice was propertied 
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; 
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, 
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, 
There was no winter in 't ; an autumn 'twas 
That grew the more by reaping : his delights 
Were dolphin-like ; they shew'd his back above 
The element they lived in : in his livery _ 90 
Walk'd crowns and crownets ; realms and islands 

were 
As plates dropp'd from his pocket. 

Dol. Cleopatra ! 

Cleo. Think you there was, or might be, such 
a man 
As this I dream'd of? 

Dol. Gentle madam, no. 

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 
But, if there be, or ever were, one such, 
It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff 
To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine 
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, 
Condemning shadows quite. 

Dol. Hear me, good madam. 100 

Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
As answering to the weight : would I might never 
O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel, 
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites 
My very heart at root. 

Cleo. I thank you, sir. 

Know you what Caesar means to do with me ? 

Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would you 
knew. 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 

Dol. Though he be honourable, — 

Cleo. He'll lead me, then, in triumph? 

Dol. Madam, he will; I know 't. no 

[Flourish, and shout within, ' Make way there : 
Caesar ! ' 

Enter Caesar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mkcm- 
nas, Seleucus, and others of his Tram. 

Cces. Which is the Queen of Egypt? 

Dol. It is the emperor, madam. 

[Cleopatra kneels. 

Cces. Arise, you shall not kneel : 
I pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt. 

Cleo. Sir, the gods 

Will have it thus ; my master and my lord 
I must obey. 

Cces. Take to you no hard thoughts : 

The record of what injuries you did us, 
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
As things but done by chance. 



Scene ii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



941 



Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 120 

I cannot project mine own cause so well 
To make it clear ; but do confess I have 
Been laden with like frailties which before 
Have often shamed our sex. 

Cces. Cleopatra, know, 

We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
If you apply yourself to our intents, 
Which towards you are most gentle, you shall 

find 
A benefit in this change ; but if you seek 
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 130 
Of my good purposes, and put your children 
To that destruction which I'll guard them from, 
If thereon you rely. I '11 take my leave. 

Cleo. And may, through all the world: 'tis 
yours ; and we, 
Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall 
■Hang in what place you please. Here, my good 
lord. 
Cces. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 
Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and 
jewels, 
T am possess' d of: 'tis exactly valued ; 
Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleucus? 
Sel. Here, madam. 141 

Cieo. This is my treasurer: let him speak, 
my lord, 
Upon his peril, that I have reserved 
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 

Set. Madam, 
I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril, 
j Speak that which is not. 

Cleo. What have I kept back ? 

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made 

known. 
Cces. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra ; I approve 
Your wisdom in the deed. 

Cleo. See, Caesar ! O, behold, 150 

How pomp is follow'd ! mine will now be yours ; 
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine. 
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
Even make me wild : O slave, of no more trust 
Than love that's hired ! What, goest thou back? 

thou shalt 
Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine 

eyes, 
Though they had wings: slave, soulless villain, 

dog! 
O rarely base ! 

Cces. Good queen, let us entreat you. 

Cleo. O Cassar, what a wounding shame is this, 
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 160 

Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar, 
That 1 some lady trifles have reserved, 
Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
As we greet modern friends withal ; and say, 
Some nobler token I have kept apart 
For Livia and Odtavia, to induce 
Their mediation ; must I be unfolded 170 

With one that I have bred? The gods! it 

smites me 
Beneath the fall I have. [To Seleucus] Prithee, 

go hence ; 
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits 



Through the ashes of my chance: wert thou 

a man, 
Thou wouldst have mercy on me. 

Cces. Forbear, Seleucus. 

[Exit Seleucus. 
Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, ars 
misthought 
For things that others do ; and, when we fall, 
We answer others' merits in our name, 
Are therefore to be pitied. 

Cces. Cleopatra, 

Not what you have reserved, nor what acknow- 
ledged, 180 
Put we i' the roll of conquest : still be 't yours, 
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe, 
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be 

cheer'd ; 
Make not your thoughts your prisons : no, dear 

queen ; 
For we intend so to dispose you as 
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep : 
Our care and pity is so much upon you, 
That we remain your friend ; and so, adieu. 
Cleo. My master, and my lord ! 
Cces. Not so. Adieu. 190 

[Flourish. Exeunt Ccesar and his train. 
Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that 
I should not 
Be noble to myself: but, hark thee, Charmian. 

[ Whispers Charmian. 
■ Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done, 
And we are for the dark. 

Cleo. Hie thee again : 

I have spoke already, and it is provided ; 
Go put it to the haste. 
Char. Madam, I will. 

Re-enter Dolabella. 

Dol. Where is the queen ? 

Char. Behold, sir. [Exit. 

Cleo. Dolabella ! 

Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your com- 
mand, 
Which my love makes religion to obey, 
I tell you this : Caesar through Syria 200 

Intends his journey ; and within thvee days 
You with your children will he send before: 
Make your best use of this : I have parform'd 
Your pleasure and my promise. 

Cleo. Dolabella, 

I shall remain your debtor. 

Dol. I your servant. 

Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Caesar. 

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dolabella. 
Now, Iras, what think'st thou? 
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown 
In Rome, as well as 1 : mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
Uplift us to the view ; in their thick breaths, 
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
And forced to drink their vapour. 

l>as. The gods forbid ! 

Cleo. .Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy 
liftors 
Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald 

rhymers 
Ballad us out o' tune : the quick comedians, 
Extemporally will stage us, and present 



^medians, 
resent 



942 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act v. 



Our Alexandrian revels ; Antony 
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 220 
V the posture of a whore. 

Iras. O the good gods ! 

Cleo. Nay, that's certain. 

Iras. I'll never see't; for, I am sure, my nails 
Are stronger than mine eyes. 

Cleo. Why, that's the way 

To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
Their most absurd intents. 

Re-enter Charmian. 

Now, Charmian ! 
Show me, my women, like a queen : go fetch 
My best attires: I am again for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony: sirrah Iras, go. 
Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed ; 230 
And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give 

thee leave 
To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all. 
Wherefore's this noise? 

[Exit Iras. A noise within. 

Enter a Guardsman. 

Guard. Here is a rural fellow 

That will not be denied your highness' presence : 
He brings you figs. 

Cleo. Let him come in. [Exit Guardsman. 
What poor an instrument 
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
My resolution's placed, and I have nothing 
Of woman in me : now from head to foot 
I am marble-constant ; now the fleeting moon 240 
No planet is of mine. 

Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in ' 
a basket. 

Guard. This is the man. 

Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. 

[Exit Guardsman. 
Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, 
That kills and pains not? 

Clown. Truly, I have him : but I would not 
be the party that should desire you to touch him, 
for his biting is immortal ; those that do die of it 
do seldom or never recover. 

Cleo. Rememberest thou any that have died 
onl? 249 

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I 
heard of one of them no longer than yesterday : 
a very honest woman, but something given to 
lie ; as a woman should not do, but in the way of 
honesty : how she died of the biting of it, what 
pain she felt: truly, she makes a very good 
report o' the worm ; but he that will believe all 
that they say, shall never be saved by half that 
they do : but this is most fallible, the worm's an 
odd worm. 

Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell. 260 

Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. 

[Setting down his basket. 

Cleo. Farewell. 

Clown. You must think this, look you, that 
the worm will do his kind. 

Cleo. Ay, ay ; farewell. 

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be 



trusted but in the keeping of wise people ; for, 
indeed, there is no goodness in the worm. 

Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 

Clown. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray 
you, for it is not worth the feeding. 271 

Cleo. Will it eat me? 

Clown. You must not think I am so simple 
but I know the devil himself will not eat a 
woman : I know that a woman is a dish for the 
gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, 
these same whoreson devils do the gods great 
harm in their women ; for in every ten that they 
make, the devils mar five. 

Cleo. Well, get thee gone ; farewell. 280 

Clown. Yes, forsooth: I wish you joy o' the 
worm. [Exit. 

Re-enter Iras with a robe, crown, &>c. 

Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; 
I have 
Immortal longings in me : now no more 
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : 
Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. Methinks I hear 
Antony call ; I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble adt ; I hear him mock 
The luck of Csesar, which the gods give men 2S9 
To excuse their after wrath : husband, I come : 
Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
I am fire and air ; my other elements 
I give to baser life. So; have you done? 
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
Farewell, kind Charmian ; Iras, long farewell. 

[Kisses them. Iras falls and dies. 
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? 
If thou and nature can so gently part, 
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? 
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 300 
It is not worth leave-taking. 

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I 
may say, 
The gods themselves do weep ! 

Cleo. This proves me base : 

If she first meet the curled Antony, 
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss 
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mor- 
tal wretch, 

[To an asp, which she applies to her breast. 
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool, 
Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak, 
That I might hear thee call great Csesar ass 310 
Unpolicied ! 

Char. O eastern star ! 

Cleo. Peace, peace ! 

Dost thou not see my baby, at my breast, 
That sucks the nurse asleep? 

Char. O, break ! O, break ! 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as 
gentle, — 

Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too : 

[Applying another asp to her arm. 
What should I stay— [Dies. 

Char. In this vile world? So, fare thee well. 
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies 
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close ; 
And golden Phoebus never be beheld 320 

Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown's awry ; 

1 '11 mend it, and then play. 



Scene ii.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



943 



Enter the Guard, rushing in. 

First Guard. Where is the queen? 
Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 

First Guard. Caesar hath sent — 
Char. Too slow a messenger. 

[Applies an asp. 
O, come apace, dispatch ! I partly feel thee. 
First Guard. Approach, ho ! All 's not well : 

Caesar's beguiled. 
Sec. Guard. There's Dolabella sent from 

Caesar; call him. 
First Guard. What work is here ! Charmian, 

is this well done? 
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a 
princess 
Descended of so many royal kings. 
Ah, soldier! 



33° 
{Dies. 



Re-enter Dolabella. 
Dol. How goes it here ? 
Sec. Guard. All dead. 

Dol. Caesar, thy thoughts 

Touch their effects in this : thyself art coming 
To see perform'd the dreaded acl: which thou 
So sought'st to hinder. 

[Within 'A way there, a way for Caesar !' 

Re-enter Caesar and all his train, marching. 

Dol. O sir, you are too sure an augurer ; 
That you did fear is done. 

Cces. Bravest at the last, 

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, 339 
Took her own way. The manner of their deaths? 
I do not see them bleed. 

Dol. Who was last with them ? 



First Guard. A simple countryman, that 
brought her figs : 
This was his basket. 

Cces. Poison'd, then. 

First Guard. O Caesar, 

This Charmian lived but now; she stood and 

spake : 
I found her trimming up the diadem 
On her dead mistress ; tremblingly she stood 
And on the sudden dropp'd. 

Cces. O noble weakness ! 

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 
By external swelling : but she looks like sleep, 
As she would catch another Antony 350 

In her strong toil of grace. 

Dol. Here, on her breast, 

There is a vent of blood and something blown: 
The like is on her arm. 

First Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and 
these fig-leaves 
Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves 
Upon the caves of Nile. 

Cces. Most probable 

That so she died ; for her physician tells me 
She hath pursued conclusions infinite 
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed ; 
And bear her women from the monument : 360 
She shall be buried by her Antony : 
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it 
A pair so famous. High events as these 
Strike those that make them ; and their story is 
No less in pity than his glory which 
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall 
In solemn show attend this funeral ; 
And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see 
High order in this great solemnity. [Exeitnt. 



CYMBELINE. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Cymbeline, king of Britain. 

Cloten, son to the Queen by a former hus- 
band. 

Posthumus Leonatus, a gentleman, hus- 
band to Imogen. 

Belarius, a banished lord, disguised under 
the name of Morgan. 

/"sons to Cymbeline, disguised 

Guiderius, 'under the names of Polydore 

Arviragus, ] and Cadwal, supposed sons to 
I Morgan. 

Philario friend to .Posthumus, } Italian& 

Iachimo, friend to rhuario, J 

Caius Lucius, general of the Roman forces. 

Pisanio, servant to Posthumus. 

Cornelius, a physician. 

A Roman Captain. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline s 

palace. 

Enter two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. You do not meet a man but 
frowns: our bloods 
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers 
Still seem as does the king. 

Sec. Gent. But what's the matter? 

First Gent. His daughter, and the heir of 's 
kingdom, whom 
He purposed to his wife's sole son — a widow 
That late he married — hath referr'd herself 
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman : she's wedded ; 
Her husband banish'd ; she imprison'd : all 
Is outward sorrow ; though I think the king 
Be touch'd at very heart. 

Sec. Gent. None but the king? 10 

First Gent. He that hath lost her too ; so is 
the queen, 
That most desired the match : but not a courtier, 
Although they wear their faces to the bent 
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 
Glad at the thing they scowl at. 

Sec. Gent. And why so ? 

First Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess 
is a thing 
Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her — 
I mean, that married her, alack, good man ! 
And therefore banish'd — is a creature such 
As, to seek through the regions of the earth 20 
For one his like, there would be something failing 
In him that should compare. I do not think 
So fair an outward and such stuff within 
Endows a man but he. 

Sec. Gent. You speak him far. 

First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within him- 
self, 
Crush him together rather than unfold 
His measure duly. 



Two British Captains. 
A Frenchman, friend to Philario. 
Two Lords of Cymbeline's court. 
Two Gentlemen of the same. 
Two Gaolers. 

Queen', wife to Cymbeline. 

Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline by a former 

queen. 
Helen, a lady attending on Imogen. 
Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a 
Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musi- 
cians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, 
and other Attendants. 

Apparitions. 
Scene: Britain; Rome. 



Sec. Gent. What's his name and birth? 

First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root : 
his father 
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour 
Against the Romans with Cassibelan, 30 

But had his titles by Tenantius whom 
He served with glory and admired success, 
So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus ; 
And had, besides this gentleman in question, 
Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time 
Died with their swords in hand; for which their 

father, 
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow 
That he quit being, and his gentle lady, 
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased 
As he was born. The king he takes the babe 40 
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, 
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, 
Puts to him all the learnings that his time 
Could make him the receiver of; which he took, 
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd, 
And in 's spring became a harvest, lived in court — 
Which rare it is to do — most praised, most loved, 
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature 
A glass that feated them, and to the graver 
A child that guided dotards ; to his mistress, 50 
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price 
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue ; 
By her election may be truly read 
What kind of man he is. 

Sec. Gent. I honour him 

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, 
Is she sole child to the king ? 

First Gent. His only child. 

He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing, 
Mark it : the eldest of them at three years old, 
I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nur- 
sery 
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in know- 
_ ledge 60 

Which way they went. 



Scene i.] 



CYMDELIXE. 



945 



Sec. Cent. How long is this ago? 

First Gent. Some twenty years. 

See. Gent. That a king's children should be so 
convey'd, 
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, 
That could not trace them ! 

First Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 
Yet is it true, sir. 

Sec. Gent. I do well believe you. 

First Gent. We must forbear : here comes the 
gentleman, 
The queen, and princess. [Exeunt. 

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 

Queen. No, be assured you shall not find me, 
daughter, 70 

After the slander of most stepmothers, 
Evil-eyed unto you : you're my prisoner, but 
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 
So soon as I can win the offended king, 
I will be known your advocate : marry, yet 
The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good 
You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience 
Your wisdom may inform you. 

Post. Please your highness, 

I will from hence to-day. 

Queen. You know the peril. 80 

I '11 fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
The pangs of barr'd afferjtions, though the king 
Hath charged you should not speak together. 

{Exit. 

Imo. O 

DisMnbling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
Can .-, J5£\vhere she wounds ! My dearest hus- 

I something fear my father's wrath : but nothing — 

Always reserved my holy duty — what 

His rage can do on me : you must be gone ; 

And I shall here abide the hourly shot 

Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, 9 1 

But that there is this jewel in the world 

That I may see again. 

Post. My queen! my mistress! 

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause 
To be suspedted of more tenderness 
Than doth become a man. I will remain 
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth : 
My residence in Rome at one Philario's, 
Who to my father was a friend, to me 
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, 
And with mine eyes I '11 drink the words you send, 
Though ink be made of gall. 

Re-enter Queen. 

Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 101 

If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet I'll 

move him 
To walk this way : I never do him wrong, 
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; 
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 

Post. Should we be taking leave 

As long a term as yet we have to live, 
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu ! 

Into. Nay, stay a little : 
Were you but riding forth to air yourself, no 
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love ; 



This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart ; 
But keep it till you woo another . 
When Imogen is dead. 

Post. How, how ! another? 

You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 
And sear up my embracements from a next 
With bonds of death! [Putting en the ring.] 

Remain, remain thou here 
While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, 

fairest, 
As I my poor self did exchange for yon, 
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 120 

I still win of you : for my sake wear this ; 
It is a manacle of love ; I '11 place it 
Upon this fairest prisoner. 

[Putting a bracelet uf>on her arm. 
Into. the gods ! 

When shall we see again? 

Enter Cy.mbeline and Lords. 

Post. ^ Alack, the king ! 

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from 
my sight ! 
If after this command thou fraught the court 
With thy unworthiness, thou diest : away ! 
Thou'rt poison to my blood. 

Post. The gods protect you ! 

And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
I am gone. [Exit 

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 130 
More sharp than this is. 

Cym. O disloyal thing, 

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st 
A year's age on me. 

Imo. I beseech you, sir, 

Harm not yourself with your vexation: 
I am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare 
Subdues all pangs, all fears. 

Cym. Past grace? obedience? 

Into. Past hope, and in despair ; that way, past 
grace. 

Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of 
my queen ! 

Imo. O blest, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 
And did avoid a puttock. 140 

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have 
made my throne 
A seat for baseness. 

Imo. No ; I rather added 

A lustre to it. 

Cym. O thou vile one ! 

Imo. Sir. 

It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus: 
You bred him as my playfellow, and he is 
A man worth any woman, overbuys me 
Almost the sum he pays, 

Cym. What, art thou mad? 

Imo. Almost, sir: heaven restore me. 1 Would 
I were 
A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus 
Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 

Cym. Thju foolish thing! 150 

Re-enter Q 
They were again together: you have d >nc 
Not after our command. Away with her, 
her up. 

Queen. Beseech your patience. Peace, 

Dear lady daughter, peace ! Sweet sovereign, 

60 



946 



C YM BE LINE. 



[Act 



Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself some 

comfort 
Out of your best advice. 

Cym. Nay, let her languish 

A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged, 
i Die of this folly ! [Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords. 
Quee?i. Fie ! you must give way. 

Enter Pisanio. 
Here is your servant. How now, sir ! What 
news ? 

Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 

Queen. Ha ! 160 

No harm, I trust, is done? 

Pis. There might have been, 

But that my master rather play'd than fought 
And had no help of anger : they were parted 
By gentlemen at hand. 

Queen. I am very glad on't. 

Imo. Your son 's my father's friend ; he takes 
his part. 
I To draw upon an exile ! O brave sir I 
! I would they were in Afric both together ; 
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
The goer-back. Why came you from your master ? 

Pis. On his command : he would not suffer me 
To bring him to the haven ; left these notes 171 
Of what commands I should be subject to, 
When 't pleased you to employ me. 

Queen. This hath been 

Your faithful servant : I dare lay mine honour 
He will remain so. 

Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 

Queen. Pray, walk awhile. 

Imo. About some half-hour hence, 

I pray you, speak with me : you shall at least 
Go see my lord aboard : for this time leave me. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. A public place. 
Enter Cloten and two Lords. 

First Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a 
shirt ; the violence of action hath made you reek 
as a sacrifice : where air comes out, air comes in : 
there's none abroad so wholesome as that you 
vent. 

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. 
Have I hurt him? 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] No, 'faith ; not so much as 
his patience. 9 

First Lord. Hurt him ! his body's a passable 
carcass, if he be not hurt : it is a throughfare for 
steel, if it be not hurt. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside], His steel was in debt; it 
went o' the backside the town. 

Clo. The villain wOiild not stand me. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] No; but he fled forward 
still, toward your face. 

First Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough 
of your own : but he added to your having ; gave 
you some ground. 20 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] As many inches as you 
have oceans. Puppies ! 

Clo. I would they had not come between us. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] So would I, till you had 
measured how long a fool you were upon the 
ground. 



Clo. And that she should love this fellow and 
refuse me ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] If it be a sin to make a 
true election, she is damned. 30 

First Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her 
beauty and her brain go not together : she's a good 
sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] She shines not upon fools, 
lest the reflection should hurt her. 

Clo. Come, I '11 to my chamber. Would there 
had been some hurt done ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] I wish not so; unless it 
had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. 

Clo. You'll go with us? 40 

First Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 

Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 

Sec. Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A roo7?i i/i Cymbeline s palace. 
E7iter Imogen a7id Pisanio. 

Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' 
the haven, 
And question'dst every sail : if he should write, 
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost, 
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 
That he spake to thee ? 

Pis. It was his queen, his queen ! 

Imo. Then waved his handkerchief? 

Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 

Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therein than I ! 
And that was all ? 

Pis. No, madam ; for so long 

As he could make me with this eye or ear 
Distinguish him from others, he did keep 10 

The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, 
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind 
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 
How swift his ship. 

Into. Thou shouldst have made him 

As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
To after-eye him. 

Pis. Madam, so I did. 

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; 
crack'd them, but 
To look upon him, till the diminution 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle, 
Nay, follovv'd him, till he had melted from 20 

The smallness of a gnat to air, and then 
Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good 

Pisanio, 
When shall we hear from him? 

Pis. Be assured, madam, 

With his next vantage. 

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him 
How I would think on him at certain hours 
Such thoughts and such, or I could make him 

swear 
The shes of Italy should not betray 
Mine interest and his honour, or have charged 
him, 30 

At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
To encounter me with orisons, for then 
I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
Give him that parting kiss which I had set 
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father 
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
Shakes all our buds from growing.' 



Scene hi.] 



CYMBELINE. 



947 



Enter a Lady. 
Lady. The queen, madam, 

Desires your highness' company. 

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them 
dispatch'd. 
I will attend the queen. 

Pis, Madam, I shall. {Exeunt. 40 

Scene IV. Rome. Philarufs house. 

Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a 
Dutchman, ay id a Spaniard. 

lack. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain : 
he was then of a crescent note, expected to prove 
so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name 
of; but I could then have looked on him without 
the help of admiration, though the catalogue of 
his endowments had been tabled by his side and 
I to peruse him by items. 

Phi. You speak of him when he was less fur- 
nished than now he is with that which makes him 
both without and within. 10 

French. I have seen him in France : we had 
very many there could behold the sun with as 
firm eyes as he. 

Inch. This matter of marrying his king's 
daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by 
her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, 
a great deal from the matter. 

French. And then his banishment. 

Iach. Ay, and the approbation of those that 
weep this lamentable divorce under her colours 
are wonderfully to extend him ; be it but to for- 
tify her judgement, which else an easy battery 
might lay flat, for taking a beggar without less 
quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with 
you? How creeps acquaintance? 

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together ; 
to whom I have been often bound for no less than 
my life. Here comes the Briton : let him be so 
entertained amongst you as suits, with gentlemen 
of your knowing, to a stranger of his quality. 30 

Enter Posthumus. 
I beseech you all, be better known to this gen- 
tleman; whom I commend to you as a noble 
friend of mine : how worthy he is I will leave to 
appear hereafter, rather than story him in his 
own hearing. 

French. Sir, we have known together in Or- 
leans. 

Post. Since when I have been debtor to you 
for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet 
pay still. 40 

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness : 
I was glad I did atone my countryman and you ; 
it had been pity you should have been put toge- 
ther with so mortal a purpose as-then each bore, 
upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature. 

Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young 
traveller ; rather shunned to go even with what 
1 heard than in my every action to be guided by 
others' experiences: but upon my mended judge- 
ment — if I offend not to say it is mended — my 
quarrel was not altogether slight. 51 

French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitra- 
ment of swords, and by such two that would by 
all likelihood have confounded one the other, or 
have fallen both. 



Iach. Can we, with manners, ask what was 
the difference 2 

French. Safely, I think : 'twas a contention in 
public, which may, without contradiction, suffer 
the report. It was much like an argument that 
fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise 
of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that 
time vouching — and upon warrant of bloody affirm- ■ 
ation — his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, j 
constant-qualified and less attemptable than any 
the rarest of our ladies in France. 

Iach. That lady is not now living, or this 
gentleman's opinion by this worn out. 

Post. She holds her virtue still and I my mind. 

Iach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours 
of Italy. 71 

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, 
I would abate her nothing, though 1 profess my- 
self her adorer, not her friend. 

Iach. As fair and as good — a kind of hand-in- 
hand comparison — had been something too fair 
and too good for any lady in Britain. If she 
went before others I have seen, as that diamond 
of yours outlustres many I have beheld, I could 
not but believe she excelled many : but I have 
not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor 
you the lady. 

Post. I praised her as I rated her : so do I 
my stone. 

Iach. What do you esteem it at? 

Post. More than the world enjoys. 

Iach. Either your unparagoned mistress is 
dead, or she 's outprized by a trifle. 

Post. You are mistaken : the one may be 
sold, or given, if there were wealth enough for 
the purchase, or merit for the gift: the other 
is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the 
gods. 

Iach. Which the gods have given you ? 

Post. Which, by Their graces, I will keep. 

Iach. You may wear her in title yours: but, 
you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring 
ponds. Your ring may be stolen too: so your 
brace of unprizable estimations ; the one is but 
frail and the other casual ; a cunning thief, or a 
that way accomplished courtier, would hazard 
the winning both of first and last. 

Post. Your Italy contains none so accom- 
plished a courtier to convince the honour of my 
mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that, you 
term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have 
store of thieves ; notwithstanding, I fear not my 
ring. 

Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. iog 

Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy 
signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me ; 
we are familiar at first 

Iach. With five times so much conversation, 
I should get ground of your fair mistress, make 
her go back, even to the yielding, had I admit- 
tance and opportunity to friend. 

Post. No, no. 

Iach. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of 
my estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, 
o'ervalues it something: but I make my wager 
rather against your confidence than her reputa- 
tion : and, to bar your offence herein too, I durst 
attempt it against any lady in the world. 

Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold 

6o—2 



94 8 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act 



a persuasion ; and I doubt not you sustain what 
you're worthy of by your attempt. 
lack. What's that? 

Post. A repulse : though your attempt, as you 

call it, deserve more; a punishment too. 129 

Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this : it came in 

too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and, I 

pray you, be better acquainted. 

lack. Would I had put my estate and my 
neighbour's on the approbation of what I have 
spoke ! ' 

Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 
lack. Yours; whom in constancy you think 
stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 
to your ring, that, commend me to the court 
where your lady is, with no more advantage than 
the opportunity of a second conference, and I 
will bring from thence that honour of hers which 
you imagine so reserved. 

Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to 
it: my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of it. 
lack. You are afraid, and therein the wiser. 
If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you 
cannot preserve it from tainting : but I see you 
have some religion in you, that you fear. 149 

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ; 
you bear a graver purpose, I hope. 

lack. I am the master of my speeches, and 
would undergo what 's spoken, I swear. 

Post. Will you? I shall but lend my diamond 
till your return : let there be covenants drawn 
between 's : my mistress exceeds in goodness the 
hugeness of your unworthy thinking : I dare you 
to this match : here 's my ring. 

Phi. I will have it no lay. 159 

lack. By the gods, it is one. If I bring you 
no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the 
dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thou- 
sand ducats are yours ; so is your diamond too : 
if I come off, and leave her in such honour as you 
have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and 
my gold are yours : provided I have your com- 
mendation for my more free entertainment. 

Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have 
articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall 
answer : if you make your voyage upon her and 
give me directly to understand you have pre- 
vailed, I am no further your enemy ; she is not 
worth our debate : if she remain unseduced, you 
not making it appear otherwise, for your ill 
opinion and the assault you have made to her 
chastity you shall answer me with your sword. 

lack. Your hand; a covenant: we will have 
these things set down by lawful counsel, and 
straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should 
catch cold and starve : I will fetch my gold and 
have our two wagers recorded. 181 

Post. Agreed. 

[Exeunt Post humus and Iachimo. 
French. Will this hold, think you? 
Phi. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray, 
let us follow 'em. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Britain. A room in Cymbeline's 
palace. 

Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 

Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather 
those flowers ; 



Make haste : who has the note of them? 

First Lady. I, madam. 

Queen. Dispatch. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Now, master doctor, have you brought those 
drugs? 

Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they 
are, madam : [Presenting a small box. 

But I beseech your grace, without offence, — 
My conscience bids me ask— wherefore you have 
Commanded of me these most poisonous com- 
pounds, 
Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
But though slow, deadly? 

Queen. I wonder, doclor, 10 

Thou ask'st me such a question. Have i not been 
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so 
That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded,— 
Unless thou think'st me devilish — is't not meet 
That I did amplify my judgement in 
Other conclusions? I will try the forces 
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
We count not worth the hanging, but none human, 
To try the vigour of them and apply 21 

Allayments to their act, and by them gather 
Their several virtues and effects. 

Cor. Your highness 

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart : 
Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
Both noisome and infectious. 

Qtieen. O, content thee. 

Enter Pisanio. 
[Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him 
Will I first work : he's for his master, 
And enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio ! 
Doctor, your service for this time is ended; 30 
Take your own way. 

Cor. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam; 

But you shall do no harm. 

Queen. [To Pisanio] Hark thee, a word. 

Cor. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth 
think she has 
Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit, 
And will not trust one of her malice with 
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has 
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile ; 
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and 

dogs, 
Then afterward up higher : but there is 
No danger in what show of death it makes, 40 
More than the locking-up the spirits a time, 
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
With a most false effect ; and I the truer, 
So to be false with her. 

Queen. No further service, doctor, 

Until I send for thee. 

Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost 
thou think in time 
She will not quench and let instructions enter 
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work : 
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my 

son, 
I '11 tell thee on the instant thou art then 50 

As great as is thy master, greater, for 
His fortunes all lie speechless and his name ■ 
Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor 



Scene v.] 



CYMBELIXE. 



949 



Continue where he is: to shift his being 
Is to exchange one misery with another, 
And every day that comes comes to decay 
A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect, 
To be depender on a thing that leans, 
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends, 59 
So much as but to prop him ? [ The Queen drops the 
box: Pisanio takes it ?i/>.] Thou takest up 
Thou know'st not what ; but take it for thy labour : 
It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know 
What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee, take it ; 
It is an earnest of a further good 
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
The case stands with her ; do't as from thyself. 
Think what a chance thou changest on, but think 
Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son, 
Who shall take notice of thee : I '11 move the king 
To any shape of thy preferment such 71 

As thou 'It desire ; and then myself, 1 chiefly x 
That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 
Think on my words. [Exit Pisanio. 

A sly and constant knave, 
Not to be shaked ; the agent for his master 
And the remembrancer of her to hold 
The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that 
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after, 80 
Except she bend her humour, shall be assured 
To taste of too. 

Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 

So, so : well done, well done : 
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, 
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio; 
Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

Pis. And shall do : 

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
I'llchokemyseif : there 'sail I '11 do for you. [Exit. 

Scene VI. The same. Another room in the 
palace. 

Enter Imogen. 

I mo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false ; 
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, 
That hath her husband banish'd ; — O, that hus- 
band ! 
My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated 
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n, 
As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable 
Is the desire that's glorious : blest be those, 
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be ? Fie ! 

Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. 
Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome, 10 
Comes from my lord with letters. 

lack. Change you, madam? 

The worthy Leonatus is in safety 
And greets your highness dearly. 

[Presents a letter. 
I mo. Thanks, good sir : 

You're kindly welcome. 

Iach. [Aside] All of her that is out of door 
most rich ! 
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
She is alone the Arabian bird, and I 



Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend ! 
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot ! 
Or, like the Parthian, 1 shall thing light; 20 

Rather, directly fly, 

I mo. [Reads] ' He is one of the noblest note, 
to whose kindnesses 1 am most infinitely tied. 
Reflecl upon him accordingly, as you value your 
trust — vrc's.' 

So far I read aloud : 
But even the very middle of my heart 
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. 
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as 1 
Have words to bid you, and shall find it so 30 
In all that I can do. 

Iach. Thanks, fairest lady. 

What, are men mad? Hath nature given them 

eyes 
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones 
Upon the numbcr'd beach ? and can we not 
Partition make with spectacles so precious 
'Twixt fair and foul ? 

Into. What makes your admiration? 

Iach. It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and 
monkeys 
'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and 
Contemn with mows the other ; nor i' the judge- 
ment, 41 
For idiots in this case of favour would 
Be wisely definite ; nor i' the appetite ; 
Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed 
Should make desire vomit emptiness, 
Not so allured to feed. 

Into. What is the matter, trow? 

Iach. The cloyed will, 

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub 
Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb 
Longs after for the garbage. 

Into. What, dear sir, 50 

Thus raps you? Are you well '.' 

Iach. Thanks, madam ; well. [To 1 
Beseech you, sir, desire 
My man's abode where 1 did leave him : he 
Is strange and peevish. 

Pis. I was going, sir, 

To give him welcome. [Exit. 

Into. Continues well my lord? His health, 
beseech you? 

Iach. Well, madam. 

I mo. Is he disposed to mirth ? I hope he is. 

Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a SI 
there 
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 60 

The Briton reveller. 

Into. When he was here, 

He did incline to sadness, and oft-times 
Not knowing why. 

Inch. I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman bis companion, one 
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
A Gallian girl at home; he fui 
The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly- 
Briton — 
Your lord, I mean — laughs from "s free 

cries ' ( ), . 
Can my sides hold, t> think that nun, who 

knows 
By history, report, or his o\i 



95o 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act i. 



What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
But must be, will his free hours languish for. 
Assured bondage?' 

I j7io. Will my lord say so? 

lack. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with 
laughter : 
It is a recreation to be by 
And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens 

know, 
Some men are much to blame. 

Imo. Not he, I hope. 

lack. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty to- 
wards him might 
Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; 
In you, which I account his beyond all talents, 80 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 
' Imo. What do you pity, sir? 

lack. Two creatures heartily. 

Imo. Am I one, sir? 

You look on me : what wreck discern you in me 
Deserves your pity? 

lack. Lamentable ! What, 

To hide me from the radiant sun and solace 
I' the dungeon by a snuff? 

Imo. I pray you, sir, 

Deliver with more openness your answers 
To my demands. Why do you pity me ? 

lack. That others do — 90 

I was about to say — enjoy your But 

It is an office of the gods to venge it, 
Not mine to speak on't. 

Imo. You do seem to know 

Something of me, or what concerns me : prpy 

you, — 
Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 
Than to be sure they do ; for certainties 
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, 
The remedy then born — discover to me 
What both you spur and stop. 

lack. Had I this cheek 99 

To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch, 
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which 
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
Fixing it only here ; should I, damn'd then, 
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands 
Made hard with hourly falsehood — falsehood, as 
With labour ; then by-peeping in an eye 
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
That's fed with stinking tallow ; it were fit no 
That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
Encounter such revolt. 

Imo. My lord, I fear, 

Has forgot Britain. 

lack. And himself. Not I, 

Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce 
The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces 
That from my mutest conscience to my tongue 
Charms this report out. 

Imo. Let me hear no more. 

lack. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike 
my heart 
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, 120 

Would make the great'st king double, — to be 

partner'd 
With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition 



Which your own coffers yield! with diseased 

ventures 
That play with all infirmities for gold 
Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd 

stuff 
As well might poison poison ! Be revenged ; 
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you 
Recoil from your great stock. 

Imo. Revenged ! 

How should I be revenged? If this be true, — 
As I have such a heart that both mine ears 130 
Must not in haste abuse — if it be true, 
How should I be revenged? 

lack. Should he make me 

Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets, 
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, 
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. 
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure, 
More noble than that runagate to your bed, 
And w i u continue fast to your affection, 
Still close as sure. 

Imo. What, ho, Pisanio ! 

Inch. Let me my service tender on your lips. 

Imo. Away ! I do condemn mine ears that 
have 141 

So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, 
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not 
For such an end thou seek'st, — as base as strange. 
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
From thy report as thou from honour, and 
Solicit'st here a lady that disdains 
Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio ! 
The king my father shall be made acquainted 
Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit, 150 

A saucy stranger in his court to mart 
As in a Romish stew and to expound 
His beastly mind to us, he hath a court 
He little cares for and a daughter who 
He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio ! 

lack. O happy Leonatus ! I may say : 
The credit that thy lady hath of thee 
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness 
Her assured credit. Blessed live you long ! 
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever 160 

Country call'd his ! and you his mistress, only 
For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon. 
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord, 
That which he is, new o'er : and he is one 
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch 
That he enchants societies into him; 
Half all men's hearts are his. 

1 7710. You make amends. 

lack. He sits 'mongst men like a descended god : 
He hath a kind of honour sets him off, 170 

More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 
Most mighty princess, that I have adventured 
To try your taking of a false report; which hath 
Honour'd with confirmation your great judge- 
ment 
In the election of a sir so rare, 
Which you know cannot err : the love I bear him 
Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you, 
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. 

Imo. All's well, sir: take my power i' the 
court for yours. 

lack. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
To entreat your grace but in a small request, 181 
And yet of moment too, for it concerns 



Scene vi.] 



CYMBELINE. 



95i 



Your lord ; myself and other noble friends, 
Are partners in the business. 

Into. P ra y, what is't? 

lack. Some dozen Romans of us and your 
lord— 
The best feather of our wing — have mingled sums 
To buy a present for the emperor ; 
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
In France : 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels 
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great ; 
And I am something curious, being strange, 191 
To have them in safe stowage : may it please you 
To take them in protection ? 

Imo. Willingly; 

And pawn mine honour for their safety: since 
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
In my bedchamber. 

lack. They are in a trunk. 

Attended by my men : I will make bold 
To send them to you. only for this night ; 
I must aboard to-morrow. 

Into. O, no, no. 

lack. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short my word 
By lengthening my return. From Gallia 201 
I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise 
To see your grace. 

Imo. I thank you for your pains : 

But not away to-morrow ! 

Tack. O, I must, madam : 

Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please 
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night: 
I have outstood my time ; which is material 
To the tender of our present. 

I mo. I will write. 

Send your trunk to me ; it shall safe be kept, 209 
And truly yielded you. You're very welcome. 

{Exeunt. 

ACT II. 
Scene I. Britain. Before Cymbclinc\s palace. 

Enter Ci.oten and two Lords. 

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ! 
when I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be 
hit away! I had a hundred pound on't: and 
then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for 
swearing; as if I borrowed mine oaths of him 
and might not spend them at my pleasure. 

First Lord. What got he by that? You have 
broke his pate with your bowl. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] If his wit had been like 
him that broke it, it would have run all out. 10 

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, 
it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, 
ha? 

Sec. Lord. No, my lord; [Aside] nor crop 
the ears of them. 

Clo. Whoreson dog ! I give him satisfaction ? 
Would he had been one of my rank ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] To have smelt like a fool. 

Clo. I am not vexed more at any thing in the 
earth : a pox on 't ! I had rather not be so noble 
as I am ; they dare not fight with me, because of 
the queen my mother: every Jack-slave hath his 
bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down 
like a cock that nobody can match. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] You are cock and capon 
too ; and you crow, cock, with your comb on. 



Clo. Sayest thou ? 

Sec. Lord. It is not fit your lordship should 
undertake every companion that you give offence 
to. 30 

Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit I should 
commit offence to my inferiors. 

Sec. Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 

Clo. Why, so I say. 

First Lord. Did you hear of a stranger thai 7. 
come to court to-night ? 

Clo. A stranger, and I not know on 't ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] He's a strange fellow him- 
self, and knows it not. 

First Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 
'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 41 

Clo. Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's 
another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of 
this stranger? 

First Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 

Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there 
no derogation in't? 

Sec. Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 

Clo. Not easily, I think. 49 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] You are a fool granted; 
therefore your issues, being foolish, do not dero- 
gate. 

Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian: what 1 
have lost to-day at bowls I '11 win to-night of him. 
Come, go. 

Sec. Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 

[Exeunt Cloten and First Lord. 
That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
Should yield the world this ass ! a woman that 
Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, 60 
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess. 
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest, 
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd, 
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer 
More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid acft 
Of the divorce he 'Id make! The heavens hold 

firm 
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked 
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mays 
To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land '. 
[Exit. 70 

Scene II. Imogens bedchamber in Cymbe- 

line's palace: a trunk in one comer of it. 

Imogen in bed, reading; a Lady attending. 
Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen? 
Lady. Please you, madam. 

Into. What hour is it? 

Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 

Imo. I have read three hours then : min 
are weak : 
Fold down the leaf where I have left : to bed : 
Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 
And if thou canst awake by four <>' the clock, 
] prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly. 

(/•.'.) .. 
To your protection I commend mc. 
From fairies and the tempters v( the night 
Guard me, beseech ye. 10 

[Sleeps. lachimo comes from the trunk. 
huh. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-la- 
b tur'd sense 



952 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act ii 



Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus 
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 
How bravely thou bccomest thy bed, fresh lily, 
And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch ! 
But kiss; one kiss ! Rubies unparagon'd, 
How dearly they do't ! 'Tis her breathing that 
Perfumes the chamber thus : the flame o' the 

taper 
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids, 
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 21 

Under these windows, white and azure laced 
With blue of heaven's own tinc~t. But my design, 
To note the chamber : I will write all down : 
Such and such pictures ; there the window ; such 
The adornment of her bed ; the arras ; figures, 
Why, such and such; and the contents o' the 

story. 
Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 
Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. 30 

O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! 
And be her sense but as a monument, 
Thus in a chapel lying ! Come off, come off: 

[Taking off her bracelet. 
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard ! 
'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly, 
As strongly as the conscience does within, 
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
I' the bottom of a cowslip : here 's a voucher, 
Stronger than ever law could make : this secret 
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and 
ta'en 41 

The treasure of her honour. No more. To 

what end? 
Why should I write this down, that's riveted, 
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been read- 
ing late 
The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turn'd down 
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough: 
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that 

dawning 
May bare the raven's eye ! I lodge in fear ; 
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 50 

[Clock strikes. 
One, two, three : time, time ! 

{Goes into the trunk. The scene closes. 

Scene III. An an.te-c7ta.mber adjoining Imo- 
gen's apartments. 

Enter Cloten and Lords. 

First Lord. Your lordship is the most patient 
man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up 
ace. 

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 

First Lord. But not every man patient after 
the noble temper of your lordship. You are 
most hot and furious when you win. 

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. 
If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have 
gold enough. It's almost morning, is't not? 10 

First Lord. Day, my lord. 

Clo. I would this music would come : I am 
advised to give her music o' mornings ; they say 
it will penetrate. 



Enter Musicians. . 
Come on ; tune : if you can penetrate her with 
your fingering, so ; we'll try with tongue too : if 
none will do, let her remain ; but I '11 never give 
o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; 
after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich 
words to it : and then let her consider. 20 

Song. 
Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 

And Phcebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies ; 
And winking Mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes : 
With every thing that pretty is, 

My lady sweet, arise : 
Arise, arise. 30 

Clo. So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I 
will consider your music the better : if it do not, 
it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and 
calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to 
boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians. 

Sec. Lord. Here comes the king. 

Clo. I am glad I was up so late ; for that's the 
reason I was up so early : he cannot choose but 
take this service I have done fatherly. 

Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 
Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious 
mother. 41 

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern 
daughter? 
Will she not forth? 

Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she 
vouchsafes no notice. 

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
Must wear the print of his remembrance out, 
And then she's yours. 

Quee?i. You are most bound to the king, 

Who lets go by no vantages that may 50 

Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 
To orderly soliciting, and be friended 
With aptness of the season ; make denials 
Increase your services ; so seem as if 
You were inspired to do those duties which 
You tender to her ; that you in all obey her, 
Save when command to your dismission tends, 
And therein you are senseless. 

Clo. Senseless ! not so. 

Efiter a Messenger. 
Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from 
Rome; 
The one is Caius Lucius. 

Cym. A worthy fellow, 60 

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 
But that's no fault of his : we must receive him _ 
According to the honour of his sender ; 
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, 
We must extend our notice. Our dear son, 
When you have given good morning to your 

mistress, 
Attend the queen and us ; we shall have need 
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our 
queen. [Exeunt all but Cloten. 

Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, 



Scene in.] 



CYMBELINE. 



953 



Let her lie still and dream. [Knocks] By your 

leave, ho ! 70 

I know her women are about her: what 
If I do line one of their hands? "L'is gold 
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and 

makes 
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis 

gold 
Which mnkes the true man kill'd and saves the 

thief; 
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man : 

what 
Can it not do and undo? I will make 
(hie of her women lawyer to me, for 
I yet not understand the case myself. 80 

[Knocks] By your leave. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. Who's there that knocks? 

Clo. A gentleman. 

Lady. No more ? 

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 

Lady. That 's more 

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's 
pleasure ? 

Clo. Your lady's person : is she ready ? 

Lady. Ay, 

To keep her chamber. 

Clo. There is gold for you ; 

Sell me your good report. 

Lady. How ! my good name? or to report of 

What I shall think is good? — The princess ! 90 
Enter Imogen. 

Clo. Good morrow, fairest : sister, your sweet 
hand. [ Exit Lady. 

Into. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too 
much pains 
For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give 
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks 
And scarce can spare them. 

Clo. Still, I swear I love you. 

Into. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with 
me: 
If you swear still, your recompense is still 
That I regard it not. 

Clo. This is no answer. 

lino. But that you shall not say I yield being 
silent, 
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith, 
I shall unfold equal discourtesy 101 

To your best kindness : one of your great knowing 
Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere 
my sin : 
I will not. 

Into. Fools are not mad folks. 

Clo. Do you call me fool ? 

Into. As I am mad, I do : 
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad : 
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 
You put me to forget a lady's manners, no 

By being SO verbal : and learn now, for all, 
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce. 
By the very truth of it, I care not for you, 
And am so near the lack of charity — 



To accuse myself— I hate you ; which I had rather 
You felt than make 't my i 

Clo. You sin against 

Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, 
With scraps o' the court, it i . none: 

And though it be allow'd in meaner parties — 121 
Yet who than he more mean? — to knit their souls, 
On whom there is no more dependency 
But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot; 
Yet you are CUrb'd from that enlargement by 
The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil 
The precious note of it with a base slave, 
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
A pantler, not s > eminent. 

Into. ane fellow ! 

Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more 130 
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 
To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough, 
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
Comparative for your virtues, to be styled 
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated 
For being preferr'd so well. 

Clo. The south-fog rot him ! 

Into. He never can meet more mischance than 
come 
To be but named of thee. His meanest garment. 
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer 
In my respect than all the hairs above thee, 140 
Were they all made such men. How now, l'i- 
sanio ! 

Enter PiSANIO. 

Clo. 'His garment !' Now the devil — 

Into. To Dorothy my woman hie thee pre- 
sently — 

Clo. ' H is garment ! ' 

Into. I am spritcd with a 

Frighted, and anger'd worse : go bid my woman 
Search for a jewel that too casually 
Hath left mine arm : it was thy master's: 'shrew me, 
I f I would lose it for a revenue 
< If any king's in Europe. I do think 
I saw't this morning: confident I am 150 

Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it: 
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord 
That I kiss aught but he. 

Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 

Into. I hope so: go and search. 

[Exit Pisanio. 

Clo. You have abused me : 

' His meanest garment !' 

Into. Ay, I said so, sir: 

If you will make't an action, call witness to't 

Clo. I will inform your father. 

In;o. 
She's my good lady, and will conceive, 1 
But the worst of me. So, 1 leave you, sir. 
To the worst of discontent. 

Clo. I '11 be revenged : 160 

' His meanest garment!' Well. [Exit. 

Philarids house. 
Enter Posthumus and Philario. 

Post. Fear it not, sir: 1 would I were so sure 

To win the kin.^ as 1 am bold her honour 
Will remain hers. 

Phi. What means do you make to him ? 



954 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act 



Post. Not any, but abide the change of time, 
Ouake in the present winter's state and wish 
ihat warmer days would come: in these sear'd 

hopes, 
I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 
I must die much your debtor. 

Phi. Your very goodness and your company 
O erpays all I can do. By this, your king 10 
\xru a rd of great Au g us tus : Caius Lucius 
Will do s commission throughly : and I think 
He 11 grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
Is yet fresh in their grief. 
c Po . st - , I do believe, 

I statist though I am none, nor like to be, 

..hat this will prove a war; and you shall hear 

Ine legions now in Gallia sooner landed 

in our not-fearing Britain than have tidings 

Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 20 

Are men more order'd than when Julius Csesar 

brmled at their lack of skill, but found their courage 

VV orthy his frowning at : their discipline, 

JN owmingled with their courage, will make known 

jo their approvers they are people such 

1 hat mend upon the world. 



Enter Iachimo. 

P/u - See! Iachimo! 

Post. The swiftest harts have posted vou bv 
land ; J 3 

And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
1 o make your vessel nimble. 

p T , Welcome, sir. 

J ost. I hope the briefness of your answer made 
J. he speediness of your return. 
T Iach - r , ' Your lady 3 i 

Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon 

Post. And therewithal the best; or let her 
beauty 
Look through a casement to allure false hearts 
And be false with them. 

-£"*• ,„, . Here are letters for you. 

Post. Their tenour good, I trust. 

£?*" «r ^ • ' Tis ver y lik e- 

riti. Was Cams Lucius in the Britain court 
When you were there? 

^ Iack - , , He was expected then, 

rsut not approach d. 

_ p °s*- All is well yet. 

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not 40 

loo dull for your good wearing' 

,(«*■.. , If I had lost it, 

I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
J 11 make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
A second night of such sweet shortness which 
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won. 
Post. The stone 's too hard to come by 

vi 1 a u • Not a whit, 

Your Jady being so easy. 

Post - Make not, sir, 

\ our loss your sport : I hope you know that we 
Must not continue friends. 

lack. Good sir, we must, 

If you keep covenant. Had I not brought 50 
I he knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
We were to question further : but I now 
Profess myself the winner of her honour, 
logether with your ring; and not the wronger 
Ut her or you, having proceeded but 



By both your wills. 
Post. If you can make't apparent 

lhat you have tasted her in bed, my hand 
And ring is yours ; if not, the foul opinion 

You had of her pure honour gains or loses 

Y our sword or mine, or masterless leaves both 60 

1 o who shall find them. 

■p J . ach - , Sir, my circumstances, 

{Jong so near the truth as I will make them, 
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength 
1 will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not, 
■Yon 11 give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
Vou need it not. 
Post. Proceed. 

™{ acA ' t , First > her bedchamber,— 

Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess 
Had that was well worth watching— it was hang'd 
With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 70 
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
I he press of boats or pride : a piece of work 
bo bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
In workmanship and value ; which I wonder'd 
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 
Since the true life on't was— 

P ? st - This is true; 

And this you might have heard of here, by me, 
Or by some other. 

Iach. More particulars 

Must justify my knowledge. 
„ P ° sL , So they must, 

Or do your honour injury. 

T Iach - ' ' The chimney 80 

Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece 
Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent her, 
Motion and breath left out. 

P ? s t- . , This is a thing 

Which you might from relation likewise reap, 
Being, as it is, much spoke of. 
n/f* 1 , j , , . The roof o' the chamber 
With golden cherubins is fretted : her andirons— 
I had forgot them— were two winking Cupids 
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 90 
Depending on their brands. 

p ost. This is her honour ! 

Let it be granted you have seen all this— and praise 
-be given to your remembrance— the description 
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves 
The wager you have laid. 
Jach - Then, if you can, 

[Showing the bracelet. 
He pale : I beg but leave to air this jewel ; see ! 
And now 'tis up again : it must be married 
To that your diamond ; I '11 keep them 

Post. Jove I 

Once more let me behold it : is it that 
Which I left with her? 

Iach. ? _ Sir— I thank her— that : 100 

She stnpp d it from her arm ; I see her yet; 
Her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
And yet enrich'd it too : she gave it me, and said 
She prized it once. 

Post _ May be she pluck'd it off 

io send it me. 
Iach. She writes so to you, doth she? 

Post. O, no, no, no ! 'tis true. Here, take this 
tQ o > [Gives the ring. 



Scene iv.] 



CYMBELJNE. 



It is a basilisk unto mine eye, 
Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour 
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; 
love, iog 

Where there's another man : the vows of women 
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, 
Than they are. to their virtues; which is nothing. 
O, above measure false ! 

Phi. Have patience, sir, 

And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won : 
It may be probable she lost it; or 
Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, 
Hath stol'n it from her? 

Post. Very true ; 

And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring: 
Rentier to me some corporal sign about her, 
More evident than this; for this was stolen. 120 

lack. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 

Past. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he- 
swears. 
'Tis true : — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true : I am sure 
She would not lose it: her attendants are 
All sworn and honourable : — they induced to steal 

it! 
And by a stranger! — No, he hath enjoyed her: 
The cognizance of her incontinency 
Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus 

dearly. 
There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
Divide themselves between you ! 

Phi. Sir. be patient: 130 

This is not strong enough to be believed 
Of one persuaded well of — 

Post. Never talk on 't ; - 

She hath been colted by him. 

Iach. If you seek 

For further satisfying, under her breast — 
Worthy the pressing — lies a mole, right proud 
Of that most delicate lodging: by my life, 
I kiss'd it ; and it gave me present hunger 
To feed again, though full. You do remember 
This stain upon her? 

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 

Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 140 

Were there no more but it. 

Iach. Will you hear more? 

Post. Spare your arithmetic : never count the 
turns ; 
Once, and a million ! 

Iach. I'll be sworn — 

Post. No swearing. 

If you will swear you have not done't, you lie; 
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
Thou 'st made me cuckold. 

Iach. I'll deny nothing. 

J'ost. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb- 
meal ! 
I will go there and do't, i' the court, before 
Her father. I'll do something — [Exit. 

Phi. Quite besides 

The government of patience ! You have won: 150 
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
He hath against himself. 

Iach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another room in Philario's house. 
Enter Posthumus. 
Post. Is there no way for men to be but women 



Must be half-workers? We are all bastard-, : 

And that most venerable man which I 

Did call my father, was I know not where 

When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools 

Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother scem'd 

The Dian of that time: so doth my wife 

The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance! 

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd 

And pray'd me oft forbearance ; did it with 10 

A pudency so rosy the sweet view on 't 

Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I 

thought her 
As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils ! 
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour, — was't not?— 
Or less, — at first? — perchance he spoke not, but, 
Like a full-acornd boar, a German one, 
Cried ' O ! ' and mounted ; found no opposition 
Hut what he look'd for should oppose and she- 
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
The woman's part in me! For there 's no 

motion 20 

That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
It is the woman's part : be it tying, note it. 
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; 
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; re. 

hers; 
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
Nice longing, slanders, mutability, 
All faults that may be named, nay, that hell 

knows, 
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all; 
For even to vice 

They are not constant, but are changing still 50 
One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
Not half so old as that. I '11 write against them. 
Detest them, curse them : yet 'tis greater skill 
In a true hate, to pray they have their will : 
The very devils cannot plague them better. 

[Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. Britain. A hail in Cy»:belines 
palace. 

Enter in state, Cymbeline, Que 

and Lords at one door, and at another . 

Lucius and Attendants. 

Cym. Now say, what would Augusta- I 
with us? 

Luc. When Julius Caesar, whose remem- 
brance yet 
Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues 
Be theme and hearing ever, Was in this Britain 
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,— 
Famous in Csesar's praises, no whit less 
Than in his feats deserving it — for him 
And his succession granted Rome a tribute. 
Yearly three thousand pounds, which bv thee 

lately 
Is left untender'd. 

Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 1 • 

Shall be so ever. 

( 'lo. There be many Ca 

Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay 
For wearing our own noses. 

Qu 'en. That opportunity 

Which then they had to take from 's, to resume 



956 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act hi. 



We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, 

The kings your ancestors, together with 

The natural bravery of your isle, which stands 

As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 

With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters, 20 

With sands that will not bear your enemies' 

boats, 
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of 

conquest 
Caesar made here ; but made not here his brag 
Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame:' with 

shame — 
The first that ever touch'd him — he was carried 
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his 

shipping — 
Poor ignorant baubles ! — on our terrible seas, 
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd 
As easily 'gainst our rocks : for joy whereof 
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point — 
O giglot fortune !— to master Cassar's sword, 31 
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright 
And Britons strut with courage. 

Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be 
paid: our kingdom is stronger than it was at 
that time ; and, as I said, there is no moe such 
Caesars: other of them may have crook* d noses, 
but to owe such straight arms, none. 

Cym. Son, let your mother end. 39 

Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe 
as hard as Cassibelan : I do not say I am one ; 
but I have a hand. Why tribute? why should 
we pay tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun from 
us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, 
we will pay him tribute for light ; else, sir, no 
more tribute, pray you now. 

Cyni. You must know, 
Till the injurious Romans did extort 
This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's am- 
bition, 
Which swell'd so much that it did almost 
stretch 50 

The sides o' the world, against all colour here 
Did put the yoke upon 's ; which to shake off 
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
Ourselves to be. 

Clo . and Lords. We do. 
Cym. Say, then, to Caesar, 

Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which 
Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar 
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and 

franchise 
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, 
Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius 

made our laws, 
Who was the first of Britain which did put 
His brows within a golden crown and call'd 
Himself a king. 

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar — 
Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than 
Thyself domestic officers — thine enemy : 
Receive it from me, then : war and confusion 
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee : look 
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, 
I thank thee for myself. 

Cym. t Thou art welcome, Caius. 

Thy Caesar knighte'd me ; my youth I spent 70 
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; 
Which he to seek of me again, perforce, 



Co 



Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect 
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for 
Their liberties are now in arms ; a precedent 
Which not to read would show the Britons cold : 
So Caesar shall not find them. 

Lite. Let proof speak. 

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make 
pastime with us a day or two, or longer : if you 
seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find 
us in our salt-water girdle : if you beat us out 
of it, it is yours ; if you fall in the adventure, 
our crows shall fare the better for you; and 
there's an end. 

Luc. So, sir. 

Cym. I know your master's pleasure and he 
mine : 
All the remain is ' Welcome ! ' {Exeunt. 

Scene II. Another room i?i the palace. 
Enter Pisanio, with a letter. 
Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write 

you not 
What monster 's her accuser? Leonatus ! 
O master ! what a strange infection 
Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian, 
As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd 
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No: 
She 's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes, 
More goddess-Hke than wife-like, such assaults 
As would take in some virtue. O my master ! 
Thy mind to her is now as low as were 10 

Thy fortunes. How ! that I should murder her? 
Upon the love and truth and vows which I 
Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood? 
If it be so to do good service, never 
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
That I should seem to lack humanity 
So much as this fact comes to ? {Reading] ' Do 't : 

the letter 
That I have sent her, by her own command 
Shall give thee opportunity. ' O damn'd paper ! 
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless 

bauble, 20 

Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st 
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. 
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. 

Enter Imogen. 
Imo. How now, Pisanio ! 
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord, 
Leonatus ! 
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer 
That knew the stars as I his characters ; 
He 'Id lay the future open. You good gods, 
Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 30 

Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not 
That we two are asunder ; let that grieve him : 
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of 

them, 
For it doth physic love : of his content, 
All but in that ! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be 
You bees that make these locks of counsel ! 

Lovers 
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike: 
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet 
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, 
gods ! 39 



Scene n.j 



CYUBELINE. 



957 



[Reads} 'Justice, and your father's wrath, 
should he take me in his dominion, could not 
be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of 
creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. 
Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford- 
Haven : what your own love will out of this 
advise you, follow. So he wishes you all hap- 
piness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, 
increasing in love, 

Leonatus Posthuml-s.' 
O, for a horse with wings ! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? 
He is at Milford-Haven : read, and tell me 51 
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
May plod it in a week, why may not I 
Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio, — 
Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who 

long'st, — 
O, let me bate, — but not like me — yet long'st, 
But in a fainter kind : — O, not like me ; 
For mine's beyond beyond — say, and speak 

thick ; 
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing. 
To the smothering of the sense — how far it is 60 
To this same blessed Milford : and by the way 
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as 
To inherit such a haven : but first of" all, 
How we may steal from hence, and for the gap 
That we shall make in time, from our hence- 
going 
And our return, to excuse : but first, how get 

hence : 
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak, 
How many score of miles may we well ride 
'Twixt hour and hour? 

Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun, 

Madam, 's enough for you : [Aside] and too much 

too. 71 

Into. Why, one that rode to's execution, 

man, 

Could never go so slow : I have heard of riding 

wagers, 
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is 

foolery : 
Go bid my woman feign a sickness ; say 
She'll home to her father: and provide me pre- 
sently 
A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit 
A franklin's housewife. 

Pis. Madam, you're best consider. 

Imo. I see before me, man : nor here, nor here, 
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them, 81 

That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee ; 
Do as I bid thee : there's no more to say ; 
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. 
Scene III. Wales: a mountainous country 

with a cave. 

Enter, from the cave, Belarius; Guiderius, 

and Arvikagus following. 

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 

Whose roof 's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys ; this 

gate 
Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows 

you 
To a morning's holy office : the gates of monarchs 
Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through 
And keep their impious turbans on, without 



Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven ! 
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
As prouder livers do. 

Oui. Hail, heaven ! 

-•''«'• Hail, heaven! 

Lei. Now for our mountain sport : up to yond 
hill; IO 

Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Con- 
sider, 
When ymi above perceive me like a crow. 
That it is place which lessens and sets off: 
And you may then revolve what tales 1 have 

told you 
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: 
This service is not service, so being 
But being so allow'd : to apprehend thus, 
Draws us a profit from all things we see; 
And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded beetle in a safer hold 20 

Than is the full-wing'd ei gle. I >, this life 
ts uobler than attending for a check. 
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble, 
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-fbr silk: 
Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine, 
\ et keeps hi-, book uncross' d : no life to ours. 

Qui. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor 
unfledged, 
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor 

know not 
What air's from home. Haply this life a 
If quiet life be best ; sweeter to you 30 

That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 
With your stiff age : but unto us it is 
A cell of ignorance : travelling a-bed ; 
A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
To stride a limit. 

Arv. What should we speak of 

When we are old as you? when we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December, how, 
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing : 
We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey, 40 

Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat: 
Our valour is to chase what Hies : our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak ! 

Did you but know the city's usuries 
And felt them knowingly ; the art o' the c< urt. 
As hard to leave as keep ; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery that 
The fear's as bad as falling : the toil o' the war. 
A pain that only seems to seek out dangei 
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the 

search, 
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph 
As record of fair act : nay, many times, 
Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what's worse. 
Must court'syat the censure : — () boys, this story 
The world may read in me : my body's mark'd 
With Roman swords, and my report was once 
First with the best of note : Cymbcline loved me, 
.And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
Was not far off: then was 1 as a tree 60 

Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but in one 

night, 
A storm or robbery, call it what you will. 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves. 
And left me bare to weather. 



958 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act 



Gui. Uncertain favour ! 

Bel. My fault being nothing — as I have told 

you oft — 
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline 
I was confederate with the Romans : so 
Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years 
This rock and these demesnes have been my 

world ; 70 

Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid 
More pious debts to heaven than in all 
The fore-end of my time. But up to the moun- 
tains ! 
This is not hunters' language : he that strikes 
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast ; 
To him the other two shall minister ; 
And we will fear no poison, which attends 
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the 

valleys. [ExeimtGuideriusandA rviragus. 
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
These boys know little they are sons to the king ; 
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 81 
They think they are mine ; and though train'd up 

thus meanly 
I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts 

do hit 
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them 
In simple and low things to prince it much 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, 
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who 
The king his father call'd Guiderius,— Jove ! 
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell 
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
Into my story : say ' Thus mine enemy fell, 91 
And thus I set my foot on's neck;' even then 
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 
Strains his young nerves and puts himself in 

posture 
That acts my words. Theyoungerbrother,Cadwal, 
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure, 
Strikes life into my speech and shows much more 
His own conceiving. — Hark, the game is roused ! — 
O Cymbeline ! heaven and my conscience knows 
Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon, 100 
At three and two years old, I stole these babes ; 
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their 

mother, 
And every day do honour to her grave : 
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, 
They take for natural father. The game is up. 

{Exit. 

Scene IV. Country near M ilford-H aven. 

Enter Pisanio and Imogen. 
Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from 
horse, the place 
Was near at hand : ne'er long'd my mother so 
To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio ! man ! 
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, 
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks 

that sigh 
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, 
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
Beyond self-explication : put thyself 
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? 



Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 11 
A look untender? If 't be summer news, 
Smile to't before ; if winterly, thou need'st 
But keep that countenance still. My husband's 

hand ! 
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him. 
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man : thy 

tongue 
May take off some extremity, which to read 
Would be even mortal to me. 

Pis. Please you, read ; 

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
The most disdain'd of fortune. 20 

Imo. [Reads] ' Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath 
played the strumpet in my bed ; the testimonies 
whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of 
weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my 
grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. 
That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy 
faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let 
thine own hands take away her life : I shall give 
thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She hath 
my letter for the purpose : where, if thou fear to 
strike and to make me certain it is done, thou art 
the pandar to her dishonour and equally to me 
disloyal.' 
Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? 

the paper 
Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander, 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose 

tongue 
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie 
All corners of the world : kings, queens and 

states, 
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 40 
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, 

madam ? 
Imo. False to his bed ! What is it to be false? 
To lie in watch there and to think on him? 
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge 

nature, 
To break it with a fearful dream of him 
And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, 

is it? 
Pis. Alas, good lady ! 

Imo. I false! Thy conscience witness : Iachimo, 
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; 
Thou then look'dst like a villain ; now methinks 
Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy 51 
fWhose mother was her painting, hath betray 'd 

him: 
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
I must be ripp'd : — to pieces with me ! — O, 
Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good 

seeming, 
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
Put on for villany ; not born where 't grows, 
But worn a bait for ladies. 
Pis. Good madam, hear me. 

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false 

iEneas, 60 

Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's 

weeping 
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity 
From most true wretchedness : so thou, Posthu- 
mus, 
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 



^ 



CYMBELINE. 



959 



7" 



Scene iv.] 

"^db^dgdlant shall be false and perjured 
From 'thy great fail. Come, fellow be thou honest 
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see st 

him, . 

A little witness my obedience : look ! 
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit 
The innocent mansion of my .ove, my heart. 
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief : 
Thy master is not there, who was indeed 
The riches of it : do his bidding ; strike 
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause ; 
But now thou seem'st a coward. 

p^ Hence, vile instrument 

Thou'shalt not damn my hand 

Imo Why, I must die; 

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter 
There is a prohibition so divine 
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here s my 

Something's afore 't. Soft, soft A we'll no defence ; 
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here ? 
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, 
Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools 
Believe false teachers: though those that are be- 
trayed 
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case of woe 

And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up 90 
Mv disobedience 'gainst the king my father 
And make me put into contempt the suits 
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
It is no act of common passage, but 
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself 
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her 
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory 
Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee^ dispatch : 
The lamb entreats the butcher : where s thy knife .' 
Thou art too slow to do thy master s bidding, 100 
When I desire it too. _ 

Pis O gracious lady, 

Since I received command to do this business 
I have not slept one wink 
Iin0 Dot, and to bed then. 

Pis I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. 
j m ' Wherefore then 

Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused 
So many miles with a pretence? this place? 
Mine action and thine own? our horses labour. 
The time inviting thee? the perturb d court, 
For my being absent? whereunto I never 
' Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far no 
To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
The elected deer before thee? # , 

pi s But to win time 

To lose so bad employment; in the which 
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, 
Hear me with patience. 

hno. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak : 

I have heard I am a strumpet ; and mine ear, 
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, 
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 

p is Then, madam, 

I thought you would not back again. 
Imo. 



Most like ; 



Bringing me here to kill me. 
Pis. 



Not so, neither: 120 



But if I were as wise as honest, then 
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 
But that my master is abused : _ 
Some villain, ay, and singular m his art, 
Hath done you both this cursed injury. 
Imo. Some Roman courtezan 
p"r No, on my life. 

I'll eive but notice you are dead and send him 
Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded 
I should do so : you shall be miss d at court, 
And that will well confirm it 

Imo Why, good fellow, in 

What shall I do the while? where bide? how live : 
Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
Dead to my husband? 

Pis y If you'll back to the court— 

Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado 
fWith that harsh, noble, simple nothing, 
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
As fearful as a siege. 

Pis. If not at court, 

Then not in Britain must you bide. 

Imo Where then? 

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, 
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world s volume 
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in t ; 14 1 

In a great pool a swan's nest : prithee, think 
There's livers out of Britain. 

P£ s I am most glad 

You think of other place. The ambassador, 
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 
To-morrow : now, if you could wear a mind 
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise 
That which, to appear itself, must not yet be 
But by self-danger, you should tread a course 
t Pretty and full of view ; yea, haply, near 150 
The residence of Posthumus ; so nigh at least 
That though his actions were not visible, yet 
Report should render him hourly to your ear 
As truly as he moves. 

I„ w _ O, for such means ! 

Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 
I would adventure. 

p is _ Well, then, here 's the point : 

You must forget to be a woman ; change 
Command into obedience : fear and mceness— 
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, 
Woman its pretty self— into a waggish courage : 
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and 161 
As quarrelous as the weasel ; nay, you must 
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 
Exposing it— but, O, the harder heart ! 
Alack, no remedy '.—to the greedy touch 
Of common-kissing Titan, and forget _ 
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
You made great Juno angry. . , ' 

Imo. Nay, be brief: 

I see into thy end, and am almost 
A man already. 

Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 170 
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit— 
'Tis in my cloak-bag— doublet, hat, hose, all 
That answer to them: would you in their serving 
And with what imitation you can borrow 
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucm> 
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
Wherein you're happy,— which you 11 make him 

know, . 

If that his head have ear in music,— doubtless 



960 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act hi. 



With joy he will embrace you, for he's honour- 
able 
And doubling that, most holy. Your means 
abroad, 180 

You have me, rich ; and I will never fail 
Beginning nor supplyment. 

Into. Thou art all the comfort 

The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away : 
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even 
All that good time will give us : this attempt 
I am soldier to, and will abide it with 
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. 

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short fare- 
well, 
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 
Here is a box ; I had it from the queen : 191 

What's in't is precious ; if you are sick at sea, 
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
Will drive away distemper. To some shade, 
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods 
Direct you to the best ! 
I mo. Amen : I thank thee. {Exeunt, severally. 

Scene V. A room in Cymbeline , s palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, 
Lords, and Attendants. 

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 

Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 

My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence ; 
And am right sorry that I must report ye 
My master's enemy. 

Cym. Our subjects, sir, 

Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself 
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 
Appear unkinglike. 

Luc. So, sir: I desire of you 

A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven. 
Madam, all joy befal your grace ! 

Queen. And you ! 

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that 
office ; 10 

The due of honour in no point omit. 
So farewell, noble Lucius. 

Luc. Your hand, my lord. 

Clo. Receive it friendly ; but from this time 
forth 
I wear it as your enemy. 

Luc. Sir, the event 

Is yet to name the winner: fare you well. 

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my 
lords, 
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness ! 

\_Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 

Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it 
honours us 
That we have given him cause. 

Clo. 'Tis all the better ; 

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 20 

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely 
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he 

moves 
His war for Britain. 

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ; 

But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. 



Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus 
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd 
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender' d 31 
The duty of the day : she looks us like 
A thing more made of malice than of duty : 
We have noted it. Call her before us ; for 
We have been too slight in sufferance. 

{Exit an A ttendant. 

Queen. . Royal sir, 

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired 
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, 
'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty, 
Forbear sharp speeches to her : she 's a lady 
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes 40 
And strokes death to her. 

Re-enter Attendant. 

Cym. Where is she, sir? How 

Can her contempt be answer'd? 

A tten. Please you, sir, 

Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there's no answer 
That will be given to the loudest noise we make. 

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, 
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, 
She_ should that duty leave unpaid to you, 
Which daily she was bound to proffer : this 
She wish'd me to make known ; but our great 
court 50 

Made me to blame in memory. 

Cym. Her doors lock'd? 

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear 
Prove false ! {Exit. 

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
I have not seen these two days. 

Queen. Go, look after. {Exit Cloten. 

Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! 
He hath a drug of mine ; I pray his absence 
Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes 
It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized 
her, 60 

Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown 
To her desired Posthumus : gone she is 
To death or to dishonour ; and my end 
Can make good use of either : she being down, 
I have the placing of the British crown. 

Re-enter Cloten.. 
How now, my son ! 

Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled. 

Go in and cheer the king : he rages ; none 
Dare come about him. 

Queen. {Aside] All the better : may 

This night forestall him of the coming day ! {Exit. 

Clo. I love and hate her : for she 's fair and 
royal, 70 

And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite 
Than lady, ladies, woman ; from every one 
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
Outsells them all; I love her therefore : but 
Disdaining me and throwing favours on 
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgement 
That what's else rare is choked ; and in that point 
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 
To be revenged upon her. For when fools 79 
Shall- 



Scene v.] 



CYMBELINE. 



961 



Enter PlSANlO. 



Whoishere? What, arc you packing, sirrah? 
Come hither: ah, you precious pandar ! Villain, 
Where is thy lady? In a word ; or else 
Thou art straightway with the fiends. 

Pis. O, good my lord ! 

Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter, — 
I will not ask again. Close villain, 
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? 
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
A dram of worth be drawn. 

PtS. Alas, my lord, 89 

How can she be with him ? When was she miss'd ? 
He is in Rome. 

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer ; 

No further halting: satisfy me home 
What is become of her. 

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! 

Clo. All- worthy villain ! 

Discover where thy mistress is at once, 
' At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!' 
I Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
Thy condemnation and thy death. 

Pis. Then, sir, 

I This paper is the history of my knowledge 99 
1 Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter. 

Clo. Let's see't. I will pursue her 

Even to Augustus' throne. 

Pis. [Aside] Or this, or perish. 

She's far enough ; and what he learns by this 
j May prove his travel, not her danger. 

Clo. Hum ! 

Pis. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she"s dead. 
O Imogen, 
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again ! 

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true? 

Pis. Sir, as I think. 

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know't. Sir- 
rah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me 
I true service, undergo those employments wherein 
I I should have cause to use thee with a serious 
I industry, that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee 
do, to perform it directly and truly, I would 
think thee an honest man : thou shouldst neither 
want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy 
preferment. 

Pis. Well, my good lord. 

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently 
and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune 
of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the 
course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of 
mine : wilt thou serve me? 

Pis. Sir, I will. 

Clo. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. 
Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy 
possession ? 

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same 
suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and 
mistress. 129 

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that 
suit hither: let it be thy first service; go. 

Pis. I shall, my lord. {Exit. 

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven ! — I forgot 
to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon : — 
even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill 
thee. I would these garments were come. She 
said upon a time — the bitterness of it I now belch 



from my heart — that she held the very garment 
of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and 
natural ; ther with the adornment of 

my qualities. With that suit upon my back, will 
I ravish her : first kill him, and in her eyes ; there 
shall she see my valour, which will then be a tor- 
ment to her contempt. He on the ground, my 1 
speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and ' 
when my lust hath dined, — which, 
vex her 1 will execute in the clothes that she so 
praised, — to the court I'll knock her ha' 
her home again. She hath despised me rejoic- 
ingly, and 1 '11 be merry in my revenge. 150 

Re-enter PiSANIO, with the clothes. 
Be those the garments? 
Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford- 
Haven? 
Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 
Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that 
is the second thing that I have commanded thee: 
the third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to 
my design. Be but duteous, and true prefer- 
ment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is 
now at Milford: would I had wings to follow it! 
Come, and be true. [Exit. 

Pis. Thou bid'st me to my loss : for true to 
thee 
Were to prove false, which I will nc 
To him that is most true. To Milford go, 
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, 

flow, 
You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's 

speed 
Be cross'd with slowness ; labour be his meed ! 

[Exit. 

Scene VI. JValcs. Before the cave of Belar ins. 
Enter Imogen, .•';/ boy* clothes. 

I)7io. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
I have tired myself, and for two nights together 
Have made the ground my bed. I should be 

sick, 
But that my resolution helps me. Milford, 
Whenfrom the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, 
I'll iu wast within a ken: O Jove! I think 
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean. 
Where they should be relieved. Two I 

told me 
I could not miss my way: will poor folks he. 
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis 10 
A punishment or trial? Yes ; no « 
When rich ones scarce tell true. To i 

fulness 
Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood 
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord ! 
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on 

thee, 
My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was 
At point to sink for food. But what is this! 
Here is a path to't : 'tis some savage hold : 
I were best not call ; I dare not call : yet famine, 
F.re clean it o'crthrow nature, makes it vali 
Plenty and peace bre< hardness ever 

Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who' 
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage, 



6l 



962 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act in. 



Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll 

enter. 
Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy 
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look 

on't. 
Such a foe, good heavens ! [Exit, to the cave. 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, a?id Arviragus. 

Bel. You, Polydore, have proved best wood- 
man and 
Are master of the feast : Cadwal and I 
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match : 
The sweat of industry would dry and die, 31 

But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
Will make what's homely savoury: weariness 
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth 
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here, 
Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 

Gui. 1 am throughly weary. 

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appe- 
tite. 

Gui. There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll 
browse on that, 
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. 

Bel. [Looking into the cave] Stay; come not in. 
But that it eats our victuals, I should think 41 
Here were a fairy. 

Gut. What's the matter, sir? 

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, 
An earthly paragon ! Behold divineness 
No elder than a boy ! 

Re-enter Imogen. 

Imo. Good masters, harm me not : 
Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought 
To have begg'd or bought what I have took : good 

troth, 
I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I 

had found 
Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my 
meat: 5° 

I would have left it on the board so soon 
As I had made my meal, and parted 
With prayers for the provider. 

Gui. ' Money, youth? 

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ! 
And 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 
Who worship dirty gods. 

Imo. I see you 're angry : 

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
Have died had I not made it. 

Bel. Whither bound? 

Imo. To Milford-Haven. 

Bel. What's your name? 60 

Into. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who 
Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford ; 
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, 
I am fall'n in this offence. 

Bel. Prithee, fair youth, 

Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds 
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd ! 
'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer 
Ere you depart ; and thanks to stay and eat it. 
Boys, bid him welcome. 

Gui. Were you a woman, youth, 

I should woo hard but be your groom. In 
honesty, • 70 

I bid for you as I 'Id buy. 

Arv. I'll make 't my comfort 



He is a man ; I '11 love him as my brother : 
And such a welcome as I 'Id give to him 
After long absence, such is yours : most welcome ! 
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 

Imo. 'Mongst friends, 

If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so, that 

they 
Had been my father's sons ! then had my prize 
Been less, and so more equal ballasting 
To thee, Posthumus. 

Bel. He wrings at some distress. 

Gui. Would I could free't ! 

Arv. Or I, whate'er it be, 80 

What pain it cost, what danger. Gods ! 

Bel. Hark, boys. 

[ Whisper mg. 

Imo, Great men, 
That had a court no bigger than this cave, 
That did attend themselves and had the virtue 
Which their own conscience seal'd them — laying by 
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes — 
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, 

gods ! 
I 'Id change my sex to be companion with them, 
Since Leonatus 's false. 

Bel. It shall be so. 

Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, 
come in: 90 

Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have supp'd, 
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, 
So far as thou wilt speak it. 

Gui. Pray, draw near. 

Arv. The night to the owl and morn to the 
lark less welcome. 

Imo. Thanks, sir. 

A rv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Rome. A public place. 
E~ater two Senators and Tribunes. 

First Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's 
writ : 
That since the common men are now in action 
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, 
And that the legions now in Gallia are 
Full weak to undertake our wars against 
The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite 
The gentry to this business. He creates 
Lucius proconsul : and to you the tribunes, 
For this immediate levy, he commends 
His absolute commission. Long live Caesar! 10 

First Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces? 

Sec. Sen. Ay. 

First Tri. Remaining now in Gallia? 

First Sen. With those legions 

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
Must be supplyant : the words of your commission 
Will tie you to the numbers and the time 
Of their dispatch. 

First Tri. We will discharge our duty. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. Wales: near the cave of Belarius. 

Enter Cloten. 
Clo . I am near to the place where they should 
meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit 



Scene i.] 



CYMBELIXE. 



9 r, 3 



his garments serve me ! Why should his mistress, 
who was made by him that made the tailor, not 
be fit too? the rather — saving reverence of the 
word — for 'tis said a woman's fitness comes by fits. 
Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak 
it to myself — for it is not vain-glory for a man and 
his glass to confer in his own chamber — I mean, 
the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no 
less young, more strong, not beneath him in for- 
tunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, 
above him in birth, alike conversant in general 
services, and more remarkable in single opposi- 
tions: yet this imperceiverant thing loves him in 
my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy 
head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, 
shall within this hour be off; thy mistress en- 
forced ; thy garments cut to pieces before thy 
face : and all this done, spurn her home to her 
father; who may haply be a little angry for my so 
rough usage; but my mother, having power of 
his testiness, shall turn all into my commenda- 
tions. My horse is tied up safe : out, sword, and 
to a sore purpose ! Fortune, put them into my 
hand ! This is the very description of their meet- 
ing-place ; and the fellow dares not deceive me. 

[£' xit. 

Scene II. Before the cave of Belarius. 

Enter, from the cave, Belakius, Guidekiup, 
Arviragus, and Imogen. 

Bel. [To Imogen] You are not well: remain 
here in the cave ; 
We'll come to you after hunting. 

Arv. [To Imogen] Brother, stay here : 

Are we not brothers ? 

I mo. So man and man should be ; 

But clay and clay differs in dignity, 
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 

Gui. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. 

Imo. So sick I am not, yet I am not well ; 
But not so citizen a wanton as 
To seem to die ere sick : so please you, leave me ; 
Stick to your journal course: the bre.ich of 
* custom 10 

Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me 
Cannot amend me ; society is no comfort 
To one not sociable : I am not very sick, 
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here : 
I '11 rob none but myself; and let me die, 
Stealing so poorly. 

Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it : 

How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
As I do love my father. 

Bel. What ! how ! how ! 

Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
In my good brother's fault : I know not why 20 
I love this youth ; and I have heard you s.iy. 
Love's reason 's without reason : the bier at door, 
And a demand who is't shall die, I 'Id say 
'My father, not this youth.' 

Bel. [Aside] O noble strain ! 

worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 
Cowards father cowards and base things sire base : 
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. 

1 'm not their father ; yet who this should be, 
Doth miracle itself, loved before me. 

'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. 
Arv. Brother, farewell. 30 



Imo. I wish ye sport. 

Arv. You health. So please you, sir, 

1 ;i:o. [Aside] These arc kind creatures. Gods, 
what lies I have heard ! 
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court : 
Experience, O, thou disproved rep 
The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish 
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 
I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, 
I'll now taste of thy drug. [Szvallows some. 

Gui. I could not stir him : 

He said he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 40 

Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet sai ' 
after 
I might know more. 

Bel To the field, to the field ! 

We'll leave you for this time : go in and rest 
We'll not be long away. 

Bel Pray, be not sick, 

1 must be our housewife. 

Well or ill, 
I am bound to you. 

Bel. And shalt be ever. 

I Exit Imogen, to the cave. 
This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath 

had 
Good ancestors. 

A >■'•. How angel-like he sings ! 

Gui. But his neat cookery ! he cut our roots 
In characters, 

And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick 50 
And he her dieter. 

Arv. Nobly he yokes 

A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh 
Was that it was, fur not being such a smile ; 
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
From so divine a temple, to commix 
With winds that sailors rail at. 

Gui. I do note 

That grief and patience, rooted in him both, 
Mingle their spurs together. 

Arv. Grow, patience ! 

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
His perishing root with the ii ne ! 60 

Bel It is great morning. Come, away! — 
Who's there? 

Enter Cloten. 

Clo. I cannot find those runagates ; that villain 
Hath mock'd me. I am faint. 

Bel 'Those runagates !' 

Means he not us? I partly know him : 'tis 
Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush. 
1 saw him not these many years, and yet 
I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence ! 

Gui. He is but one : you and my brother 
search 
What companies are near: pray you, away ; 
Let me alone with him. 

[ Exeunt Belarius and A rviragus. 

Clo. Soft ! What are you 70 

That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers? 
I have heard of such. What slave art thou? 

Gui. 
More slavish did I ne'er than answering 
without a knock. 

(7,'. Thou art a robber, 

A law-breaker, a villain : yield thee, thief. 



61—2 



9 6 4 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act iv. 



Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? 
Have not I 
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big ? 
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not 
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art, 
Why 1 should yield to thee ? 

Clo. Thou villain base, 80 

Know'st me not by my clothes? 

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, 

Who is thy grandfather : he made those clothes, 
Which, as it seems, make thee. 

Clo. Thou precious varlet, 

My tailor made them not. 

Gui. Hence, then, and thank 

The man that gave them thee. Thou art some 

fool; 
I am loath to beat thee. 

Clo. Thou injurious thief, 

Hear but my name, and tremble. 

Gui. What 's thy name ? 

Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 

Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 
I cannot tremble at it : were it Toad, or Adder, 
Spider, 90 

'Twould move me sooner. 

Clo. To thy further fear, 

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
I am son to the queen. 

Gui. I am sorry for 't ; not seeming 

So worthy as thy birth. 

Clo. Art not afeard ? 

Gui. Those that I reverence those I fear, the 
wise: 
At fools I laugh, not fear them. 

Clo. Die the death : 

When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
I '11 follow those that even now fled hence, 
And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads : 
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting. 100 

Re-enter Belarius and Arviragus. 

Bel. No companies abroad ? 

Arv. None in the world: you did mistake 
him, sure. 

Bel. I cannot tell : long is it since I saw him, 
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour 
Which then he wore ; the snatches in his voice, 
And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute 
'Twas very Cloten. 

Arv. In this place we left them: 

I wish my brother make good time with him, 
You say he is so fell. 

Bel. Being scarce made up, 

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension no 
Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgement 
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother. 

Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head. 
Gui. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse ; 
There was no money in't: not Hercules 
; Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had 
none : 
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
My head as I do his. 
Bel. What hast thou done ? 

Gui. I am perfect what : cut off one Cloten's 
head, 
Son to the queen, after his own report ; 
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore 120 



With his own single hand he 'Id take us in, 
Displace our heads where — thank the gods ! — they 

grow, 
And set them on Lud's-town. 

Bel. We are all undone. 

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to 
lose, 
But that he swore to take, our lives ? The law 
Protects not us : then why should we be tender 
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, 
Play judge and executioner all himself, 
For we do fear the law ? What company 
Discover you abroad? 

Bel. No single soul 130 

Can we set eye on ; but in all safe reason 
He must have some attendants. Though his 

humour 
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that 
From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not 
Absolute madness could so far have raved 
To bring him here alone ; although perhaps 
It may be heard at court that such as we 
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
May make some stronger head; the which he 

hearing — 
As it is like him — might break out, and swear 140 
He 'Id fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 
To come alone, either he so undertaking, 
Or they so suffering : then on good ground we 

fear, 
If we do fear this body hath a tail 
More perilous than the head. 

Arv. Let ordinance 

Come as the gods foresay it : howsoe'er, 
My brother hath done well. 

Bel. I had no mind 

To hunt this day : the boy Fideie's sickness 
Did make my way long forth. 

Gui. With his own sword, 

Which he did wave against my throat, I have 
ta'en 150 

His head from him: I'll throw 't into the creek 
Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea, 
And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten : 
That's all I reck. [Exit. 

Bel. I fear 'twill be revenged : 

Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't ! though 

valour 
Becomes thee well enough. 

A rv. Would I had done 't, 

So the revenge alone pursued me ! Polydore, 
I love thee brotherly, but envy much 
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed : I would re- 
venges, 
That possible strength might meet, would seek 
us through 160 

And put us to our answer. 

Bel. Well, 'tis done : 

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock; 
You and Fidele play the cooks : I '11 stay 
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
To dinner presently. 

Arv. Poor sick Fidele! 

I'll willingly to him : to gain his colour 
I 'Id let a parish of such Clotens blood, 
And praise myself for charity. [Exit. 

Bel. O thou goddess, 169 

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 



Scene n.] 



CYMBELINE. 



965 



In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough, 
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind, 
That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
And make him stoop to the vale. Tis wonder 
That an invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught, 
Civility not seen from other, valour 
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 180 
As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange 
What Cloten's being here to us portends, 
Or what his death will bring us. 

Kc-cnter Guiderius. 

Gui. Where's my brother? 

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, 
In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage 
For his return. [Solemn music. 

Bel. My ingenious instrument ! 

Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occasion 
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark ! 

Gui. Is he at home? 

Bel. He went hence even now. 

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my 
dear'st mother 190 

It did not speak before. All solemn things 
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? 
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys 
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. 
Is Cadwal mad? 

Bel Look, here he comes, 

And brings the dire occasion in his arms 
Of what we blame him for. 

Re-enter Arviragus, with Imogen, as dead, 
bearing her in his arms. 

Arv. The bird is dead 

That we have made so much on. I had rather 
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, 
To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, 200 
Than have seen this. 

Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily ! 

My brother wears thee not the one half so well 
As when thou grew'st thyself. 

Bel. O melancholy ! 

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare 
Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing ! 
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made ; 

but I, 
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. 
How found you him ? 

Am. Stark, as you see : 209 

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber. 
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at ; his right 

cheek 
Reposing on a cushion. 

Gui. Where ? 

A rv. O' the floor; 

His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put 
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rude- 
ness 
Answer'd my steps too loud. 

Gui. Why, he but sleeps: 

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ; 
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
And worms will not come to the^. 

A rv. With fairest flowers 



Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, 219 
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack 
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor 
The azured harebell, like thy veil 
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slimier, 
( im-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock would, 
With charitable bill,— O bill, sore-shaming 
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie 
Without a monument ! — bring thee all this ; 
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers arc- 
none, 
To winter-ground thy corse. 

Gui. Prithee, have done ; 

And do not play in wench-like words with that 
Which is so serious. Let us bury him, 231 

And not protract with admiration what 
Is now due debt. To the grave ! 

Arv. Say, where shall 's lay him? 

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 

Arv. Bc'tso: 

And let us. Polydore, though now our voices 
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the 

ground, 
As once our mother; use like note and words, 
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 

Gui. Cadwal, 
I cannot sing: 1 "11 weep, and word it with thee ; 
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse 241 
Than priests and fanes that lie. 

Arv. We'll speak it, then. 

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less ; 
for Cloten 
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys ; 
And though he came our enemy, remember 
He was paid for that : though mean and mighty, 

rotting 
Together, have one dust, yet reverence. 
That angel of the world, doth make distinction 
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was 

princely ; 
And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
Yet bury him as a prince. 

Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 251 

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', 
When neither are alive. 

A rv. If you '11 go fetch him. 

We'll say our song the whilst. 1 '•■ 

[Exit Belarius. 

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to 
the east : 
My father hath a reason for't. 

Arv. Tis true. 

Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 

Ai-v. . So. 1 

Song. 
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 

Nor the furious winter's v.. 
Thou thy worldly task h i-: 

IC art gone, and ta'en thy \. 
Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust 

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great; 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 

Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak : 
The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
All follow this, anil come to dust. 



Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 270 
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan : 
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

Gui. No exorciser harm thee ! 
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee ! 
Both. Quiet consummation have; 280 

And renowned be thy grave ! 

Re-enter Belarius, with the body ^/"Cloten. 

Gui. We have done our obsequies : come, lay 

him down. 
Bel. Here's a few flowers ; but 'bout midnight, 

more: 
The herbs that have on them cold dew o'the night 
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces. 
You were as flowers, now wither' d : even so 
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. 
Come on, away : apart upon our knees. 
The ground that gave them first has them again : 
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 290 
[Exeunt Belarhis, Guiderius, and A rviragus. 
Imo. [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; 

which is the way ?— 
I thank you. — By yond bush? — Pray, how far 

thither ? 
'Ods pittikins ! can it be six mile yet? — 
I have gone all night. 'Faith, I '11 lie down and 

sleep. 
But, soft ! no bedfellow ! — O gods and goddesses ! 
[Seeing the body of Cloten. 
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ; 
This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream ; 
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
And cook to honest creatures : but 'tis not so ; 
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, 300 
Which the brain makes of fumes : our very eyes 
Are sometimes like our judgements, blind. Good 

faith, 
I tremble still with fear : but if there be 
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it ! 
The dream's here still : even when I wake, it is 
Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt. 
A headless man ! The garments of Posthurnus ! 
I know the shape of 's leg: this is his hand; 
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh ; 310 

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face — 
Murder in heaven? — How ! — 'Tis gone. Pisanio, 
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou, 
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 
Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read 
Be henceforth treacherous ! Damn'd Pisanio 
Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio — 
From this most bravest vessel of the world 
Struck the main-top ! O Posthurnus ! alas, 320 
Where is thy head? where 's that? Ay me! 

where's that? 
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 
And left this head on. How should this be? 

Pisanio ? 
'Tis he and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 



Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, preg- 
nant ! 
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious 
And cordial to me, have I not found it 
Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home : 
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O ! 
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 330 
That we the horrider may seem to those 
Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my lord ! 
[Falls on the body. 

EnterLvcivs, a Captain and other Officers, and 

a Soothsayer. 

Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 
After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending 
You here at Milford-Haven with your ships: 
They are in readiness. 

Luc. But what from Rome? 

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners 
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, 
That promise noble service : and they come 
Under the conducl of bold lachimo, 340 

Syenna's brother. 

Luc. When expect you them? 

Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 

L uc. This forwardness 

Makes our hopes fair. Command our present 

numbers 
Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir, 
What have you dream'd of late of this war's pur- 
pose? 

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a 
vision — 
I fast and pray'd for their intelligence — thus : 
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing"d 
From the spongy south to this part of the west, 
There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends — ■ 
Unless my sins abuse my divination — 
Success to the Roman host. 

Luc. Dream often so, 

And never false. Soft, ho ! what trunk is here 
Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime 
It was a worthy building. How ! a page ! 
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather; 
For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. 
Let 's see the boy's face. 

Cap. He's alive, my lord. 

Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. 
Young one, 360 

Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems 
They crave to be demanded. Who is this 
Thou makest thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he 
That, otherwise than noble nature did, 
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy in- 
terest 
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? 
What art thou ? 

Imo. I am nothing : or if not, 

Nothing to be were better. This was my master, 
A very valiant Briton and a good, 
That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas ! 370 
There is no more such masters : I may wander 
From east to Occident, cry out for service, 
Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
Find such another master. 

Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 

Thou movest no less with thy complaining than 



Scene ii.] 



CYMBELINE. 



967 



say his 



good 



1 Thy master in bleeding 
friend. 

Into. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie 
and do 
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 
They'll pardon it. — Say you, sir? 

Luc. Thy name? 

Inta. Fidele, sir. 

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same : 
I Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. 
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say 
Thou shaft be so well master'd, but, be sure, 
No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters, 
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
Than thine own worth prefer thee : go with me. 

Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please 
the gods, 
I '11 hide my master from the flies, as deep 
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when 
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd 
his grave, 390 

And on it said a century of prayers, 
Such as I can, twice o'er, I '11 weep and sigh; 
And leaving so his service, follow you, 
So please you entertain me. 

Luc. Ay, good youth ; 

And rather father thee than master thee. 
My friends, 

The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us 
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, 
And make him with our pikes and partisans 
A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd 
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd 401 

As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes : 
Some falls are means the happier to arise. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio, and 
Attendants. 

Cym. Again; and bring me word how 'tis with 
her. [Exit an Attendant. 

A fever with the absence of her son, 
A madness, of which her life's in danger. Hea- 
vens, 
How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 
The great part of my comfort, gone ; my queen 
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 
When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone. 
So needful for this present : it strikes me, past 
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, 
Who needs must know of her departure and 10 
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee 
By a sharp torture. 

Pis. Sir, my life is yours ; 

I humbly set it at your will ; but, for my mistress, 
I nothing know wheic she remains, why g 
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your 

highness, 
Hold me your loyal servant. 

First Lord. Good my liege, 

The day that she was missing he was here : 
I dare be bound he's true and shall perform 
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, 
There wants no diligence in seeking him, 20 

And will, no doubt, be found. 

Cym. The time is troublesome. 



[To Pisanio] We'll slip you for a season ; but our 

jealousy 
Does yet depend. 

First Lord. So please your majesty, 
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, 
Are landed on your coast, with a supply 
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senare sent. 

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and 
queen ! 
I am amazed with matter. 

First Lord. Good my liege, 

Your preparation can affront no less 
Than what you hear of: come more, for more 
you're ready: 30 

The want is but to put those powers in motion 
That long to move. 

Cym. I thank you. Let's withdraw ; 

And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not 
What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
We grieve at chances here. Away ! 

[Exeunt all but Pisanio. 

Pis. I heard no letter from my master since 
I wrote him Imogen was slain : 'tis strange: 
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
To yield ine often tidings; neither know I 
What is betid to Cloten; but remain 40 

Perplex' d in all. The heavens still must work. 
Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be 

true. 
These present wars shall find I love my country, 
Even to the note o' the king, or I '11 fall in them. 
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd : 
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. 

[Exit. 

SCENE IV. Wales: before the cave of Belarius. 
Enter Belarus, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Gui. The noise is round about us. 

Bel. Let us from it. 

Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to 
lock it 
From action and adventure? 

Gui. Nay, what hope 

Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans 
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us 
For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
During their use, and slay us after. 

Bel. Sons, 

We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. 
To the king's party there's no going: newness 
Of Cloten's death — we being not known, not 
muster'd 10 

Among the bands — may drive us to a render 
Where we have lived, and so extort from 's that 
Which wc have done, whose answer would be 

death 
Drawn on with torture. 

Gui. This is, sir, a doubt 

Tn such a time nothing becoming you, 
Nor satisfying us. 

Arv. It is not likely 

That when they hear the Roman horses neic;h. 
Behold their qr.arter'd tires, have both their eyes 
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now. 
That they will waste their time upon our note, 20 
To know from whence we are. 

Bel. O, I am known 



9 63 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act iv. 



Of many in the army : many years, 

Though Cloten then but young, you see, not 

wore him 
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king 
Hath not deserved my service nor your loves ; 
Who find in my exile the want of breeding, 
The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless 
To have the courtesy your cradle promised, 
But to be still hot summer's tanlings and 
The shrinking slaves of winter. 

Gui. Than be so 30 

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army : 
I and my brother are not known ; yourself 
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, 
Cannot be question'd. 

Arv. By this sun that shines, 

I '11 thither : what thing is it that I never 
Did see man die ! scarce ever look'd on blood, 
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison ! 
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had 
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
Nor iron on his heel ! I am ashamed 40 

To look upon the holy sun, to have 
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining 
So long a poor unknown. 

Gui. By heavens, I '11 go : 

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
I '11 take the better care, but if you will not, 
The hazard therefore due fall on me by 
The hands of Romans ! 

A rv. So say I : amen. 

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set 
So slight a valuation, should reserve 
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, 
boys ! 5° 

If in your country wars you chance to die, 
That is my bed too, lads, and there I '11 lie : 
Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their 

blood thinks scorn, 
Till it fly out and show them princes born. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. Britain. The Roman camp. 
Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief. 
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I 

wish'd 
Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones, 
If each of you should take this course, how many 
Must murder wives much better than themselves 
For wrying but a little ! O Pisanio ! 
Every good servant does not all commands : 
No bond but to do just ones. Gods ! if you 
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never 
Had lived to put on this : so had you saved 
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck 10 

Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, 

alack, 
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's 

love, 
To have them fall no more : you some permit 
+To second ills with ills, each elder worse, 
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift. 
But Imogen is your own : do your best wills, 
And make me blest to obey ! I am brought hither 
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
Against my lady's kingdom : 'tis enough 



That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress ; peace ! 
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good 
heavens, 21 

Hear patiently my purpose : I '11 disrobe me 
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself 
As does a Briton peasant : so I '11 fight 
Against the part I come with ; so I '11 die 
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown, 
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
Myself I '11 dedicate. Let me make men know 
More valour in me than my habits show. 30 

Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me ! 
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
The fashion, less without and more within. [Exit. 

Scene II. Field of battle bettvcen tJie British 
and Roman camps. 

Enter, from 07ie side, Lucius, Iachimo, and 
the Roman Army : from the other side, the 
British Army; Leonatus Posthumus fol- 
lozving, like a poor soldier. They inarch over 
and go ont. Then enter again, in skirmish, 
Iachimo and Posthumus : he va?iquisheth 
and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him. 
Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my 
bosom 
Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady, 
The princess of this country, and the air on 't 
Revengingly enfeebles me ; or could this carl, 
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me 
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, 

borne 
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods. 10 

[Exit. 

The battle continues; the Britons./^; Cymbe- 
line is taken: then enter, to his rescue, 
Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 
Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage 
of the ground : 

The lane is guarded : nothing routs us but 

The villany of our fears. 

G ^f. v } Stand, stand, and fight ! 

Re-enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: 

they rescue Cymbeline, and exe7mt. Then 

re-enter Lucius, and Iachimo, with Imogen. 

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save 

thyself;_ 

For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such 

As war were hoodwink'd. 

Iach. 'Tis their fresh supplies. 

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes 

Let's re-inforce, or fly. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the field. 
Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. 
Lord. Camest thou from where they made 

the stand? 
Post. I did : 

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 
Lord. I did. 



Scene hi.] 



CYMBELINE. 



9G9 



Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost, 
But that the heavens fought : the king himself 
Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted, 
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down 9 
Si mic mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was 

damm'd 
Vv^ith dead men hurt behind, and cowards living 
To die with lengthen'd shame. 

Lord. Where was this lane? 

Post. Close by the battle, ditch' d, and wall'd 
with turf; 
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, 
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved 
So long a breeding as his white beard came to, 
In doing this for's country: athwart the lane, 
He, with two striplings — lads more like to run 19 
The country base than to commit such slaughter; 
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
Than those for preservation cased, or shame, — 
Made good the passage; cried to those that fled, 
'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men : 
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand ; 
Or we are Romans and will give you that 
Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may 

save, 
But to look back in frown : stand, stand. ' These 

three, 
Three thousand confident, in aift as many — 
For three performers are the file when all 30 

The rest do nothing — with this word 'Stand, 

stand,' 
Accommodated by the place, more charming 
With their own nobleness, which could have 

turn'd 
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, 
Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, 

turn'd coward 
But by example — O, a sin in war, 
Damn'd in the first beginners ! — gan to look 
The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon 40 

A rout, confusion thick ; forthwith they fly 
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; 

slaves, 
The strides they vidtors made : and now our 

cowards, 
Like fragments in hard voyages, became 
The life o' the need: having found the back-door 

open 
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they 

wound ! 
Some slain before; some dying; some their friends 
O'er-borne i' the former wave : ten, chased by one, 
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty: 
Those that would die or ere resist arc grown 50 
The mortal bugs o' the field. 

Lord. This was strange chance : 

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. 

Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made 
Rather to wonder at the things you hear 
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, 
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one : 
' Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' 



Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 

Post. 'Lack, to what end? 

Who dares not stand his foe, I '11 be his friend ; 60 
For if he'll do as he is made to do, 
I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
You have put me into rhyme. 

Lord. Farewell; you're angry. 

Post. Still going? [Exit Lord.] This is a 
lord ! O noble misery, 
To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me ! 
To-day how many would have given their honours 
To have saved their carcases ! took heel to do't, 
And yet died ton ! I, in mine own woe charm'd, 
Could not find death where I did hear him groan, 
Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly 
monster, 70 

'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we 
That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will 

find him : 
For being now a favourer to the Briton, 
No more a Briton, I have resumed again 
The part I came in : fight I will no more, 
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall 
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death ; 
On either side I come to spend my breath ; 81 
Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again, 
But end it by some means for Imogen. 

Enter tzvo British Captains and Soldiers. 
First Cap. Great Jupiter be praised ! Lucius 
is taken. 
'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. 
Sec. Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly 
habit, 
That gave the affront with them. 

First Cap. So 'tis reported : 

But none of 'em can be found. Stand ! who 's 
there ? 
Post. A Roman, 
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
Had answer'd him. 

Sec. Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog ! 91 

A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 
What crows have peck'd them here. He brags 

his service 
As if he were of note: bring him to the king. 

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Ar- 
viragus, Pisanio, Soldiers, Attendants, and 
Roman Captives. The Captains//v.sv;// PoST- 
humus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over 
to a Gaoler : then exeunt omnes. 

Scene IV. A British prison. 
Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers. 
First Gaol. You shall not now be stol'n, you 
have locks upon you ; 
So graze as you find pasture. 

Sec. Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 

[Exeunt Gaolers. 
Post. Most welcome, bondage ! for thou art 
a way, 
I think, to liberty: yet am I better 
Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had 
rather 



Groan so in perpetuity than be cured 

By the sure physician, death, who is the key 

To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art 

fetter'd 
More than my shanks and wrists : you good gods, 

give me 
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, 10 

Then, free for ever ! Is't enough I am sorry? 
So children temporal fathers do appease ; 
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? 
I cannot do it better than in gyves, 
Desired more than constrain'd : to satisfy, 
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
No stricter render of me than my all. 
I know you are more clement than vile men, 
Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 20 
On their abatement : that's not my desire : 
For Imogen's dear life take mine ; and though 
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it : 
"fween man and man they weigh not every stamp ; 
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake : 
You rather mine, being yours: and so, great 

powers, 
If you will take this audit, take this life, 
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen ! 
I '11 speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps. 

Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, 
Sicilius \,-ExmK-vxis, father to Posthumus, an 
old man, attired like a warrior; leading in 
his hand an a7icient matron, his wife, and 
mother to Posthumus, with music before the7n : 
then, after other music, follow the two young 
Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with wounds 
as tJiey died in the wars. They circle Post- 
humus round, as he lies sleeping. 

Ski. No more, thou thunder-master, show 30 

Thy spite on mortal flies : 
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 

That thy adulteries 
Rates and revenges. 
Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 

Whose face I never saw ? 
I died whilst in the womb he stay'd 

Attending nature's law : 
Whose father then, as men report 

Thou orphans' father art, 40 

Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him 

From this earth-vexing smart. 

Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
But took me in my throes ; 
That from me was Posthumus ript, 
Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
A thing of pity ! 

Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
Moulded the stuff so fair, 
That he deserved the praise o' the world, 
As great Sicilius' heir. 51 

First Bro. When once he was mature for man, 

In Britain where was he 
That could stand up his parallel ; 

Or fruitful object be 
In eye of Imogen, that best 

Could deem his dignity? 



Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, 
To be exiled, and thrown 
From Leonati seat, and cast 60 

From her his dearest one, 
Sweet Imogen? 

Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo, 

Slight thing of Italy, 
To taint his nobler heart and brain 

With needless jealousy; 
And to become the geek and scorn 

O' th' other's villany ? 

Sec. Bro. For this from stiller seats we came, 

Our parents and us twain, 70 

That striking in our country's cause 
Fell bravely and were slain, 

Our fealty and Tenantius' right 
With honour to maintain. 

First Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 
To Cymbeline perform'd : 
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, 

Why hast thou thus adjourn' d 
The graces for his merits due, 

Being all to dolours turn'd? 80 

Sici. Thy crystal window ope ; look out ; 
No longer exercise 
Upon a valiant race thy harsh 
And potent injuries. 

Mcth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 

Take off his miseries. 
Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion ; help ; 

Or we poor ghosts will cry 
To the shining synod of the rest 

Against thy deity. 90 

Both Bro. Help, Jupiter ; or we appeal, 
And from thy justice fly. 

Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, 
sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunder- 
bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. 

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, 

Offend our hearing ; hush ! How dare you 
ghosts 
Accuse the thunderer. whose bolt, you know, 

Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts? 
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest 

Upon your never- withering banks of flowers : 
Be not with mortal accidents opprest ; 

No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours. 100 
Whom best I love I cross ; to make my gift, 

The more delay'd, delighted. Be content ; 
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift : 

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. 
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 

Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade. 
He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 

And happier much by his affliction made. 
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein 

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine : no 
And so, away : no further with your din 

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. 

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline/ 

[Ascends. 

Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath 
Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 



Scene iv.] 



CYMBELINE. 



97' 



Stoop'd, as to foot us : his ascension is 
More sweet than our blest fields : his royal bird 
Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak, 
As when his god is pleased. 

All. Thanks, Jupiter ! 

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is 
enter'd 120 

His radiant roof. Away ! and, to be blest, 
Let us with care perform his great behest. 

[The Ghosts vanish. 
Post. [ Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grand- 
sire, and begot 
A father to me ; and thou hast created 
A mother and two brothers : but, O scorn ! 
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were 

born: 
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend 
On greatness' favour dream as I have done, 
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve : 
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 130 
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am 1, 
That huve this golden chance and know not why. 
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O 

rare one ! 
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment 
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects 
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, 
As good as promise. 

[Reads] ' When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced 
by a piece of tender air ; and when from a stately 
cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being 
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed 
to the old stock and freshly grow ; then shall 
Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate 
and flourish in peace and plenty.' 
Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen 
Tongue and brain not ; either both or nothing ; 
Or senseless speaking or a speaking such 
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, 
The action of my life is like it, which 150 

I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 

Re-enter First Gaoler. 

First Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for 
death? 

Post. Over-roasted rather ; ready long ago. 

First Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir: if you 
be ready for that, you are well cooked. 

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the 
spectators, the dish pays the shot. 

First Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. 
But the comfort is, you shall be called to no 
more payments, fear no more tavern-bills ; which 
are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring 
of mirth: you come in faint for want of meat, 
depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that 
you have paid too much, and sorry that you are 
paid too much ; purse and brain both empty ; 
the brain the heavier for being too light, the 
purse too light, being drawn of heaviness : of 
this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, 
the charity of a penny cord ! it sums up thou- 
sands in a trice : you have no true debitor and 
creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, 
the discharge : your neck, sir, is pen, book and 
counters; so the acquittance follows. 

Post. I am merrier to die than thou art 
to live. 



First Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels 
not the tooth-ache : but a man that were to sleep 
your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, 
I think he would change places with his officer; 
for, look you, sir, you know not which way you 
shall go. 

Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. 

First Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head 
then ; I have not seen him so pictured : you 
must either be directed by some that take upon 
them to know, or do take upon yourself that 
which I am sure you do not know, or jump the 
after inquiry on your own peril: and how you 
shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll 
never return to tell one. 191 

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want 
eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such 
as wink and will not use them. 

First Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, 
that a man should have the best use of eyes to 
see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's 
the way of winking. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your 
prisoner to the king. 200 

Post. Thou bring'st good news ; I am called 
to be made free. 

First Gaol. I '11 be hang'd then. 

Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler ; 
no bolts for the dead. 

[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. 

First Gaol. Unless a man would marry a 
gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw 
one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are 
verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a 
Roman : and there be some of them too that die 
against their wills; so should I, if I were one. 
I would we were all of one mind, and one mind 
good ; O, there were desolation of gaolers and 
gallowses! I speak against my present profit, 
but my wish hath a preferment in 't. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Cymbeline's tent. 

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Gliueriis, Ar- 
viragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and At- 
tendants. 

Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods 
have made 

Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart 

That the poor soldier that so richly fought, 

Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked 
breast 

Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found : 

He shall be happy that can find him, if 

Our grace can make him so. 
Bet. I never saw 

Such noble fury in so poor a thing : 

Such precious deeds in one that promised nought 

But beggary and poor looks. 

Cym. No tidings of him? 10 

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead 
and living. 

But no trace of him. 

Cym. To mv grief, I am 

The heir of his reward ; | To Belarius, Guidcrius, 
and Arzriragus] which I will add 

To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain. 



972 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act v. 



By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time 
To ask of whence you are. Report it. 

Bel. Sir, 

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
Further to boast were neither true nor modest. 
Unless I add, we are honest. 

Cym. Bow your knees. 

Arise my knights o' the battle : I create you 20 
Companions to our person and will fit you 
With dignities becoming your estates. 

Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 

There's business in these faces. Why so sadly 
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, 
And not o' the court of Britain. 

Cor. Hail, great king ! 

To sour your happiness, I must report 
The queen is dead. 

Cym. Who worse than a physician 

Would this report become? But I consider, 
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? 30 

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life, 
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 
I will report, so please you : these her women 
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks 
Were present when she finish'd. 

Cym. Prithee, say. 

Cor. First, she confess'd she never loved you, 
only 
Affected greatness got by you, not you : 
Married your royalty, was wife to your place ; 
Abhorr'd your person. 

Cym. She alone knew this; 40 

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand 
to love 
With such integrity, she did confess 
Was as a scorpion to her sight ; whose life, 
But that her flight prevented it, she had 
Ta'en off by poison. 

Cym. O most delicate fiend ! 

Who is't can read a woman? Is there more? 

Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess 
she had 
For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took, 50 
Should by the minute feed on life and lingering 
By inches waste you: in which time she pur- 
posed, 
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
O'ercome you with her show, and in time, 
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work 
Her son into the adoption of the crown : 
But, failing of her end by his strange absence, 
Grew shameless-desperate ; open'd, in despite 
Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented 
The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; so 60 
Despairing died. 

Cym. Heard you all this, her women ? 

First Lady. We did, so please your highness. 

Cym. Mine eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 
Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart, 
That thought her like her seeming; it had been 

vicious 
To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter ! 



That it was folly in me, thou mayst say, 

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! 

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and 

other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus 

behind, and Imogen. 
Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 69 
The Britons have razed out, though with the loss 
Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made 

suit 
That their good souls may be appeased with 

slaughter 
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted : 
So think of your estate. 

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day 
Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us, 
We should not, when the blood was cool, have 

threaten'd 
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
May be call'd ransom, let it come : sufficeth 80 
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer : 
Augustus lives to think on't: and so much 
For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
I will entreat ; my boy, a Briton born, 
Let him be ransom'd : never master had 
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
So tender over his occasions, true, 
So feat, so nurse-like : let his virtue join 
With my request, which I'll make bold your 

highness 
Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm, 90 
Though he have served a Roman : save him, sir, 
And spare no blood beside. 

Cym. I have surely seen him : 

His favour is familiar to me. Boy, 
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
fAnd art mine own. I know not why, wherefore, 
To say ' live, boy : ' ne'er thank thy master ; live : 
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, 
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I '11 give it ; 
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
The noblest ta'en. 

Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 100 

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ; 
And yet I know thou wilt. 

Imo. No, no : alack, 

There's other work in hand : I see a thing 
Bitter to me as death : your life, good master, 
Must shuffle for itself. 

Luc. The boy disdains me, 

He leaves me, scorns me : briefly die their joys 
That place them on the truth of girls and boys. 
Why stands he so perplex'd? 

Cym. What wouldst thou, boy? 

I love thee more and more : think more and more 

What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st 

on? speak, no 

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? 

Imo. He is a Roman ; no more kin to me 
Than I to your highness; who, being born your 

vassal. 
Am something nearer. 

Cym. Wherefore eyest him so? 

Imo. I '11 tell you, sir, in private, if you please 
To give me hearing. 

Cym. Ay, with all my heart, 

And lend my best attention. What's thy name? 

Imo. Fidele, sir. 






Scene v.] 



CYMBELINE. 



973 



Cyni. Thou'rt my good youth, my page ; 

I '11 be thy master : walk with me ; speak freely. 

[Cymbcline and Imogen converse apart. 

Bel. Is not this boy revived from death ? 

Arv. One sand another 120 

Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad 
Who died, and was Fidele. What think you? 

Gui. The same dead thing alive. 

Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes us 
not; forbear; 
Creatures may be alike: wcre't he, I am sure 
He would have spoke to us. 

Gui. But we saw him dead. 

Bel. Be silent ; let 's see further. 

Pis. [Aside] It is my mistress: 

Since she is living, let the time run on 
To good or bad. 

[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. 

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 

Make thy demand aloud. [To Iachimd\ Sir, 
step you forth ; 13° 

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; 
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, 
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to 
him. 

Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may 
render 
Of whom he had this ring. 

Post. [Aside] What's that to him? 

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say 
How came it yours? 

lack. Thou 'It torture me to leave unspoken 
that 
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 

Cym. How! mc? 140 

lack. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that 
Which torments me to conceal. By villany 
I got this ring : 'twas Leonatus' jewel ; 
Whom thou didst banish ; and — which more may 

grieve thee, 
As it doth me — a nobler sir ne'er lived 
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, 
my lord? 

Cym. All that belongs to this. 

lack. That paragon, thy daughter, — 

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false 

spirits 
Quail to remember — Give me leave; I faint. 

Cym. My daughter ! what of her? Renew 

thy strength : 150 

T had rather thou shouldst live while nature will 

Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and speak. 

lack. Upon a time, — unhappy was the clock 
That struck the hour! — it was in Rome, — ac- 
cursed 
The mansion where !— 'twas at a feast,— O, would 
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least 
Those which I heaved to head ! — the good Post- 
humus — 
What should I say? he was too good to he 
Where ill men were ; and was the best of all 
Amongst the rarest of good ones, — sitting sadly, 
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 161 

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming 
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, 
Postures beyond brief nature, for condition, 
A shpp of all the qualities that man 



Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving, 
Fairness which strikes the eye — 

Cym. I stand on fire : 

Come to the matter. 

lack. All too soon I shall. 

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Post- 
humus, 170 
Most like a noble lord in love and one 
That had a royal lover, took his hint ; 
And, not dispraising whom we praised, — therein 
He was as calm as virtue — he began 
His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue being 

made, 
And then a mind put in't, either our brags 
Were crack'd of kitchen-trulls, or his description 
Proved us unspeaking sots. 

Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 

lack. Your daughter's chastity — there it begins. 
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, 180 
And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch, 
Made scruple of his praise ; and wager' d with him 
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore 
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
In suit the place of 's bed and win this ring 
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, 
No lesser of her honour confident 
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; 
And would so, had it been a carbuncle 1C9 

Of Phcebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it 
Been all the worth of 's car. Away to Britain 
Post I in this design : well may you, sir, 
Remember me at court ; where I was taught 
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus 

quench'd 
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent: 
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, 
That I return'd with simular proof enough 200 
To make the noble Leonatus mad, 
By wounding his belief in her renown 
With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes 
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, — 

cunning, how I got it ! — nay, some marks 
Of secret on her person, that he could not 
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 

1 having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon — 
Mcthinks, I sec him now — 

Post. [Advancing] Ay, so thou dost, 

Italian fiend ! Ay me, most credulous fool, 210 
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
That's due to all the villains past, in being, 
To come ! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 
Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, send out 
For torturers ingenious : it is I 
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend 
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
That kill'd thy daughter: — villain-like. I lie- 
That caused a lesser villain than myself, 
A sacrilegious thief, to do 't : the temple 220 

Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain 
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and 
Be villany less than 'twas ! O Imogen ! 
My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen, 
Imogen, Imogen ! 

Imo. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear — 



974 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act v. 



Post. Shall 's have a play of this ? Thou scorn- 
ful page, 
There lie thy part. [Striking her: she fails. 

Pis. O, gentlemen, help ! 229 

Mine and your mistress ! O, my lord Posthumus ! 
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help ! 
Mine honour'd lady ! 

Cym. Does the world go round ? 

Post. How come these staggers on me ? 

Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 

Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to 
strike me 
To death with mortal joy. 

Pis. How fares my mistress ? 

lino. O, get thee from my sight ; 
Thou gavest me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! 
Breathe not where princes are. 

Cym. The tune of Imogen ! 

Pis. Lady, 
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 240 
That box I gave you was not thought by me 
A precious thing : I had it from the queen. 

Cym. New matter still ? 

I mo. It poison' d me. 

Cor. O gods ! 

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, 
Which must approve thee honest : ' If Pisanio 
Have ' said she 'given his mistress that confection 
Which I gave him for cordial, she is served 
As I would serve a rat.' 

Cym. What's this, Cornelius? 

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importuned me 
To temper poisons for her, still pretending 250 
The satisfaction of her knowledge only 
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, 
Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
Was of more danger, did compound for her 
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 
The present power of life, but in short time 
All offices of nature should again 
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it? 

I mo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 

Bel. My boys, 

There was our error. 

Grci. This is, sure, Fidele. 260 

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady 
from you ? 
t Think that you are upon a rock ; and now 
Throw me again. [Embracing him. 

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 

Till the tree die ! 

Cym. How now, my flesh, my child ! 

What, makest thou me a dullard in this act;? 
Wilt thou not speak to me ? 

Imo. [Kneeling'] Your blessing, sir. 

Bel. [To Guiderius and Arviragus] Though 
you did love this youth, I blame ye not ; 
You had a motive for't. 

Cym. My tears that fall 

Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
Thy mother's dead. 

Imo. I am sorry for 't, my lord. 270 

Cym. O, she was naught ; and long of her it 
was 
That we meet here so strangely : but her son 
Is gone, we know not how nor where. 

Pis. My lord, 

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord 
Cloten, 



Upon my lady's missing, came to me 

With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and 

swore, 
If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 
It was my instant death. By accident, 
I had a feigned letter of my master's 
Then in my pocket ; which directed him 2S0 

To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, 
Which he enforced from me, away he posts 
With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate 
My lady's honour : what became of him 
I further know not. 

Gui. Let me end the story: 

I slew him there. 

Cym. Marry, the gods forfend ! 

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips . 
Pluck a hard sentence : prithee, valiant youth, 
Deny't again. 

Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. 290 

Cym. He was a prince. 

Gui. A most incivil one : the wrongs he did me 
Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
If it could so roar to me : I cut off 's head ; 
And am right glad he is not standing here 
To tell this tale of mine. 

Cym. I am sorry for thee : 

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and 

must 
Endure our law : thou'rt dead. 

Imo. That headless man 

I thought had been my lord. 

Cym. Bind the offender, 300 

And take him from our presence. 

Bel. Stajr, sir king : 

This man is better than the man he slew, 
As well descended as thyself; and hath 
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens 
Had ever scar for. [To the Guard] Let his arms 

alone ; 
They were not born for bondage. 

Cym. Why, old soldier, 

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, 
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent 
As good as we ? 

Arv. In that he spake too far. 

Cym. And thou shalt die for't. 

Bel. We will die all three : 310 

But I will prove that two on's are as good 
As I have given out him. My sons, I must, 
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, 
Though, haply, well for you. 

Arv. Your danger's ours. 

Gui. And our good his. 

Bel. Have at it then, by leave. 

Thou hadst, great king, a subject who 
Was call'd Belarius. 

Cym. What of him ? he is 

A banish'd traitor. 

Bel. He it is that hath 

Assumed this age ; indeed a banish'd man ; 
I know not how a traitor. 

Cym. Take him hence: 320 

The whole world shall not save him. 

Bel. Not too hot : 

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons ; 
And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
As I have received it. 



Scene v.] 



CYMHELINE. 



r >~- 



Cym. Nursing of my sons ! 

Bel. I am too blunt and saucy: here's my 
knee: 
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons ; 
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 
\ These two young gentlemen, that call me father 
1 And think they are my sons, are none of mine ; 
| They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 330 
j And blood of your begetting. 

Cym. How ! my issue ! 

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old 
Morgan, 
J Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : 
I Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punish- 
ment 
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd 
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes — 
1 For such and so they are — these twenty years 
j Have I train'd up : those arts they have as I 

Could put into them ; my breeding was, sir, as 339 
i Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
j Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
j Upon my banishment: I moved her to 't, 
j Having received the punishment before, 

For that which I did then : beaten for loyalty 
\ Excited me to treason : their dear loss, 
1 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped 
i Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, 

Here are your sons again ; and I must lose 
! Two of the sweet'st companions in the world. 
! The benediction of these covering heavens 350 
Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are worthy 
j To inlay heaven with stars. 

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 

; The service that you three have done is more 
' Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children : 
If these be they, I know not how to wish 
A pair of worthier sons. 

Bel. Be pleased awhile. 

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius : 
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 359 

Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was Iapp'd 
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
Of his queen mother, which for more probation 
I can with ease produce. 

Cym. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ; 
It was a mark of wonder. 

Bel. This is he ; 

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: 
It was wise nature's end in the donation, 
To be his evidence now. 

Cym. O, what, am I 



A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mothe 



■:yn 



Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be, 
That, after this strange starting from your orbs, 
You may reign in them now ! O Imogen, 
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 

I mo. No, my lord ; 

I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers, 
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter 
But I am truest speaker : you call'd me brother, 
When I was but your sister ; I you brothers, 
When ye were so indeed. 

Cym. Did you e'er meet? 

A rv. Ay, my good lord. 

Gui. And at first meeting loved ; 

Continued so, until we thought he died. 380 



Cot: By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 

Cym. O rare instinct! 

When shall I hear all through? This fierce 

abridgement 
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived 

you? 
And when came you to serve our Roman captive? 
How parted with your brothers? how first met 

them? 
Why fled you from the court? and whither? 

These, 
And your three motives to the battle, with 
I know not how much more, should be demanded ; 
And all the other by-dependencies, 390 

From chance to chance: but nor the time nor 

place 
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See, 
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen, 
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting 
Each object with a joy : the counterchange 
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, 
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. 
[To Belarius} Thou art my brother; so we'll 
hold thee ever. 

Into. You are my father too, and did relieve 
me, . 400 

To see this gracious season. 

Cym. All o'erjoy'd, 

Save these in bonds : let them be joyful too, 
For they shall taste our comfort. 

Imo. My good master, 

I will yet do you service. 

Luc. Happy be you ! 

Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought. 
He would have well becomed this place, and 

graced 
The thankings of a king. 

Post. I am, sir, 

The soldier that did company these three 
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for 
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, 410 
Speak, Iachimo : I had you down and might 
Have made you finish. 

lack. \Kneeling\ I am down again : 
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee. 
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech 

you, 
Which I so often owe : but your ring first ; 
And here the bracelet of the truest princess 
That ever swore her faith. 

Post. Kneel not to me : 

The power that I have on you is to spare you ; 
The malice towards you to forgive you : live, 
And deal with others better. 

Cym. Nobly doom'd ! 420 

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; 
Pardon 's the word to all. 

Arv. You holp us, sir. 

As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; 
Joy'd are we that you are. 

Post. Your servant, princes. Good my lord 
of Rome, 
Call forth your soothsayer : as I slept, methought 
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, 
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found 
This label on my bosom ; whose containing 430 



976 



CYMBELINE. 



[Aci 



Is so from sense in hardness, that I can 
Make no collection of it: let him show 
His skill in the construction. 

L7ic. Philarmonus! 

Sooth. Here, my good lord. 

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 

Sooth. [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, 
to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be 
embraced by a piece of tender air; and when 
from a. stately cedar shall be lopped branches, 
which, being dead many years, shall after revive, 
be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow ; 
then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be 
fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.' 
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp ; 
The fit and apt construction of thy name, 
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. 
[To Cymbeline] The piece of tender air, thy 

virtuous daughter, 
Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer' 
W T e term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine 
Is this most constant wife ; who, even now, 
Answering the letter of the oracle, > 450 

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about 
With this most tender air. 

Cym. This hath some seeming. 

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 
Personates thee : and thy lopp'd branches point 
Thy two sons forth ; who, by Belarius stol'n, 
For many years thought dead, are now revived, 
To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue 
Promises Britain peace and plenty. 



Cym. W T ell ; 

My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, 
Although the victor, we submit to Cassar, 460 
And to the Roman empire ; promising 
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen ; 
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers, 
Have laid most heavy hand. 

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do 
tune 
The harmony of this peace. The vision 
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant 
Is full accomplish'd ; for the Roman eagle, 470 
From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
So vanish'd : which foreshow'd our princely eagle, 
The imperial Caesar, should again unite 
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 
Which shines here in the west. 

Cytn. Laud we the gods ; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their 

nostrils 
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace 
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let 
A Roman and a British ensign wave 480 

Friendly together : so through Lud's-town march : 
And in the temple of great Jupiter 
Our peace we'll ratify ; seal it with feasts. 
Set on there ! Never was a war did cease, 
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. 

[Exeunt. 



PERICLES. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Antiochus, king of Anti'och. 
Pericles, prince of Tyre. 
Hel.canus, I two i ordsofTyre . 

ESCANES, > ~ 

Simonides, king of Pentapolis. 
Cleon, governor of Tarsus. 
LySIMACKUS, governor of Mytilene. 
Cerimon, a lord of Ephesus. 
Thaliard, a lord of Antioch. 
Philemon, servant to Cerimon. 
Leonine, servant to Dionyza. 
Marshal. 
A Pandar. 
Boult, his servant. 



ACT I. 

Enter Gower. 
Before the palace of Antioch. 
To sing a song that old was sung, 
From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
Assuming man's infirmities, 
To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 
It hath been sung at festivals, 
On ember-eves and holy-ales ; 
And lords and ladies in their lives 
Have read it for restoratives: 
The purchase is to make men glorious ; 
Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius. 
If you, born in these latter times, 
When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 
And that to hear an old man sing 
May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
I life would wish, and that I might 
Waste it for you, like taper-light. 
This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great 
Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat; 
The fairest in all Syria, 
1 tell you what mine authors say : 
This king unto him took a fere, 
Who died and left a female heir, 
So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 
As heaven had lent her all his grace ; 
With whom the father liking took, 
And her to incest did provoke : 
Bad child ; worse father ! to entice his own 
To evil should be done by none : 
But custom what they did begin 
Was with long use account no sin. 
The beauty of this sinful dame 
Made many princes thither frame, 
To seek her as a bed-fellow, 
In marriage-pleasures play-fellow: 
Which to prevent he made a law, 
To keep her still, and men in awe, 
That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 
His riddle told not, lost his life : 



The Daughter of Antiochus. 
Dionyza, wife to Cleon. 
Thaisa, daughter to Simonides. 
Marina, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. 
Lychorida, nurse to Marina. 
A Bawd. 

Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, 
Fishermen, and Messengers. 

Diana. 

Gower, as Chorus. 
Scene: Dispersedly in various countries. 



So for her many a wight did die, 
As yon grim looks do testify. 4° 

What now ensues, to the judgement of your eye 
I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit. 

Scene I. Antioch. A room in the palace. 

Enter Antiochus. Prince Pericles, and 
followers. 

Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large 
received 
The danger of the task you undertake. 

Per. I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul 
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, 
Think death no hazard in this enterprise. 

Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a 
bride, 
For the embracements even of Jove himself: 
At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd, 
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
The senate-house of planets all did sit, 10 

To knit in her their best perfections. 

Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. 

Per. See where she comes, apparell'd like the 
spring, 
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
Her face the book of praises, where is read 
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
Sorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath 
Could never be her mild companion. 
You gods that made me man, and sway in love, 
That have inflamed desire in my breast 20 

To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, 
Or die in the adventure, be my helps, 
As 1 am son and servant to your will, 
To compass such a boundless happiness ! 

Ant. Prince Pericles, — 

Per. That would he son to great Antiochus. 

Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hespcrides, 
With golden fruit, but dangerous to he touch'd ; 
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : 



(2 



Her face, like heaven, entioeth thee to view 30 
Her countless glory, which desert must gain ; 
And which, without desert, because thine eye_ 
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself, 
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, 
Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance 

pale, 
That without covering, save yon field of stars, 
Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; 
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist 
For going on death's net, whom none resist. 40 
Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
My frail mortality to know itself, 
And by those fearful objects to prepare 
This body, like to them, to what I must; 
For death remember'd should be like a mirror, 
Who tells us life 's but breath, to trust it error. 
I '11 make my will then, and, as sick men do 
Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe, 
Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did; 
So I bequeath a happy peace to you 50 

And all good men, as every prince should do; 
My riches to the earth from whence they came ; 
But my unspotted fire of love to you. 

[To the daughter of Antiochus. 
Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus. 
Ant. Scorning advice, read the conclusion, 
then; 
Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed, 
As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. 
Daugh. Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove 
prosperous ! 
Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness ! 60 

Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the lis-ts, 
Nor ask advice of any other thought 
But faithfulness and courage. 

He reads the riddle. 
\ am no viper, yet I feed 
On mother's flesh which did me breed. 
I sought a husband, in which labour 
I found that kindness in a father : 
He's father, son, and husband mild; 
I mother, wife, and yet his child. 
How they may be, and yet in two, 70 

As you will live, resolve it you. 
Sharp phytic is the last : but, O you powers 
That give heaven countless eyes to view men's 

a ts, 
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, _ 
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? 
Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still, 

[ Takes hold of the hafid of the Princess. 
Were not this glorious casket stored with ill : 
But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt; 
For he's no man on whom perfections wait 
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 80 
You are a fair viol,- and your sense the strings ; 
Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music, 
Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to 

hearken ; 
But being play'd upon before your time, 
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime. 
Good sooth, I care not for you. 

Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life. 
For that's an article within our law, 
As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expired : 
Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 90 



Per. Great king, 
Few love to hear the sins they love to act ; 
'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
Who has a book of all that monarchs do, 
He's more secure to keep it shut than shown : 
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind, 
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself; 
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, 
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clea 
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind n 

casts 
Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth 

throng' d 
By man's oppression; and the poor worm dotl 

die for't. 
Kings are earth's gods ; in vice their law 's thei 

will ; 
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill? 
It is enough you know ; and it is fit, 
What being more known grows worse, to smc 

ther it. 

All love the womb that their first being bred, 

Then give my tongue like leave to love my heaot 

Ant. [Aside] Heaven, that I had thy head ! 

he has found the meaning : 
But I will gloze with him. — Young prince of Tyre, 
Though by the tenour of our strict edict, 111 

Your exposition misinterpreting, 
We might proceed to cancel of your days ; 
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise : 
Forty days longer we do respite you ; 
If by which time our secret be undone, 
This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son : 
And until then your entertain shall be 
As doth befit our honour and your worth. 120 

[Exeunt all but Pericles. 
Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin, 
When what is done is like an hypocrite, 
The which is good in nothing but in sight! 
If it be true that I interpret false, 
Then were it certain you were not so bad 
As with foul incest to abuse your soul ; 
Where now you 're both a father and a son, 
By your untimely claspings with your child, 
Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father; 
And she an eater of her mother's flesh, 130 

By the defiling of her parent's bed; 
And both like serpents are, who though they feed 
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
Blush not in actions blacker than the night, 
Will shun no course to keep them from the light. 
One sin, I know, another doth provoke ; 
Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke: 
Poison and treason are the hands of sin, 
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame : 140 
Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, 
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. 

Re-enter Antiochus. 

Ant. He hath found the meaning, for which 
we mean 
To have his head. 

He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin 
In such a loathed manner; 
And therefore instantly this prince must die ; 



Scene l] PERICLES. 



979 



For by his fall my honour must keep high. 
Who attends us there? 

Enter Thaliard. 

Thai. Doth your highness call? 150 

A fit. Thaliard, 
You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes 
Her private actions to your secrecy ; 
And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold ; 
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill 

him: 
It fits thee not to ask the reason why, 
Because we bid it. Say, is it done ? 

Thai. My lord, 

'Tis done. 

Ant. Enough. 160 

Enter a Messenger. 
Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 

Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit. 

Ant. As thou 

Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot 
From a well-experienced archer hits the mark 
His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return 
Unless thou say 'Prince Pericles is dead.' 

Thai. My lord, _ _ ■ 

If I can get him within my pistol's length, 
I '11 make him sure enough: so, farewell to your 
highness. 

Ant. Thaliard, adieu! [Exit Thai.] Till 

Pericles be dead, 170 

My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit. 

Scene II. Tyre. A room in the palace. 

Enter Pericles. 
Per. [To Lords without] Let none disturb 

us. — Why should this change of thoughts, 
The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy, 
Be my so used a guest as not an hour, 
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, 
The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed 

me quiet? 
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes 

shun them, 
And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch, 
Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here : 
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 10 

Then it is thus: the passions of the mind, 
That have their first conception by mis-dread, 
Have after-nourishment and life by care ; 
And what was first but fear what might be done, 
Grows elder now and cares it be not done. 
And so with me: the great Antiochus, 
'Gainst whom I am too little to contend, 
Since he's so great can make his will his act, 
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence ; 
Nor boots it me to say I honour him. 20 

If he suspect I may dishonour him: 
And what may make him blush in being known, 
He '11 stop the course by which it might be known ; 
With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land, 
And with the ostent of war will look so huge, 
Amazement shall drive courage from the state; 
Our men be vanquished ere they do resist, 
And subjects punish' d that ne'er thought offence: 
Which care of them, not pity of myself, 



Who am no more but as the tops of trees, 
Which fence the roots they grow by and defend ! 
them, 30 ' 

Makes both my body pine and soul to languish, 
And punish that before that he would punish. 

Enter Helicanus, with other Lords. 

First Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred 
breast ! 

Sec. Lord. And keep your mind, till you 
return to us, 
Peaceful and comfortable ! 

Hel. Peace, peace, and give experience 
tongue. 
They do abuse the king that flatter him : 
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, 40 
To which that blast gives heat and stronger 

glowing ; 
Whereas reproof, obedient and in order, 
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace, 
He flatters you, makes war upon your lifet 
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please; 
I cannot be much lower than my knees. 

Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares 
o'erlook 
What shipping and what lading's in our haven, 
And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Heli- 
canus, thou 50 
Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks? 

Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 

Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns, 
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face? 

Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, 
from whence 
They have their nourishment? 

Per. Thou know'st I have power 

To take thy life from thee. 

Hel. [Kneeling] I have ground the axe my- 
self; 
Do you but strike the blow. 

Per. Rise, prithee, rise. 

Sit down : thou art no flatterer : 60 

I thank thee for it ; and heaven forbid 
That kings should let their ears hear their faults 

hid! 
Fit counsellor and servant for a prince, 
Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant, 
What wouldst thou have me do? 

Hel. To bear with patience 

Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself. 

Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus, 
That minister'st a potion unto me 
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself. 
Attend me, then : I went to Antioch, 70 

Where as thou know'st, against the face of death, 
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, 
From whence an issue I might propagate, 
tAre arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects. 
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; 
The rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest: 
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou 

know'st this, 
'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss. 
Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled, 80 

Under the covering of a careful night, 
Who seem'd my good protector ; and, being here. 



6:- 



g8o 

Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. 
I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrants' fears 
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years: 
And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth, 
That I should open to the listening air 
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed, 
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, 89 

To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms, 
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him ; 
When all, for mine, if I may call offence, 
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
Which love to all, of which thyself art one, 
Who now reprovest me for it, — 

Hel. Alas, sir! 

Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood 
from my cheeks. 
Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts 
How I might stop this tempest ere it came ; 
And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
I thought it princely chanty to grieve them. 100 

Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me 
leave to speak, 
Freely will I speak, Antiochus you fear, 
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, 
Who either by public war or private treason 
Will take away your life. 
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
Till that his rage and anger be forgot, 
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life. 
Your rule direct to any ; if to me. 109 

Day serves not light more, faithful than I'll be. 

Per. I do not doubt thy faith ; 
But should he wrong my liberties in my absence? 

Hel. We '11 mingle our bloods together in the 
earth, 
From whence we had our being and our birth. 

Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to 
Tarsus 
Intend my travel, where I '11 hear from thee ; 
And by whose letters I'll dispose myself. 
The care I had and have of subjects' good 
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can 
bear it. c 09 

I '11 take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath : 
Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both : 
But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe, 
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince, 
Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the 
palace. 

Efiter Thaliard. 
Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this the court. 
Here must I kill King Pericles ; and if I do it 
not, I am sure to be hanged at home : 'tis dan- 
gerous. Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, 
and had good discretion, that, being bid to ask 
what he would of the king, desired he might 
know none of his secrets: now do I see he had 
some reason for't; for if a king bid a man be a 
villain, he's bound by the indenture of his oath 
to be one. Hush ! here come the lords of Tyre. 

Enter Helicanus and Escanes, with other 
Lords 0/ Tyre. 

Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of 
Tyre, IT 



PERICLES. 



[Act 1. 



Further to question me of your king's departure : 
His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, 
Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel. 

Thai. [Aside] How ! the king gone ! 

Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied, 
Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves, 
He would depart, I'll give some light unto you. 
Being at Antioch 

Thai. [Aside] What from Antioch? 

Hel. Royal Antiochus — on what cause I know 

not— 20 

Took some displeasure at him ; at least he judged 

And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd, 
To show his sorrow, he 'Id correct himself; 
So puts himself unto the shipman's toil, 
With whom each minute threatens life or death. 

Thai. [Aside] Well, I perceive 
I shall not be hang'd now, although I would; 
But since he's gone,t the king's seas must please : 
He 'scaped the land, to perish at the sea. 
I '11 present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre ! 

Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is wel- 
come. 31 

Thai. From him I come 
With message unto princely Pericles ; 
But since my landing I have understood 
Your lord has betook himself to unknown travels, 
My message must return from whence it came. 

Hel. We have no reason to desire it, 
Commended to our master, not to us : 
Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, 
As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 40 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Tarsus. A roo7)i in the Governor 's 
house. 

Enter Cleon, the governor of Tharsus, with 
Dionyza, and others. 

Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
And by relating tales of others' griefs, 
See if 'twill teach us to forget our own? 

Dio. That were to blow at fire in hope to 
quench it ; 
For who digs hills because they do aspire 
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. 

my distressed lord, even such our griefs are ; 
Here they 're but felt, and seen with mischief's 

eyes, 
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 
Cle. O Dionyza, 10 

Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, 
Or can conceal his hunger till he famish? 
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep 
Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep, 
Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them 

louder ; 
That, if heaven slumber while their creatures 

want, 
They may awake their helps to comfort them. 

1 '11 then discourse our woes, felt several years, 
And wanting breath to speak help me with tears. 

Dio. I '11 do my best, sir. 20 

Cle. This Tarsus, o'er which I have the 
government, 
A city on whom plenty held full hand, 
For riches strew'd herself even in the streets : 



Scene iv.] 



PERICLES. 



98, 



Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the 

clouds, 
And strangers ne'er beheld but vvonder'd at ; 
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, 
Like one another's glass to trim them by: 
Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight, 
And not so much to feed on as delight ; 
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, 30 
The name of help grew odious to repeat. 

Dio. O, 'tis too true. 

Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this 
our change, 
These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air, 
Were all too little to content and please, 
Although they gave their creatures in abundance, 
As houses are defiled for want of use, 
They are now starved for want of exercise : 
Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, 
Must have inventions to delight the taste, 40 

Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it : 
Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, 
Thought nought too curious, are ready now 
To eat those little darlings whom they loved. 
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life : 
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; 
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall 
Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
Is not this true? 50 

Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. 

Cle. O, let those cities that of plenty's cup 
And her prosperities so largely taste, 
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! 
The misery of Tarsus may be theirs. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Where's the lord governor? 

Cle. Here. 
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in 

haste, 
For comfort is too far for us to expect. 

Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbour- 
ing shore, 60 
A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 

Cle. I thought as much. 
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir, 
That may succeed as his inheritor ; 
And so in ours: some neighbouring nation, 
Taking advantage of our misery, 
Hath stuff' d these hollow vessels with their power, 
To beat us down, the which are down already; 
And make a conquest of unhappy me, 
Whereas no glory 's got to overcome. 70 

Lord. That's the least fear; for, by the sem- 
blance 
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace, 
And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 

Cle. Thou speak' st like hini's untutor'd to 
repeat : 
Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. 
But bring they what they will and what they can, 
What need we fear? 
The ground's the lowest, and we are half way 

there. 
Go tell their general we attend him here, 
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, 
And what he craves. 81 

Lord. I go, my lord. {Exit. 



Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist ; 
If wars, we are unable to resist. 

Enter Pericles with Attendants. 

Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, 
Let not our ships and number of our men 
Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes. 
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
And seen the desolation of your streets : 
Nor come we to add sorrow to jrour tears, qo j 

But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
And these our ships, you happily may think 
Are like the Trojan horse was stuff d within 
With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, 
Are stored with corn to make your needy bread, 
And give them life whom hunger starved half 
dead. 

A II. The gods of Greece protect you ! 
And we '11 pray for you. 

Per. Arise, I pray you, ri^e : 

We do not look for reverence, but for love. 
And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. 

Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, 101 
Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, 
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils ! 
Till when, — the which I hope shall ne'er be 

seen, — 
Your grace is welcome to our town, and US. 

Per. Which welcome we '11 accept ; feast here 
awhile, 
Until our stars that frown lend us a smile. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT II. 
Enter Gower. 
Genu. Here have you seen a mighty king 
His child, I wis, to incest bring; 
A better prince and benign lord. 
That will prove awful both in deed and word. 
Be quiet then as men should be, 
Till he hath pass'd necessity. 
I'll show you those in troubles reign, 
Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
The good in conversation, 

To whom I give my benison, 10 

Is still at Tarsus, where each man 
Thinks all is writ he speken can ; 
And, to remember what he does, 
Build his statue to make him glorious : 
But tidings to the contrary 
Are brought your eyes; what need speak I? 

Dumb Shi iw. 
Enter at one door PERICLES talking 

Cleon ; all the train with them. Enter at 
another door a Gentleman, with a lei 



Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to 

Cleon; gives the Messenger a reward, and 

knights him. Exit Peril 1 I '.and 
Cleon at another. 

Good Helicanc, that stay'd at home, 

Not to eat honey like a drone 

From others' labours; for though he strive 

To kiilen bad, keep good aKve; ao 

And to fulfil his pru 

Sends word of all that haps in Tyre: 



q32 



PERICLES. 



[Act ii. 



How Thaliard came full bent with sin 
And had intent to murder him ; 
And that in Tarsus was not best 
Longer for him to make his rest. 
He, doing so, put forth to seas, 
Where when men been, there's seldom ease; 
For now the wind begins to blow; 
Thunder above and deeps below 30 

Make such unquiet, that the ship 
Should house him safe is wreck'd and split ; 
And he, good prince, having all lost, 
By waves from coast to coast is tost : 
All perishen of man, of pelf, 
Ne aught escapen but himself; 
Till fortune, tired with doing bad, 
Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
And here he comes. What shall be next, 
Pardon old Gower, — this longs the text. 40 

[Exit. 

Scene I. Peutaftolis. An often ftlace by the 
sea-side. 

Enter Pericles, wet. 
Per. Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of 

heaven ! 
Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you : 
Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me 

breath 
Nothing to think on but ensuing death : 
Let it suffice the greatness of your powers 
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 9 

And having thrown him from your watery grave, 
Here to have death in peace is all he '11 crave. 

Enter three Fishermen. 

First Fish. What, ho, Pilch ! 

Sec. Fish. Ha, come and bring away the nets ! 

First Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say ! 

Third Fish. What say you, master? 

First Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come 
away, or I'll fetch thee with a wanion. 

Third Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of 
the poor men that were cast away before us even 
now. 20 

First Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my 
heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to 
help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce 
help ourselves. 

Third Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much 
when I saw the porpus how he bounced and 
tumbled? they say they're half fish, half flesh: 
a plague on them, they ne'er come but I look to 
be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live 



in the sea. 



30 



First Fish. Why, as men do a-land ; the great 
ones eat up the little ones : I can compare our 
rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale ; a' 
plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before 
him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful : 
such whales have I heard on o' the land, who 
never leave gaping till they've swallowed the 
whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all. 
Per. [Aside] A pretty moral. 39 

Third Fish. But, master, if I had been the 
sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 



Sec. Fish. Why, man? 

Third Fish. Because he should have swal- 
lowed me too : and when I had been in his belly, 
I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, 
that he should never have left, till he cast bells, 
steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the 
good King Simonides were of my mind, — 

Per. [Aside] Simonides! 49 

Third Fish. We would purge the land of these 
drones, that rob the bee of her honey. 
Per. [Aside] How from the finny subject of 
the sea 
These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; 
And from their watery empire recollect 
All that may men approve or men detect ! 
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 

Sec. Fish. Honest! good fellow, what's that? 
If it be a day fits you, fsearch out of the calendar, 
and nobody look after it. 
Per. May see the sea hath cast upon your 
coast. 60 

Sec. Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea 
to cast thee in our way ! 
Per. A man whom both the waters and the 
wind, 
In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball 
For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
He asks of you, that never used to beg 

First Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? Here 's 

them in our country of Greece gets more with 

begging than we can do with working. 

Sec. Fish Canst thou catch any fishes, then? 

Per. I never practised it. 71 

Sec. Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure ; 

for here's nothing to be got now-a-days, unless 

thou canst fish for't. 

Per. What I have been I have forgot to know ; 
But what I am, want teaches me to think on : 
A man throng' d up with cold: my veins are chill, 
And have no more of life than may suffice 
To give my tongue that heat to ask your help ; 
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, 80 
For that I am a man, pray see me buried. 

First Fish. Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid ! 
I have a gown here ; come, put it on ; keep thee 
warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, 
thou shalt go home, and we'll have flesh for 
holidays, fish for fasting-days, and moreo'er pud- 
dings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome. 
Per. I thank you, sir. 

Sec. Fish. Hark you, my friend ; you said you 
could not beg. 90 

Per. I did but crave. 

Sec. Fish. But crave ! Then I '11 turn craver 
too, and so I shall 'scape whipping. 
Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, 

then? 
Sec. Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all ; for 
if all your beggars were whipped, I would wish 
no better office than to be beadle. But, master, 
I '11 go draw up the net. 

[Exit with Third Fisherman. 
Per. [Aside] How well this honest mirth 

_ becomes their labour ! 
First Fish. Hark you, sir, do you know where 
ye are? 101 

Per. Not well. 

First Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is called 
Pentapolis, and our king the good Simonides. 



Scene i.] 



PERICLES. 



983 I 



Per. The good King Simonides, do you call 
him? 

First Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves so to be 
calledfor his peaceable reign and good government. 

Per. Ke is a happy king, since he gains from 
his 'subjects the name of good by his government. 
How far is his court distant from this shore? 111 

First Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey : 
and I '11 tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to- 
morrow is her birth-day ; and there are princes 
and knights come from all parts of the world to 
just and tourney for her love. 

Per. Were my fortunes equal to my desires, 
I could wish to make one there. 

First Fish. O, sir, things must be as they 
may ; and what a man cannot get, he may law- 
fully deal for — this wife's soul. 121 

Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing 
np a net. 

Sec. Fish. Help, master, help! here's a fish 
hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the 
law; 'twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on't, 'tis 
come at last, and 'tis turned to a rusty armour. 

Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me 
see it. 
Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses, 
Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself; 
And though it was mine own, part of my heritage, 
Which my dead father did bequeath to me, 130 
With this strict charge, even as he left his life, 
'Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield 
'Twixt me and death;' — and pointed to this 

brace ; — 
' For that it saved me, keep it ; in like necessity — 
The which the gods protect thee from ! — may 

defend thee.' 
It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it; 
Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 
Took it in rage, though calm'd have given 't again : 
I thank thee for't: my shipwreck now's no ill, 
Since I have here my father's gift in's will. 140 

First Fish. What mean you, sir? 

Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of 
worth, 
For it was sometime target to a king ; 
I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly, 
And for his sake I wish the having of it; 
And that you 'Id guide me to your sovereign's 

court, 
Where with it I may appear a gentleman ; 
And if that ever my low fortune's better, 
I'll pay your bounties ; till then rest your debtor. 

First Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady ? 

Per. I '11 show the virtue I have borne in arms. 

First Fish. Why, do 'e take it, and the gods 
give thee good on't! 

Sec. Fish. Ay, but harkyou, my friend ; 'twas 
we that made up this garment through the rough 
seams of the waters : there are certain condole- 
ments, certain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, 
you'll remember from whence you had it. 

Per. Believe t, I will. 
By your furtherance I am clothed in steel; 160 
And, spite of all the rapture of the sea, 
This jewel holds his building on my arm : 
Unto thy value I will mount myself 
Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. 



Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
Of a pair of bases. 

Sec. Fish. We'll sure provide: thou shalt 
have my best gown to make thee a pair; and I '11 
bring thee to the court myself. l?0 

Po: Then honour be but ■> g ia] to my will. 
This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill. | 

Scene II. The same. A public way or plat- 
form leading to the lists. A pavilu 
side of it for the reception of the Ki •. 

Lords, &>c. 

Efiter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords. ,1 
tendants. 
Sir*. Are the knights ready to begin the 

triumph? 
First Lord. They are, my liege ; 
And stay your coming to present themselves 
Sim. Return them, we are ready; and our 
daughter, 
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, 
Sits here, like beauty's chill, whom nature gat 
For men to see, and seeing wonder at. 

[Exit a Lord 
Thai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to 
express 
My commendations great, whose merit's less. 

Sun. It 's fit it should be so; for princes are 10 
A model, which heaven makes like to itself: 
As jewels lose their glory if neglected, 
So princes their renowns if not respected. 
'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain 
The labour of each knight in his device. 

Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll 
perform. 

Enter a Knight; he passes over, and his Squire 
presents his shield to the Princess. 
Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 
Thai. A knight of Sparta, my rem rwned father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun : 20 

The word, 'Lux tua vita mihi'. 

Sim. He lovesyouwell that holds his life of you. 
[The Second A' night passes over. 
Who is the second that presents himself? 

Thai. A prince of Macedon. my royal father: 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is an arm'd knight that's conquer'd by a lady ; 
The motto thus, in Spanish, ' Pin por dulzura 
que por fuerza. ' 

( The Third K/:ie Jit passes over. 
Sim. And what's the third! 
Thai. The third of Anti 

And his device, a wreath of chivalry ; 
The word, 'Me pompa provexit apex.' 

[The Fourth Knight pass 
Sim. What is the fourth? 
Thai. A burning torch that's turned upside 
down; 
The word, 'Quod me alit, me extinguit.' 
Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his power ; 
and will, 
Which can as well inflame as it can kill. 

\ /'Jn- Fifth Knight pastel 
Thai. The fifth, an band environed with 1 
Holding out gold that's by the touchstone 
The motto thus. 'Sir spectanda tides.' 



9 8 4 



PERICLES. 



[Act ii. 



[ The Sixth Knight, Pericles, passes over. 
Sim. And what's 
The sixth and last, the which the knight himself 
With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd? 41 

Thai. He seems to be a stranger; but his 
present is 
A wither'd branch, that's only green at top; 
The motto, ' In hac spe vivo'. 

Sim. A pretty moral ; 
From the dejected state wherein he is r 
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 
First Lord. He had need mean better than 
his outward show 
Can any way speak in his just commend ; 
For by his rusty outside he appears 50 

To have practised more the whipstock than the 
lance. 
Sec. Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he 
comes 
To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished. 
Third Lord. And on set purpose let his 
armour rust 
Until this day, to scour it in the dust, 

Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan 
The outward habit by the inward man. 
But stay, the knights are coming : we will with- 
draw 
Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 

[Great shouts within, and all cry 'The mean 
knight !' 

Scene III. The same. A hall of state : a 
banquet prepared. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants, 
and Knights, frofn tilting: 

Sim. Knights, 
To say you're welcome were superfluous. 
To place upon the volume of your deeds, 
As in a title-page, your worth in arms, 
Were more than you expect, or more than's fit, 
Since every worth in show commends itself. 
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : 
You are princes and my guests. 

Thai. But you, my knight and guest; 
To whom this wreath of victory I give, 10 

And crown you king of this day's happiness. 

Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit. 

Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours ; 
And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed, 
To make some good, but others to exceed ; 
And you are her labour'd scholar. Come, queen 

o' the feast, — 
For, daughter, so you are, — here take your place : 
Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 

Knights. We are honour'd much by good 
Simonides. 20 

Sim. Your presence glads our days : honour 
we love ; 
For who hates honour hates the gods above. 

Marshal. Sir, yonder is your place. 

Per. Some other is more fit. 

First Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are 
gentlemen 
That neither in our hearts nor outward eyes 
Envy the great nor do the low despise. 

Per. You are right courteous knights. 

Sim. Sit, sir, sit. 



Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of 
thoughts, 
These cates resist me, she but thought upon. 

Thai. By Juno, that is queen of marriage, 30 
All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury, 
Wishing him my meat. Sure, he's a gallant gen- 
tleman. 

Sim. He's but a country gentleman ; 
Has done no more than other knights have done ; 
Has broken a staff or so ; so let it pass. 

Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 

Per. Yon king's to me like to my father's 
picture, 
Which tells me in that glory once he was ; 
Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, 
And he the sun, for them to reverence ; 40 

None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, 
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy : 
Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the 

night, 
The which hath fire in darkness, none in light ; 
Whereby I see that Time's the king of men, 
He's both their parent, and he is their grave, 
And gives them what he will, not what they crave. 

Sim. What, are you merry, knights? 

Knights. Who can be other in this royal pre- 
sence? 

Sim. Here, with a cup that 's stored unto the 
brim, — 50 

As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips, — 
We drink this health to you. 

Knights. We thank your grace. 

Sim. Yet pause awhile : 
Yon knight doth sit too melancholy, 
As if the entertainment in our court 
Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
Note it not you, Thaisa? 

Thai. What is it 

To me, my father? 

Sim. O, attend, my daughter : 

Princes in this should live like gods above, 
Who freely give to every one that comes 60 

To honour them : 

And princes not doing so are like to gnats, 
Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at. 
Therefore to- make his entrance more sweet, 
Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to 
him. 

Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me 
Unto a stranger knight to be so bold : 
He may my proffer take for an offence, 
Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 

Sim. How ! 70 

Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else. 

Thai. [Aside] Now, by the gods, he could 
not please me better. 

Sim. And furthermore tell him, we desire to 
know of him, 
Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 

Thai. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you. 

Per. I thank him. 

Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 

Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge 
him freely. 

Thai. And further he desires to know of you, 
Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 80 

Per. A gentleman of Tyre ; my name, Peri- 
cles; 
My education been in arts and arms; 



Scene hi.] 



PERICLES. 



985 



Who, looking for adventures in the world, 
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
And after shipwreck driven upon this shore. 
Thai. He thanks your grace ; names himself 
Pericles, 
A gentleman of Tyre, 
Who only by misfortune of the seas 
Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore. 

Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune, 
And will awake him from his melancholy. 91 

Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, 
And waste the time, which looks for other revels. 
Even in your armours, as you are address'd, 
Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
I will not have excuse, with saying this 
Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads, 
Since they love men in arms as well as beds. 

[The Knights dance. 
So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. 
Come, sir ; 100 

Here is a lady that wants breathing too ; 
And I have heard, you knights of Tyre 
Are excellent in making ladies trip ; 
And that their measures are as excellent. 

Per. In those that practise them they are, my 

lord. 
Sim. O, that 's as much as y»u would be denied 
Of your fair courtesy. 

{The Knights and Ladies dance. 
Unclasp,, unclasp : 
Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well, 
[To Per.] But you the best. Pages and lights, to 

conduct 
These knights unto their several lodgings! [To 
Per.] Yours, sir, 110 

We have given order to be next our own. 
Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 
Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love ; 
And that's the mark I know you level at: 
Therefore each one betake him to his rest ; 
To-morrow all for speeding do their best. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Tyre. A room in tlie Governor's 
house. 

Enter Helicanus rt«</EscANES. 

Hel. No, Escanes, know this of me, 
Antiochus from incest lived not free : 
For which, the most high gods not minding longer 
To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, 
Due to this heinous capital offence, 
Even in the height and pride of all his glory, 
When he was seated in a chariot 
Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with him, 
A fire from heaven came and shrivell'd up 
Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk, 
That all those eyes adored them ere their fall n 
Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 

Esca. 'Twas very strange. 

Hel. And yet but justice ; for though 

This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 

Esca. 'Tis very true. 

Enter two or three Lords. 
First Lord. See, not a man in private confer- 
ence 
Or council has respect with him but he. 



Sec. Lord. It shall no longer grieve without 

reproof. 
Third Lord. And cursed be he that will not 
second it. 2 o 

First Lord. Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, 

a word. 
Hel. With me? and welcome : happy day, my 

lords. 
First Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to 
the top, 
And now at length they overflow their banks. 
Hel. Your griefs ! for what ? wrong not your 

prince you love. 
First Lord. Wrong not yourself, then, noble 
Helicane ; 
But if the prince do live, let us salute him. 
Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. 
If in the world he live, we'll seek him out; 
If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there; 30 
And be resolved he lives to govern us, 
Or dead, give 's cause to mourn his funeral, 
And leave us to our free election. 

Sec. Lord. Whose death indeed 's the strongest 
in our censure : 
And knowing this kingdom is without a head, — 
Like goodly buildings left without a roof 
Soon fall to ruin, — your noble self, 
That best know how to rule and how to reign, 
We thus submit unto, — our sovereign. 

All. Live, noble Helicane ! 40 

Hel. For honour's cause, forbear your suf- 
frages : 
If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. 
Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, 
Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. 
A twelvemonth loi.jer, let me entreat you to 
Forbear the absence «.<"your king; 
If in which time expired, he not return, 
I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
But if I cannot win you to this love, 
Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, 50 

And in your search spend your adventurous worth ; 
Whom if you find, and win unto return, 
You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 
First Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will 
not yield ; 
And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us. 
We with our travels will endeavour us. 

Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we '11 clasp 
hands: 
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. Penla/olis. A room in the palace. 

Enter Simon ides, reading a letter, at one door: 
l/w Knights meet him. 
First Knight. Good morrow to the good Si- 

monides. 
Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let 
you know, 
That for this twelvemonth she'll not undertake 
A married life. 

Her reason to herself is only known. 
Which yet from her by DO means can I get. 
Sec. Knight. May we not get access to her, 

my lonl ? 
Sim. 'Faith, by no means; she has so strictly 
tied 



9 S6 



PERICLES. 



[Act ii. 



Her to her chamber, that 'tis impossible. 

One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's 

livery ; 10 

This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd, 
And on her virgin honour will not break it. 

Third Knight. Loath to bid farewell, we take 

our leaves. {Exeunt Knights. 

Sim. So, 
They are well dispatch'd ; now to my daughter's 

letter : 
She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight, 
Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
'Tis well, mistress ; your choice agrees with mine ; 
I like that well : nay, how absolute she's in't, 
Not minding whether I dislike or no ! 20 

Well, I do commend her choice ; 
And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
Soft ! here he comes : I must dissemble it 

Enter Pericles. 

Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 

Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholding 
to you 
For your sweet music this last night : I do 
Protest my, ears were never better fed 
With such delightful pleasing harmony. 

Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend ; 
Not my desert. 

Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 30 

Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good 
lord. 

Sim. Let me ask you one thing : 
What do you think of my daughter, sir? 

Per. A most virtuous princess. 

Sim. And she is fair too, is she not ? 

Per. As a fair day in summer, wondrous fair. 

Sim. Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you ; 
Ay, so well, that you must be her master, 
And she will be your scholar : therefore look to it. 

Per. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster. 40 

Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing 
else. 

Per. [A side] What ' s here ? 
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre ! 
'Tis the king's subtilty to have my life. 
O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, 
A stranger and distressed gentleman, 
That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, 
But bent all offices to honour her. 

Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and 
thou art 
A villain. 5° 

Per. By the gods, I have not : 
Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
Nor never did my actions yet commence 
A deed might gain her love or your displeasure. 

Sim. Traitor, thou liesL 

Per. Traitor ! 

Sim. Ay, traitor. 

Per. Even in his throat — unless it be the king — 
That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 

Sim. [A side] Now, by the gods, I do applaud 
his courage. 

Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, 
That never relish'd of a base descent. 60 

I came unto your court for honour's cause, 
And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
And he that otherwise accounts of me, 



This sword shall prove he's honour's enemy. 

Sim. No? 
Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. 

Enter Thaisa. 

Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
To any syllable that made love to you. 70 

Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, 
Who takes offence at that would make me glad? 

Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory? 
[Aside] I am glad on't with all my heart. — 
I'll tame you ; I'll bring you in subjection. 
Will you, not having my consent, 
Bestow your love and your affections 
Upon a stranger? [Aside] who, for aught I know, 
May be, nor can I think the contrary, 
As great in blood as I myself. — 80 

Therefore hear you, mistress ; either frame 
Your will to mine, — and you, sir, hear you, 
Either be ruled by me, or I will make you — 
Man and wife : 

Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too : 
And being join'd, I '11 thus your hopes destroy ; 
And for a further grief,— God give you joy ! — 
What, are you both pleased ? 

Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 

Per. Even as my life, or blood that fosters it. 

Sim. What, are you both agreed? 90 

Both. Yes, if it please your majesty. 

Sim. It please th me so well, that I will see 
you wed ; 
And then with what haste you can get you to 
bed. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Enter Gowkr. 

Goiv. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout ; 
No din but snores the house about, 
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
Of this most pompous marriage-feast. 
The cat, with eyne of burning coal, 
Now couches fore the mouse's hole ; 
And crickets sing at the oven's mouth. 
E'er the blither for their drouth. 
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, 
Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 10 

A baibe is moulded. Be attent, 
And time that is so briefly spent 
With your fine fancies quaintly eche : 
What's dumb in show I '11 plain with speech. 

Dumb Show. 

Enter, Pericles and Simonides, at one door, 
with Attendants ; a Messenger meets them, 
kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles 
shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. 
Then enter Thaisa with child, with Lycho- 
rida a nurse. The King shows her the letter; 
site rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of 
her father, and depart with Lychorida and 
their Attendants. Then exeutit Simonides 
and the rest. 

By many a dern and painful perch 
Of Pericles the careful search, 



Scene i.] 



PERICLES. 



987 



By the four opposing coigns 

Which the world together joins, 

Is made with all due diligence 

That horse and sail and high expense 2c 

Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre. 

Fame answering the most strange inquire, 

To the court of King Simonides 

Are letters brought, the tenour these : 

Antiochus and his daughter dead; 

The men of Tyrus on the head 

Of Helicanus would set on 

The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 

The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress; 

Says to 'em, if King Pericles 30 

Come not home in twice six moons, 

He, obedient to their dooms, 

Will take the crown. The sum of this, 

Brought hither to Pentapolis, 

Y-ravished the regions round, 

And every one with claps can sound, 

' Our heir-apparent is a king ! 

Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?' 

Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre : 

His queen with child makes her desire — 40 

Which who shall cross? — along to go : 

Omit we all their dole and woe : 

Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 

And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 

On Neptune's billow ; half the flood 

Hath their keel cut : but fortune's mood 

Varies again ; the grisly north 

Disgorges such a tempest forth, 

That, as a duck for life that dives, 

So up and down the poor ship drives: 50 

The lady shrieks, and well-a-near 

Does fall in travail with her fear : 

And what ensues in this fell storm 

Shall for itself itself perform. 

I nill relate, action may 

Conveniently the rest convey; 

Which might not what by me is told. 

In your imagination hold 

This stage the ship, upon whose deck 59 

The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak. [Exit. 

Scene I. 
Eider Pericles, on shipboard. 
Per. Thou god of this great vast, rebuke 
these surges, 
Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, 

that hast 
Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
Having call'd them from the deep ! O, still 
Thy deafening, dreadful thunders ; gently quench 
Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes ! O, how, Ly- 
chorida, 
How does my queen? Thou stormest venom- 
ously ; 
Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's whistle 
Is as a whisper in the ears of death, 
Unheard. Lychorida ! — Lucina, O 10 

Divined patroness, and midwife gentle 
To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs 
Of my queen's travails ! 

Enter Lychorida, with an Infant. 
Now, Lychorida ! 



Lye. 



Here is a thing too young for such 
a place, 

Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I 
Am like to do: take in your arms this piece 
Of your dead queen. 

P*T< . how, Lychorida ! 

Lye. Patience, good sir; do not assist the 
storm. 
Here's all that is left living of your queen, 20 
A little daughter: for the sake of it, 
He manly, and take comfort. 

Per, O you gods! 

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
Ami snatch them straight away? We here below 
Recall not what we give, and therein may 
Use honour with you. 

Lye. Patience, good sir, 

Even for this charge. 

_ Per. Now, mild may be thy life ! 

For a more blustrous birth had never babe : 
Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! for 
Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world 30 
That ever was prince's child. Happy what 

follows ! 
Thou hast as chiding a nativity 
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make. 
To herald thee from the womb: even at the first 
Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit. 
With all thou canst find here. ^Sow, the good 

gods 
Throw their best eyes upon 't ! 

Enter tzuo Sailors. 

First Sail. What courage, sir ? God save you ! 

Per. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw ; 

It halh done to me the worst. Yet, for the love 4 1 

Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, 

I would it would be quiet. 

First Sail. Slack the bolins there ! Thou wilt 
not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself. 

Sec. Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and 
cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not. 

First Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard : 
the sea works high, the wind is loud, and 1 
lie till the ship be cleared of the dead. 
Per. That's your superstition. 50 

First Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it 
hath been still observed . and we are strong in 
custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she 
must overboard straight. 
Per. As you think meet. Most wretched 

queen ! 
Lye. Here she lies sir. 

Per. A terrible childbed hast thou had, my 
dear ; 
No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
Forgot thee utterly : nor have I time 
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but str 
Must cast thee, [find, in the ooze, 

Where, for a monument upon thy bones, 
And e'er-remaining lamps, the belching whale 
And humming water must o*erwhelm thy 1 
Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida, 
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink ami paper, 
My casket and my jewels; and bid Xicander 
Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe 
Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I s.,y 
A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman. 70 
[ l'..x it Lychorida. 



9 83 



PERICLES. 



[Act hi. 



Sec. Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the 
hatches, caulked and bitumed ready. 

Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast 
is this? 

Sec. Sail. We are near Tarsus. 

Per. Thither, gentle mariner, 
Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou 
reach it? 

Sec. Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 

Per. O, make for Tarsus .' 
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
Cannot hold out to Tyrus : there I '11 leave it 80 
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner : 
I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. E/hesus. A room in Cerinwris 
house. 

Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some 
Persons who have been shipwrecked. 

Cer. Philemon, ho !' 

Enter Philemon. 
Phil. Doth my lord call ? 
Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men : 
'T has been a turbulent and stormy night. 

Serv. I have been in many; but such a night 
as this, 
Till now, I ne'er endured. 

Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return ; 
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature 
That can recover him. [To Philemon} Give this 

to the 'pothecary, 
And tell me how it works. 

[Exeunt all but Cerimon. 

Enter two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. Good morrow. 10 

Sec. Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 

Cer. Gentlemen, 

Why do you stir so early? 

First Ge?it. Sir, 
Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, 
Shook as the earth did quake ; 
The very principals did seem to rend, 
And all-to topple : pure surprise and fear 
Made me to quit the house. 

Sec. Gent. That is the cause we trouble you 
so early ; 
'Tis not our husbandry. 

Cer. O, you say well. 20 

First Gent. But I much marvel that your 
lordship, having 
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours 
Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 
'Tis most strange, 

Nature should be so conversant with pain, 
Being thereto not compell'd. 

Cer. I hold it ever, 

Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs 
May the two latter darken and expend; 
But immortality attends the former, 30 

Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever 
Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
By turning o'er authorities, I have, 
Together with my practice, made familiar 
To me and to my aid the blest infusions 



That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; 

And I can speak of the disturbances 

That nature works, and of her cures ; which doth 

give me 
A more content in course of true delight 
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, 40 

Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
To please the fool and death. 
Sec. Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus 

pour'd forth 
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves 
Your creatures, who by you have been restored : 
And not your knowledge, your personal pain, 

but even 
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon 
Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay. 

Enter two or three Servants with a chest. 

First Serv. So ; lift there. 
Cer. What is that? 

First Serv. Sir, even now 

Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest: 50 
'Tis of some wreck. 

Cer. Set 't down, let's look upon't. 

Sec. Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 
Cer. Whate'er it be, 

'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight : 
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold, 
t'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us. 
Sec. Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. 
Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed ! 

Did the sea cast it up? 

First Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, 
As toss'd it upon shore. 

Cer. Wrench it open ; 

Soft ! it smells most sweetly in my sense. 60 

Sec. Gent. A delicate odour. 
Cer. As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it. 
O you most potent gods ! what's here? a corse ! 
First Gent. Most strange ! 
Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and 
entreasured 
With full bags of spices ! A passport too ! 
Apollo, perfect me in the characters ! 

[Reads from a scroll. 
' Here I give to understand, 
If e'er this coffin drive a-land, 
I, King Pericles, have lost 70 

This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
Who finds her, give her burying ; 
She was the daughter of a king : 
Besides this treasure for a fee, 
The gods requite his charity !' 
If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
That even cracks for woe! This chanced to- 
night. 
Sec. Gent. Most likely, sir. 
Cer. Nay, certainly to-night ; 

For look how fresh she looks ! They were too 
rough 79 

That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within: 
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet. 

[Exit a Servant. 
Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
And yet the fire of life kindle again 
The o'erpress'd spirits, fl heard of an Egyptian 
That had nine hours lien dead, 
Who was by good appliance recovered. 



Scene n.] 



PERICLES. 



989 



Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, 
andjire. 

Well said, well said ; the fire and cloths. 
The rough and woeful music that we have, 
Cause it to sound, beseech you. 
The viol once more : how thou stirr'st, thou 
block ! 90 

The music there ! — I pray you, give her air. 
Gentlemen, 

This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth 
Breathes out of her : she hath not been entranced 
Above five hours : see how she gins to blow 
Into life's flower again ! 

First Gent. The heavens, 

Through you, increase our wonder and set up 
Your fame for ever. 

Cer. She is alive ; behold, 

Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
Which Pericles hath lost, 100 

Begin -to part their fringes of bright gold ; 
The diamonds of a most praised water 
Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live, 
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature, 
Rare as you seem to be. [She moves. 

Thai. O dear Diana, 

Where am I? Where's my lord? What world 
is this? 

Sec. Gent. Is not this strange? 

First Gent. Most rare. 

Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbours ! 

Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear 

her. 
Get linen : now this matter must be look'd to, 
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come ; no 

And ^Esculapius guide us ! 

[Exeunt, carrying her away. 

Scene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon's house. 

Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionvza, and Lycho- 
rida with Marina in Iter amis. 

Per. Most honour' d Cleon, I must needs be 
gone ; 
My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands 
In a litigious peace. You, and your lady, 
Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods 
Make up the rest upon you ! 

Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt 
you mortally, 
Yet glance full wanderingly on us. 

Dion. O your sweet queen ! 

That the strict fates had pleased you had brought 

her hither, 
To have bless'd mine eyes with her ! 

Per. We cannot but obey 

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 10 
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, whom. 
For she was born at sea, I have named so, here 
I charge your charity withal, leaving her 
The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
To give her princely training, that she may be 
Manner'd as she is born. 

Cle. Fear not, my lord, but think 

Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
For which the people's prayers still fall upon you. 
Must in your child be thought on. [f neglecnon 
Should therein make me vile, the common body, 



By you relieved, would force me to my duty : 
But if to that my nature need a spur, 
The gods revenge it upon me and mine, 
To the end of generation ! 

Per. I believe you : 

Your honour and your goodness teach me to't, 
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, 
By bright Diana, whom we honour, all 
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
Though I show ill in't. So I take my leave. 30 
Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
In bringing up my child. 

Dion. I have one myself, 

Who shall not be more dear to my respect 
Than yours, my lord. 

Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 

Cle. We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge 
o' the shore, 
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and 
The gentlest winds of heaven. 

Per. I will embrace 

Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears, 
Lychorida, no tears : 

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 40 
You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerintoti's 

house. 

Enter Cerimon rt«</THAiSA. 

Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain 
jewels, 
Lay with you in your coffer: which are now 
At your command. Know you the character? 

Thai. It is my lord's. 
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, 
Even on my eaning time ; but whether there 
Deliver'd, by the holy gods, 
I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles, 
My wedded lord, 1 ne'er shall see again, 
A vestal livery will I take me to, 10 

And never more have joy. 

Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak, 
I liana's temple is not distant far, 
Where you may abide till your date expire. 
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
Shall there attend you. 

Thai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all : 
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Enter Gower. 
Goiv. Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre, 
Welcomed and settled to his own desire. 
His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus, 
Unto Diana there a votaress. 
Now to Marina bend your mind, 
Whom our fast-growing scene must find 
At Tarsus, and by Cleon train'd 
In music, letters; who hath gain'd 
Of education all the grace, 
Which makes her both the heart and place 10 

neral wonder. But, 
That monster envy, oft the wrack 

Marina's life 
Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 



And in this kind hath our Cleon 

One daughter, and a wench full grown, 

Even ripe for marriage-rite ; this maid 

Hight Philoten: and it is said 

For certain in our story, she 

Would ever with Marina be : 20 

Be't when she weaved the sleided silk 

With fingers long, small,, white as milk ; 

Or when she would with sharp needle wound 

The cambric, which she made more sound 

By hurting it ; or when to the lute 

She sung, and made the night-bird mute, 

That still records with moan ; or when 

She would with rich and constant pen 

Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 

This Philoten contends in skill 30 

With absolute Marina : so 

With the dove of Paphos might the crow 

Vie feathers white. • Marina gets 

All praises, which are paid as debts, 

And not as given. This so darks 

In Philoten all graceful marks, 

That Cleon's wife, with envy rare, 

A present murderer does prepare 

For good Marina, that her daughter 

Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 40 

The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 

Lychorida, our nurse, is dead : 

And cursed Dionyza hath 

The pregnant instrument of wrath 

Prest for this blow. The unborn event 

I do commend to your content : 

Only I carry winged time 

Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ; 

Which never could I so convey, 

Unless your thoughts went on my way. 50 

Dionyza does appear, 

With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. 

Scene I. Tarsus. An open place near the 
sea-shore. 

Enter Dionyza and Leonine. 

Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn 
to do't: 
'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. 
Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon, 
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience, 
Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom, 
Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
A soldier to thy purpose. 

Leon. I will do't; but yet she is a goodly 
creature. 9 

Dion. The fitter, then, the gods should have 
her. fHere she comes weeping for her only mis- 
tress' death. Thou art resolved? 

Leon. I am resolved. 

Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers. 
Mar. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed, 
To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, 

blues, 
The purple violets, and marigolds, 
Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave, 
While summer-days do last. Ay me ! poor maid, 
Born in a tempest, when my mother died, 
This world to me is like a lasting storm, 20 

Whirring me from my friends. 



Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep 
alone ? 
How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not 
Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have 
A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour 's changed 
With this unprofitable woe ! 
Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it. 
Walk with Leonine ; the air is quick there, 
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come, 
Leonine, take hex by the arm, walk with her. 30 

Mar. No, I pray you ; 
I '11 not bereave you of your servant. 

Dion. Come, come; 

I love the king your father, and yourself, 
With more than foreign heart. We every day 
Expect him here : when he shall come and And 
Our paragon to all reports thus blasted, 
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ; 
Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken 
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve 40 
That excellent complexion, which did steal 
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ; 
I can go home alone. 

Mar. Well, I will go ; 

But yet I have no desire to it. 

Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. 
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least : 
Remember what I have said. 

Leon. I warrant you, madam. 

Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a 
while : 
Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood : 
What ! I must have a care of you. 

Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. 50 

[Exit Dionyza. 
Is this wind westerly that blows? 

Leon. South-west. 

Mar. When I was born, the wind was north. 

Leon. Was't so? 

Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, 
But cried ' Good seamen ! ' to the sailors, galling 
His kingly hands, haling ropes; 
And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea 
That almost burst the deck. 

Leon. When was this? 

Mar. When I was born : 
Never was waves nor wind more violent ; 60 

And from the ladder-tackle washes off 
A canvas-climber. 'Ha!' says one, 'wilt out?' 
And with a dropping industry they skip 
From stem to stern : the boatswain whistles, and 
The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 

Leon. Come, say your prayers. 

Mar. What mean you? 

Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, 
I grant it: pray; but be not tedious, 
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn 70 
To do my work with haste. 

Mar. Why will you kill me ? 

Leon. To satisfy my lady. 

Mar. Why would she have me kill'd? 
Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
I never did her hurt in all my life : 
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
To any living creature : believe me, la, 
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
I trod upon a worm against my will, 
But I wept for it. How have I offended, 80 



Scene i.] 



PERICLES. 



991 



Wherein my death might yield her any profit, 
Or my life imply her any danger? 

Leon. My commission 
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 

Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I 
hope. 
You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow 
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, 
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought : 
Good sooth, it show'd well in you : do 9 1 
Your lady seeks my life ; come you between, 90 
And save poor me, the weaker. 

Leon. I am sworn, 

And will dispatch. [He seizes her. 

Enter Pirates. 
First Pirate. Hold, villain! 

[Leonine runs away. 
Sec. Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 
Third Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. 
Come, let's have her aboard suddenly. 

[Exeunt Pirates with Marina. 

Re-enter Leonine. 
Leon. These roguing thieves serve the great 
pirate Valdes ; 
And they have seized Marina. Let her go : 
There's no hope she will return. I'll swear she's 

dead, 
And thrown into the sea. But I '11 see further : 100 
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 
Not carry her aboard. If she remain, 
Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel. 
Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Bovlt. 

rand. Boultl 

Boult. Sir? 

Pand. Search the market narrowly ; Mytilene 
is full of gallants. We lost too much money this 
mart by being too wenchless. 

Bawd. We were never so much out of crea- 
tures. We have but poor three, and they can do no 
more than they can do ; and they with continual 
action are even as good as rotten. 9 

Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, what- 
e'er we pay for them. If there be not a con- 
science to be used in every trade, we shall never 
prosper. 

Bawd. Thou sayest true : 'tis not our bringing 
up of poor bastards, — as, I think, I have brought 
up some eleven — 

Bonlt. Ay, to eleven; and brought them down 
again. But shall I search the market? 

Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, 
a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so 
pitifully sodden. 21 

/'and. Thou sayest true ," they're too unwhole- 
some, o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is 
dead, that lay with the little baggage. 

Boult. Ay, she quickly pooped him , she made 
him roast-meat for worms. But I'll go search the 
market. [Exit. 

. Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were 
as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give 
over. - 30 



Bawd. Why to give over, I pray you? is it a 
shame to get when we are old? 

Pand. Oj our credit conns not in like the 
commodity, nor the commodity wages not with 
the clanger: therefore, if in our youths we could 
pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to 
keep our door hatched. Be re terms 

we stand upon with the gods will be strong with 
us for giving over. 39 

Batod. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 

Pand. As well as we ! ay T and better too; we 
offend worse. Neither is our profession any trade ; 
it's no calling. But here comes Boult. 

Re-enter Built, with the Pirates and Marina. 

Boult. [To Marina] Come your ways. My 
masters, you say she's a virgin? 
First Pirate. 0, sir, we doubt it not. 
Boult. Master, I have gone through for this 
piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I have 
lost my earnest. 

Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities? 50 

Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and 
has excellent good clothes: there's no further 
necessity of qualities can make her be refused. 
Bawd. What's her price, Boult '.' 
Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thou- 
sand pieces. 

Pand. Well, follow me, my masters, you shall 
have your money presently. Wife, take her in; 
instruct her what she has to do, that she may not 
be raw in her entertainment. 60 

[Exeunt Pandar and Pirates. 
Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her, the 
colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with 
warrant of her virginity; and cry ' He that will 
give most shall have her first.' Such a maiden- 
head were no cheap thing, if men were as they 
have been. Get this done as I command you. 
Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit. 

Mar. Alack that Leonine was so si 
slow ! 
He should have struck, not spoke ; or that these 

pirates. 
Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown 
me 70 

For to seek my mother ! 

Why lament you, pretty one? 
Mar. That I am pretty. 

■'. Come, the g>ds have done their part 
in you. 

Mar. I accuse them not. 
Bawd. You are light into my hands, where 
you are like to live. 

Mar. The more my fault 

■ his hand-- where I was like to die. 80 
•'. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 
Mar. No. 

Yes, indeed shall you. and t.'. 
of all fashions: you shall fire v. 
shall have the difference of all complexion 
do yu stop your ears? 

Mar. Are you a woman? 

What would you have me be, an I be 
not a woman? 
Mar. An honest woman. man. 90 

Bawd. Marry, whip the ■ think \ 

shall have something to do with you. 



992 



PERICLES. 



[Act iv. 



you're a young foolish sapling, and must be 
bowed as I would have you. 

Mar. The gods defend me ! 

Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by 
men, then men must comfort you, men must feed 
you, men must stir you up. Boult 's returned. 

Re-enter Boult. 

Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market? 

Boult. I have cried her almost to the number 
of her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with my 
voice. 

Baivd. And I prithee tell me, how dost thou 
find the inclination of the people, especially of 
the younger sort ? 

Bo?dt. 'Faith, they listened to me as they 
would have hearkened to their father's testament. 
There was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that 
he went to bed to her very description. 109 

Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow 
with his best ruff on. 

Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do 
you know the French knight that cowers i' the 
hams? 

Bawd. Who, Monsieur Veroles? 

Boult. Ay, he : he offered to cut a caper at 
the proclamation ; but he made a groan at it, and 
swore he would see her to-morrow. 

Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his 
disease hither: here he does but repair it. I know 
he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns 
in the sun. 

Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a tra- 
veller, we should lodge them with this sign. 

Bawd. [To Mar.] Pray you, come hither 
awhile. You have fortunes coining upon you. 
Mark me : you must seem to do that fearfully 
which you commit willingly, despise profit where 
you have most gain. To weep that you live as 
ye do makes pity in your lovers : seldom but that 
pity begets you a good opinion, and that opinion 
a mere profit. 

Mar. I understand you not. 

Boiilt. O, take her home, mistress, take her 
home x these blushes of hers must be quenched 
with some present practice. 

Bawd. Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they 
must; for your bride goes to that with shame 
which is her way to go with warrant. 139 

Boult. 'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, 
mistress, if I have bargained for the joint, — 

Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. 

Boult. I may so. 

Bawd. Who should deny it? Come, young 
one, I like the manner of your garments well. 

Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be 
changed yet. 

Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town: 
report what a sojourner we have; you'll lose 
nothing by custom. When nature framed this 
piece, she meant thee a good turn ; therefore say 
what a paragon she is, and thou hast the harvest 
out of thine own report. 

Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall 
not so awake the beds of eels as my giving out 
her beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. I '11 bring 
home some to-night. 

Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. 



Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters 
deep, 
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 160 

Diana, aid my purpose ! 

Bawd. What have we to do with Diana? Pray 
you, will you go with us? [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon's house. 
Enter Cleon and Dionyza. 

Dion. Why, are you foolish? Can it be un- 
done? 

Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter 
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! 

Dion. I think 

You'll turn a child again. 

Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious 
world, 
I'ld give it to undo the deed. O lady, 
Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
To equal any single crown o' the earth 
I' the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine ! 
Whom thou hast poison'd too : 10 

If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a kindness 
Becoming well thy fact : what canst thou say 
When noble Pericles shall demand his child? 

Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the 
fates, 
To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
She died at night; I'll say so. Who can cross it? 
Unless you play the pious innocent, 
And for an honest attribute cry out 
' She died by foul play. ' 

Cle. O, go to. Well, well, 

Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 20 
Do like this worst. 

Dion. Be one of those that think 

The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence, 
And open this to Pericles. I do shame 
To think of what a noble strain you are, 
And of how coward a spirit. 

Cle. To such proceeding 

Who ever but his approbation added, 
Though not his prime consent, he did not flow 
From honourable sources. 

Dion. Be it so, then : 

Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead, 
Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. 30 

She did distain my child, and stood between 
Her and her fortunes : none would look on her, 
But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; 
Whilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin 
Not worth the time of day. It pierced me 

thorough ; 
And though you call my course unnatural, 
You not your child well loving, yet I find 
It greets me as an enterprise of kindness 
Perform'd to your sole daughter. 

Cle. Heavens forgive it ! 

Dion. And as for Pericles, 40 

What should he say? We wept after her hearse, 
And yet we mourn : her monument 
Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
In glittering golden characters express 
A general praise to her, and care in us 
At whose expense 'tis done. 

Cle. Thou art like the harpy, 

Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face, 
Seize with thine eagle's talons. 



Scene in.] 



PERICLES. 



993 



Dion. You are like one that superstitiously 49 
Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flics : 
But yet I know you '11 do as I advise. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. 

Enter Gower, before the monument ^/Marina 
at Tarsus. 

Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest 

leagues make short ; 
Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't; 
Making, to take your imagination, 
From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
To use one language in each several clime 
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech 

you 
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach 

you, 
The stages of our story. Pericles 
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 10 
Attended on by many a lord and knight, 
To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
Advanced in time to great and high estate, 
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
Old Helicanus goes along behind. 
Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have 

brought 
This king to Tarsus, — think his pilot thought ; 
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow 

on, — 19 

To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
Like motes and shadows see them move awhile ; 
Your cars unto your eyes I'll reconcile. 

Dumb Show. 
Enter Pericles, at one door, ivith all his train; 
Cleon and Dionyza, at the other. Cleon 
shows Pericles tJte tomb; whereat Pericles 
makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in 
a mighty passion departs. Then exeunt Cleon 
and Dionyza. 

See how belief may suffer by foul show ! 
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; 
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, 
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- 

shower'd, 
Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears 
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs : 
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 30 
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
The epitaph is for Marina writ 
By wicked Dionyza. 

[Reads the inscription on Marina's 
monument. 
'The fairest, sweet' st, and best lies here, 
Who wither d in her spring of year. 
She was of Tyrus the king's daughter, 
On whom foul death hath made this slaughter; 
Marina was she call'd ; and at her birth, 
Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' 

the earth : 
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd, 40 
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens be- 

stow'd : 



Wherefore she does, and swears she'll never 

stint. 
Make raging battery upon shores of flint.' 
No visor does become black villany 
So well as soft and tender flattery. 
Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, 
And bear his courses to be ordered 
By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play 
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day 
In her unholy service. Patience, then, 50 

And think you now are all in Mytilene. [Exit. 

Scene V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel. 
Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. Did you ever hear the like? 

Sec. Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a 
place as this, she being once gone. 

First Gent. But to have divinity preached 
there ! did you ever dream of such a thing? 

Sec. Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more 
bawdy-houses : shall 's go hear the vestals sing? 

First Gent. I '11 do any thing now that is vir- 
tuous; but I am out of the road of rutting for 
ever. [Exeunt. 10 

Scene VI. The same. A room in the brothel. 
Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult. 

Pond. Well, I had rather than twice the worth 
of her she had ne'er come here. 

Bawd. Fie, fie upon her ! she's able to freeze 
the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. 
We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. 
When she should do for clients her fitment, and 
do me the kindness of our profession, she has me 
her quirks, her reasons, her master reasons, her 
prayers, her knees ; that she would make a puri- 
tan of the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her. 

Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll 
disfurnish us of all our cavaliers, and make our 
swearers priests. 

Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness 
for me ! 

Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't 
but by the way to the pox. Here comes the Lord 
Lysimachus disguised. 

Boult. We should have both lord and lown, 
if the peevish baggage would but give way to 
customers. 21 

Enter Lysimachus. 

Lys. How now ! How a dozen of virginities? 

Bazvd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour ! 

Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good 
health. 

Lys. You may so ; 'tis the better for you that 
your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now ! 
wholesome iniquity have you that a man may 
deal withal, and defy the surgeon? 

Bawd. We have here one, sir. if she would — 
but there never came her like in Mytilene. 31 

Lys. If she 'Id do the deed of darkness, thou 
wouldst say. 

Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say 
well enough. 

Lys. Well, call forth, call forth. 

Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, 



63 



994 



PERICLES. 



[Act iv. 



you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, 
if she had but — 

Lys, What, prithee ? 40 

Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. 

Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no 
less than it gives a good report to a number to be 
chaste. {Exit Boult. 

Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the 
stalk ; never plucked yet, I can assure you. 

Re-enter Boult with Marina. 
Is she not a fair creature ? 

Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long 
voyage at sea. Well, there 's for you : leave us. 

Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave : 
a word, and I'll have done presently. 51 

Lys. I beseech you, do. 

Bawd. {To Marina] First, I would have you 
note, this is an honourable man. 

Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may 
worthily note him. 

Bawd. Next, he's the governor of this coun- 
try, and a man whom I am bound to. 

Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound 
to him indeed ; but how honourable he is in that, 
I know not. 61 

Bawd. Pray you, without any more virginal 
fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line 
your apron with gold. 

Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank- 
fully receive. 

Lys. Ha' you done? 

Bawd. My lord, she's not paced yet: you 
must take some pains to work her to your manage. 
Come, we will leave his honour and her together. 
Go thy ways. 

{Exeunt Bawd, Pandar, and Boult. 

Lys. Now, pretty one, how long have you 
been at this trade ? 

Mar. What trade, sir? 

Lys. Why, I cannot name 't but I shall offend. 

Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. 
Please you to name it. 

Lys. How long have you been of this profession? 

Mar. E'er since I can remember. 

Lys. Did you go to 't so young? Were you a 
gamester at five or at seven ? 81 

Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 

Lys. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims 
you to be a creature of sale. 

Mar. Do you know this house to be a place 
of such resort, and will come into't? I hear say 
you are of honourable parts, and are the governor 
of this place. 

Lys. Why, hath your principal made known 
unto you who I am ? 90 

Mar. Who is my principal? 

Lys. Why, your herb-woman ; she that sets 
seeds and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you 
have heard something of my power, and so stand 
aloof for more serious wooing. But I protest to 
thee, pretty one, my authority shall not see thee, 
or else look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me 
to some private place : come, come. 

Mar. If you were born to honour, show it now ; 
If put upon you, make the judgement good 100 
That thought you worthy of it. 

Lys. How's this? how's this? Some more; 
be sage. 



Mar. For me, 

That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came, 
Diseases have been sold dearer than physic, 
O, that the gods 

Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, 
Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
That flies i' the purer air ! 

Lys. I did not think 

Thou couldst have spoke so well ; ne'er dream 'd 
thou couldst. no 

Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, 
Thy speech had alter' d it. Hold, here's gold 

for thee : 
Persever in that clear way thou goest, 
And the gods strengthen thee ! 

Mar. The good gods preserve you ! 

Lys. For me, be you thoughten 
That I came with no ill intent ; for to me 
The very doors and windows savour vilely. 
Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. 
Hold, here's more gold for thee. 120 

A curse upon him, die he like a thief, 
That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou dost 
Hear from me, it shall be for thy good. 

Re-enter Boult. 

Botdt. I beseech your honour, one piece for 
me. 

Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! 
Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it, 
Would sink and overwhelm you. Away ! {Exit. 

Botdt. How's this? We must take another 
course with you. - If your peevish chastity, 
which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest 
country under the cope, shall undo a whole 
household, let me be gelded like a spaniel. 
Come your ways. 

Mar. Whither would you have me? 

Boirft. I must have your maidenhead taken 
off, or the common hangman shall execute it. 
Come your ways. We '11 have no more gentle- 
men driven away. Come your ways, I say. 

Re-enter Bawd. 

Bawd. How now ! what's the matter ? 140 

Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has 
here spoken holy words to the Lord Lysimachus. 

Bawd. O abominable ! 

Boult. She makes our profession as it were to 
stink afore the face of the gods. 

Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! 

Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with 
her like a nobleman, and she sent him away as 
cold as a snowball ; saying his prayers too. 149 

Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy 
pleasure : crack the glass of her virginity, and 
make the rest malleable. 

Boidt. An if she were a thornier piece of 
ground than she is, she shall be ploughed. 

Mar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 

Bawd. She conjures : away with her! Would 
she had never come within my doors ! Marry, 
hang you! She's born to undo us. Will you 
not go the way of women-kind? Marry, come 
up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays ! 

{Exit. 



Scene vi.] 



PERICLES. 



Bo?tlt. Come, mistress ; come your ways with 



Whither wilt thou have me? 
To take from you the jewel you hold 



me. 

Mar. 

Boult. 
so dear. 

Mar. 

Boult. 



Prithee, tell me one thing first. 
Come now, your one thing. 

Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? 

Boult.. Why, I could wish him to be my 
master, or rather, my mistress. 170 

Mar. Neither of these are so bad as thou art. 
Since they do better thee in their command. 
Thou hold'st a place, for which thepained'st fiend 
Of hell would not in reputation change : 
Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every 
Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib ; 
To the choleric fisting of every rogue 
Thy ear is liable ; thy food is such 
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 179 

Boult. What would you have me do? go to 
the wars, would you? where a man may serve 
seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not 
money enough in the end to buy him a wooden 
one? 

Mar. Do an}- thing but this thou doest. Empty 
Old receptacles, or common shores, of filth ; 
Serve by indenture to the common hangman: 
Any of these ways are yet better than this ; 
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he 

speak, 
Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods 
Would safely deliver me from this place ! 191 

Here, here's gold for thee. 
If that thy master would gain by me, 
Proclaim that 1 can sing, weave, sew, and dance, 
With other virtues, which I '11 keep from boast ; 
And I will undertake all these to teach. 
I doubt not but this populous city will 
Yield many scholars. 

Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? 

Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, 
And prostitute me to the basest groom ;>'i 

That doth frequent your house. 

Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee : 
if 1 can place thee, I will. 

Mar. But amongst honest women. 

Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little 
amongst them. But since my master and mis- 
tress have bought you, there's no going but by 
their consent: therefore I will make them ac- 
quainted with your purpose, and I doubt not but 
I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I'll 
do for thee what I can ; come your ways. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Enter Gower. 
Gotv. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and 
chances 
Into an honest house, our story says. 
She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
As goddess-like to her admired lays ; 
Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld com- 
poses 
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry, 
That even her art sisters the natural roses ; 
Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry: 
That pupils lacks she none of noble race, 



Who pour their bounty on her ; and her gain 10 
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place : 
And to her father turn our thoughts again, 
Where we left him, on the sea. We there him 

lost; 
Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived 
Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this coast 
Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived 
God Neptune's annual feast to keep : from whence 
Lysimachus our Tynan ship espies. 
His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense; 
And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 20 

In your supposing once more put your sight 
Of heavy Pericles; think this his bark: 
Where what is done in action, more, if might, 
Shall be discover'd ; please you, sit and hark. 

I Exit. 

Scene I. On hoard Pericles' ship. off Mytilene. 
A close pavilion on deck, with a curtain before 
it: Pericles within 'don a couch. 

A barge lying beside the 1 yrian vessel. 

Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian 
vessel, the other to the barge; to them H.ELI- 

CANUS. 

Tyr. Sail. [To the Sailor of Mytilene\ 

Where is lord Helicanus? he can resolve you. 
O, here he is. 

Sir, there 's a barge put off from Mytilene, 
And in it is Lysimachus the governor, 
Who craves to come aboard. What is your will? 
II el. That he have his. Call up some gentle- 
men. 
Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 

Enter two or three Gentlemen. 
First Gent. Doth your lordship call? 
Hcl. Gentlemen, there 's some of worth would 
come aboard ; 
I pray ye, greet them fairly. 10 

[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, 
and go on board the barge. 

Enter, from thence, LYSIMACHPS and Lords; 
with the Gentlemen and the two Sailors. 

Tyr. Sail. Sir, 
This is the man that can, in aught you would, 
Resolve you 

Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! the gods preserve 
you! 

//,-/. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am. 
And die as I would do. 

Lys. You wish me well. 

Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs, 
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
I made to it, to know of whence you are. 

I lei. First, what is your place? 20 
L.ys. I am the governor of this place you lie 

before. 

I I el. Sir, 

Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king: 

A man who for this three months hath not spoken 

To .my one, nor taken sustenance 

Hut to prorogue his grief. 

Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature ? 

If el. "1'woul 
But the main grief springs from the loss 
Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 30 



63-2 



996 



PERICLES. 



[Act v. 



Lys. May we not see him ? 

Hel. You may; 
But bootless is your sight : he will not speak 
To any. 

Lys. Yet let me obtain my wish. 

Hel. Behold him. [Pericles discovered.] This 
was a goodly person, 
Till the disaster that, one mortal night, 
Drove him to this. 

Lys. Sir king, all hail ! the gods preserve you ! 
Hail, royal sir ! 4° 

Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 

First Lord. Sir, 
We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager, 
Would win some words of him. 

Lys. 'Tis well bethought. 

She questionless with her sweet harmony 
And other chosen attractions, would allure, 
And make a battery through his deafen'd parts, 
Which now are midway stopped : 
She is all happy as the fairest of all, 
And, with her fellow maids, is now upon 50 

The leafy shelter that abuts against 
The island's side. 

[Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the 
barge of Lysimachus. 

Hel. Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll 
omit 
That bears recovery's name. But, since your 

kindness 
We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you 
That for our gold we may provision have, 
Wherein we are not destitute for want, 
But weary for the staleness. 

Lys. " O, sir, a courtesy 

Which if we should deny, the most just gods 
For every graff would send a caterpillar, 60 

And so amid:: our province. Yet once more 
Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
Of your king's sorrow. 

Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it to you : 

But, see, I am prevented. 

Re-enter, from the barge, Lord, with Marina, 
and a young Lady. 

Lys. O, here is 

The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one ! 
Is't not a goodly presence? 

Hel. She 's a gallant lady. 

Lys. She's such a one, that, were I well 
assured 
Came of a gentle kind and noble stock, 
I 'Id wish no better choice, and think me rarely 

wed. 
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 70 
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : 
If that thy prosperous and artificial feat 
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, 
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
As thy desires can wish. 

Mar. Sir, I will use 

My utmost skill in his recovery, 
Provided 

That none but I and my companion maid 
Be suffer'd to come near him. 

Lys. Come, let us leave her ; 

And the gods make her prosperous ! 80 

[Marina sings. 

Lys. Mark'd he your music? 



Mar. No, nor look'd on us. 

Lys. See, she will speak to him. 
Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear. 
Per. Hum, ha! ( 
Mar. I am a maid, 
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
But have been gazed on like a comet : she speaks, 
My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief 
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 90 
My derivation was from ancestors 
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings: 
But time hath rooted out my parentage, 
And to the world and awkward casualties 
Bound me in servitude. [Aside] I will desist; 
But there is something glows upon my cheek, 
And whispers in mine ear ' Go not till he speak.' 
Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parent- 
age— _ 
To equal mine ! — was it not thus? what say you? 
Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my 
parentage, ioa 

You would not do me violence. 

Per. I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes 
upon me. 
You are like something that — What country- 
woman? 
Here of these shores? 

Mar. No, nor of any shores : 

Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
No other than I appear. 
Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver 
weeping. 
My dearest wife was like this maid, and such 

a one 
My daughter might have been: my queen's 

square brows ; 
Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight; no 
As silver-voiced ; her eyes as jewel-like 
And cased as richly ; in pace another Juno ; 
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them 

hungry, 
The more she gives them speech. Where do 
you live? 
Mar. Where I am but a stranger : from the 
deck 
You may discern the place. 

Per. Where were you bred? 

And how achieved you these endowments, which 
You make more rich to owe? 

Mar. If I should tell my history, it would 
seem 
Like lies disdain'd in the reporting. 

Per. Prithee, speak : 120 

Falseness cannot come from thee; for thou 

look'st 
Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace 
For the crown'd Truth to dwell in : I will believe 

thee, 
And make my senses credit thy relation 
To points that seem impossible ; for thou look'st 
Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends? 
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back — ■ 
Which was when I perceived thee — that thou 

earnest 
From good descending? 
Mar. So indeed I did. 

Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou 
said'st 130 



Scene i.] 



rERICLES. 



907 



Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal 

mine, 
If both were open'd. 

Mar. Some such thing 

I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
Did warrant me was likely. 

Per. Tell thy story ; 

If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and 

smiling 
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends? 140 
How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind 

virgin ? 
Recount, I do beseech thee : come, sit by me. 
Mar. My name is Marina. 
Per. O, I am mock'd, 

And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
To make the world to laugh at me. 

Mar. Patience, good sir, 

Or here I '11 cease. 

■Per. Nay, I '11 be patient. 

Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
To call thyself Marina. 

Mar. The name 
Was given me by one that had some power, 150 
My father, and a king. 

Per. How! a king's daughter? 

And call'd Marina? 

Mar. You said you would believe me ; 

But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
1 will end here. 

Per. But are you flesh and blood? 

Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy? 
Motion ! Well ; speak on. Where were you 

born? 
And wherefore call'd Marina? 

Mar. Call'd Marina 

For I was born at sea. 
Per. At sea ! what mother ? 

Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king ; 
Who died the minute I was born, 16 > 

As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
Deliver'd weeping. 

Per. O, stop there a little ! 

[Aside] This is the rarest dream that e'er dull 

sleep 
Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be : 
My daughter's buried. Well : where were you 

bred? 
I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
And never interrupt you. 

Mar. You scorn: believe me, 'twere best I 

did give o'er. 
Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave : 170 
How came you in these parts? where were you 
bred? 
Mar. The king my father did in Tarsus leave 
me ; 
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, 
Did seek to murder me : and having woo'd 
A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do't, 
A crew of pirates came and rescued me : 
Brought me to Mytilene But. good sir. 
Whither will you have me? Why do you weep? 
It may be, 



You think me an impostor : no, good faith ; 

T am the daughter to King Pericles, 180 

If good King Pericles be. 

Per. Ho, Helicanus! 

Hel. Calls my lord? 

Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, 
Most wise in general : tell me, if thou canst, 
What this maid is, or what is like to be, 
That thus hath made me weep? 

Hel. I know not ; but 

Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene 
Speaks nobly of her. 

Lys. She would never tell 

Her parentage ; being demanded that, 190 

She would sit still and weep. 

Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir; 
Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; 
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me 
O'erbear the shores of my mortality, 
And drown me with their sweetness. O, come 

hither, 
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget ; 
Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus, 
And found at sea again ! O Helicanus, 
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as 
loud 200 

As thunder threatens us: this is Marina. 
What was thy mother's name? tell me but that, 
For truth can never be confirm'd enough, 
Though doubts did ever sleep. 

Mat-. First, sir, I pray, 

What is your title? 

Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
My drown'd queen's name, as in the rest you 

said 
Thou hast been godlike perfect, 
tThe heir of kingdoms and another like 
To Pericles thy father. 210 

I\far. Is it no more to be your daughter than 
To say my mother's name was Thaisa? 
Thaisa was my mother, who did end 
The minute 1 began. 

Per. Now, blessing on thee ! rise ; thou art 
my child. 
Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus; 
She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have 

been, 
By savage Cleon : she shall tell thee all : 
When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge 
She is thy very princess. Who is this? 220 

Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene, 
Who, hearing of your melancholy state, 
Did come to see you. 

Per. I embrace you. 

Give me my robes. 1 am wild in my be- 
holding. 
O heavens bless my girl ! But, hark, what 

music? 
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 
< >'er, point by point, for vet he seerns to doubt. 
How sure you are my daughter. But, what 
music? 
Hel. My lord, I hear none. 
/Vr. None! 230 

The music of the spheres! List, my Marina. 
Lys. It is not good to cross him; give him 
way. 

/'«■;-. Rarest sounds I Do ye not hear? 
Lys. My lord, I hear. {Music. 



PERICLES. 



[Act v. 



Per. Most heavenly music ! 
It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber 
Hangs upon mine eyes: let me rest. {Sleeps. 

Lys. A pillow for his head : 
So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends, 
If this but answer to my just belief, 
I '11 well remember you. 240 

{Exetint all but Pericles. 

Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision. 

Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus : hie thee 
thither, 
And do upon mine altar sacrifice. 
There, when my maiden priests are met together, 
Before the people all, 

Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call 
And give them repetition to the life. 
Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe ; 
Do it, and happy ; by my silver bow ! 
Awake, and tell thy dream. {Disappears. 250 

Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
I will obey thee. Helicanus ! 

Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus, and 
Marina. 

Hel Sir? 

Per. My purpose was for Tarsus, there to 
strike 
The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
For other service first : toward Ephesus 
Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I '11 tell thee why. 
{To Lysimach?is] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon 

your shore, 
And give you gold for such provision 
As our intents will need? 

Lys. Sir, 260 

With all my heart : and, when you come ashore, 
I have another suit. 

Per. You shall prevail, 

Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems 
You have been noble towards her. 

Lys. Sir, lend me your arm. 

Per. Come, my Marina. {Exeunt. 

Scene II. Enter Gower, before the temple of 
Diana at Ephesus. 

Gow. Now our sands are almost run : 
More a little, and then dumb. 
This, my last boon, give me, 
For such kindness must relieve me, 
That you aptly will suppose 270 

What pageantry, what feats, what shows, 
What minstrelsy, and pretty din, 
The regent made in Mytilene 
To greet the king. So he thrived, 
That he is promised to be wived 
To fair Marina; but in no wise 
Till he had done his sacrifice, 
As Dian bade : whereto being bound, 
The interim, pray you, all confound. 
In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd, 280 

And wishes fall out as they're will'd. 
At Ephesus, the temple see, 
Our king and all his company. 
That he can hither come so soon, 
Is by your fancy's thankful doom. {Exit. 



Scene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus ; 
Thaisa standing near the altar, as high 
priestess; a number 0/ Virgins on each side; 
Cerimon and ot/ter Inhabitants of Ephesus 
attending. 

Enter Pericles, with his train; Lysimachus, 
Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady. 

Per. Hail, Dian! to perform thy just com- 
mand, 
I here confess myself the king of Tyre ; 
Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa. 
At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth 
A maid-child call'd Marina; who, O goddess, 
Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus 
Was nursed with Cleon ; who at fourteen years 
He sought to murder : but her better stars 
Brought her to Mytilene ; 'gainst whose shore 10 
Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, 
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
Made known herself my daughter. 

Thai. Voice and favour ! 

You are, you are — O royal Pericles ! {Faints. 

Per. What means the nun ? she dies ! help, 
gentlemen ! 

Cer. Noble sir, 
If you have told Diana's altar true, 
This is your wife. 

Per. Reverend appearer, no; 

I threw her overboard with these very arms. 

Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 

Per. 'Tis most certain. 20 

Cer. Look to the lady ; O, she's but o'erjoy'd. 
Early in blustering morn this lady was 
Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin, 
Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and 

placed her 
Here in Diana's temple. 

Per. May we see them? 

Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to 
my house, 
Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is 
Recovered. 

Thai. O, let me look ! 
If he be none of mine, my sanclity 
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, 30 

But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord, 
Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake, 
Like him you are : did you not name a tempest, 
A birth, and death? 

Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 

Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead 
And drown'd. 

Per. Immortal Dian ! 

Thai. Now I know you better. 

When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
The king my father gave you such a ring. 

{Shows a ring. 

Per. This, this : no more, you gods ! your 
present kindness 40 

Makes my past miseries sports : you shall do well, 
That on the touching of her lips I may 
Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried 
A second time within these arms. 

Mar. My heart 

Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 

{Kneels to Thaisa. 



Scene hi.] 



PERICLES. 



999 



Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy 
flesh, Thaisa; 
Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina 
For she was yielded there. 

Thai. Blest, and mine own ! 

Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 

Thai. I know you not. 

Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly 
from Tyre, 50 

I left behind an ancient substitute : 
Can you remember what I call'd the man? 
I have named him oft. 

Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then. 

Per. Still confirmation : 
Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he. 
Now do I long to hear how you were found ; 
How possibly preserved ; and who to thank, 
Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man, 
Through whom the gods have shown their power ; 
that can 60 

From first to last resolve you. 

Per. Reverend sir, 

The gods can have no mortal officer 
More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
How this dead queen re-lives? 

Cer. I will, my lord. 

Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 
Where shall be shown you all was found with her ; 
How she came placed here in the temple ; 
No needful thing omitted. 

Per. Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision ! I 
Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, 70 
This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, 
This ornament 
Makes me look dismal will I clip to form ; 



And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, 
To grace thy marriage-day, I '11 beautify. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good 
credit, sir, 
My father's dead. 
Per. Heavens make a star of him ! Yet there, 
my queen, 
We '11 celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves 80 
Will in that kingdom spend our following days : 
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay 
To hear the rest untold : sir, lead's the way. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Gower. 

Gozu. In Antiochus and his daughter you 
have heard 
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : 
In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen, 
Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen, 
Virtue preserved from fell destruction's blast, 
Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last: 
In Helicanus may you well descry 91 

A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty: 
In reverend Cerimon there well appears 
The worth that learned charity aye wears: 
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd 

name 
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn, 
That him and his they in his palace burn; 
The gods for murder seemed so content 
To punish them ; although not done, but meant. 
So, on your patience evermore attending, 100 
New joy waitonyou! Here our play has ending. 

iEx'it. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



' Vilia miretur vulgus ; mihi fiavus Apollo 
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.' 



TO THE 

RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

earl of southampton, and baron of tichfield. 

Right Honourable, 

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, 
nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden ; 
only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage 
of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my 
invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so 
barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, 
and your honour to your heart's content ; which 1 wish may always answer your own wish aiid 
the world's hopeful expectation. 

Your honour's in all duty, 

William Shakespeare. 



Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face 
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ; 
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn ; 
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him. 

1 Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began, 
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, 
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, 
More white and red than doves or roses are ; 10 
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 

1 Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ; 
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed 
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know : 
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses, 
And being set, I '11 smother thee with kisses ; 

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety, 
But rather famish them amid their plenty, 20 

Making them red and pale with fresh variety, 
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty: 
A summer's day will seem an hour but short, 
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.' 

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, 
The precedent of pith and livelihood, 
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm, 
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good : 
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force 
Courageously to pluck him from his hoise. 30 

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 
Under her other was the tender boy, 



Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain, 

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, 
He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 

The studded bridle on a ragged bough 
Nimbly she fastens : — O, how quick is love ! — 
The steed is stalled up, and even now 
To tie the rider she begins to prove : 40 

Backward she push'd him, as she would be 
thrust, 

And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust. 

So soon was she along as he was down, 
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips: 
Now (loth shestroke his cheek, now doth lie frown. 
And '-ins to chide, but SOOn she Stops his lips; 

And kissing speaks, with lustful la 
broken, 

1 If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.' 

He burns with bashful shame : she with her tears 
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks: 

Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs 51 
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks: 

lb- saith she is immodest, blames her *miss; 

What follows more she murders with a kiss. 

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast. 
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and 
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste. 
Till eitlier gorge be stufPd or prey be -one ; 
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, hischin. 
And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60 

Forced to content, but never to obey. 
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face: 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



She feedeth on the steam as on a prey, 
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace ; 
Wishing her cheeks were gardens fall of flowers, 
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. 

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net, 

So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies ; 

Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret, 
j Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes : 70 
Rain added to a river that is rank 
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ; 
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, 
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale : 
Being red, she loves him best ; and being white, 
Her best is better'd with a more delight. 

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love ; 
And by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80 
From his soft bosom never to remove, 
Till he take truce with her contending tears, 
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all 

wet; 
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless 
debt. 

Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 
1 Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, 
! Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in ; 
1 So offers he to give what she did crave ; 

But when her lips were ready for his pay, 

He winks, and turns his lips another way. go 

Never did passenger in summer's heat 
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ; 
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn : 

'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy ! 

'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 

' I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, 
Even by the stern and direful god of war, 
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
Who conquers where he comes in every jar; 100 
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, 
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt 
have. 

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest, 
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, 
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest, 
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red, 
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,_ 
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : no 
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength 

obey'd, 
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 

O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, 
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight ! 

' Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, — 
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red— 
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine. 
What seest thou in the ground ? hold up thy head : 



Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies ; 
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 

'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again, 121 

And I will wink ; so shall the day seem night ; 

Love keeps his revels where there are but twain ; 

Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight : 
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean 
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 

' The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
Shows thee unripe ; yet mayst thou well be tasted : 
Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; 
Beauty within itself should not be wasted: 130 
Fair flowers that are not gather'din their prime 
Rot and consume themselves in little time. 

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold, 
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice, 

Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for 
thee; 

But having no defects, why dost abhor me ? 

' Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ; 
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in 
turning ; 140 

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, 
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning ; 
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand 

felt, 
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 

' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green, 
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair, 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 

Love is a spirit all compacl of fire, 

Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 150 

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; 
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support 

me ; 
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the 

sky, 
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me : 
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee ? 

' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? 

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? 

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, 

Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft. 
Narcissus so himself himself forsook, 161 

And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. 

' Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, 
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; 
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse : 

Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth 
beauty ; 

Thou wast begot ; to get it is thy duty. 

' Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed, 
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? 170 
By law of nature thou art bound to breed, 
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



IOO*/ 



And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive^ 
In that thy likeness still is left alive.' 

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, 
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat, 
With burning eye did hotly overlook them ; 
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, 
So he were like him and by Venus' side. 1S0 

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, 
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, 
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight, 
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, 

Souring his cheeks cries ' Fie, no more of love ! 

The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.' 

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind? 
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone ! 
I '11 sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun : 190 

I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs ; 

If they burn too, I '11 quench them with my tears. 

' The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, 
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee : 
The heat I have from thence doth little harm, 
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me ; 
And were I not immortal, life were done 
Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 

' Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel, 
Nay, more than flint, for stone atrainrelenteth? 
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 200 
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth? 
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind, 
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 

'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this? 

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? 

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? 

Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute : 
Give me one kiss, I '11 give it thee again, 209 
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, 
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 
Statue contenting but the eye alone, 
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ! 

Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion. 
For men will kiss even by their own direction.' 

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, 
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; 
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; 
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause : 

And now she weeps, and now she fain would 
speak, 221 

And now her sobs do her intendments break. 

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand, 
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground.; 
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band : 
She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 
And when from thence he struggles to be gone, 
She locks her lily fingers one in one. 

'Fondling/she saith/sincel have hemm'd thee here 
Within the circuit of this ivory pale, •■ 230 



1 11 be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; 

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale : 
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, 
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. 

' Within this limit is relief enough, 
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain, 
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, 
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain : 
Then be my deer, since I am such a park ; 239 
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.' 

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, 
That in each check appears a pretty dimple : 
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, 
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die. 

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, 

Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking. 

Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? 

Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? 
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, 
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! 

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she 
say? 

Her words are done, her woes the more increasing; 

The time is spent, her object will away, 

And from her twining arms doth urge releasing. 
' Pity,' she cries, ' some favour, some remorse !' 
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse. 

Eut, lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud, 260 
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, 
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud : 
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, 
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder; 
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, 
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's 
thunder ; 
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth, 
Controlling what he was controlled with. 270 

His ears up-prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 
Upon his compass' d crest now stand on end; 
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, 
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : 
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, 
Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, 

With gentle majesty and modest pride ; 

Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps. 

As who should say ' Lo, thus my strength is tried, 
And this I do to captivate the eye 281 

Of the fair breeder that is standing by.' 

What recketh he his rider's angry stir, 

His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'? 

What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? 

For rich caparisons or trapping gay? 
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, 
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 



:Oo6 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed, _ 290 
His art with nature's workmanship at strife, 
As if the dead the living should exceed; 
So did this horse excel a common one 
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone. 

Round-hoof 'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and 

long, 
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide, 
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing 

strong, 
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide : 
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, 
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300 

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares; 
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ; 
To bid the wind a base he now prepares, 
And whether he run or fly they know not whether ; 
For through his mane and tail the high wind 

sings, 
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd 
wings. 

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; 
She answers him as if she knew his mind : 
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, 
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, 
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, 
Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 

Then, like a melancholy malcontent, 
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume, 
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent : 
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume. 
His love, perceiving how he is enraged, 
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. 

His testy master goeth about to take him ; 
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 320 
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, 
With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 

As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, 
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, 
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast : 
And now the happy season once more fits, 
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; 
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong 
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 330 

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 

Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage : 

So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 

Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ; 
But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 

He sees her coming, and begins to glow, 
Even as a dying coal revives with wind, 
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; 
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340 
Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 
For all askance he holds her in his eye. 

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view 

How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 



To note the fighting conflict of her hue, 
How white and red each other did destroy ! 
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by 
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 

Now was she just before him as he sat, 
And like a lowly lover down she kneels; 350 

With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, 
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, 
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint. 

O, what a war of looks was then between them ! 

Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing ; 

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ; 

Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain' d the wooing : 
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did 
rain. 

Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 361 

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, 

Or ivory in an alabaster band ; 

So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing, 

Once more the engine of her thoughts began : 
' O fairest mover on this mortal round, 
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, 369 

My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound ; 
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, 
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure 
thee.' 

' Give me my hand,' saith he, ' why dost thou feel 

it?' 
' Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thoushalthave 

it ; 
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, 
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it : 
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, 
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.' 

'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go ; 
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 380 
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so : 
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone ; 
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, 
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.' 

Thus she replies : 'Thy palfrey, as he should, 
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire : 
Affection is a coal that must he cool'd ; 
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire : 

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none ; 

Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 

' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree, 3^1 
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein !_ 
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, 
He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, 
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed, 
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, 
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, 
His other agents aim at like delight? 400 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold 
To touch the fire, the weather being cold? 

1 Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ; 

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 

To take advantage on presented joy ; 

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach 
thee: 
O, learn to love ; the lesson is but plain, 
And once made perfect, never lost again.' 

' I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it, 
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 410 

'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it ; 
My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 
For I have heard it is a life in death, 
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. 

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd 
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 
If springing things be any jot diminish'd, 
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth : 
The colt that 's back d and burden'd being young 
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong. 420 

' You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part, 
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat : 
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart ; 
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate : 

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your 
flattery ; 

For where a heart is hard they make no battery.' 

' What ! canst thou talk ?' quoth she, ' hast thou a 

tongue ? 
O, would thouhadst not, or I had no hearing ! 
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong ; 
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing : 
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh-sound- 
ing, 431 
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore 
wounding. 

' Had T no eyes but ears, my ears would love 

That inward beauty and invisible ; 

Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 

Each part in me that were but sensible : 

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, 
Yet should I be in love by touching thee. 

' Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440 
And nothing but the very smell were left me, 
Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling 
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by 
smelling. 

' But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, 
Being nurse and feeder of the other four ! 
Would they not wish the feast might ever last, 
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door, 

Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, 449 
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast? 

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, 
Which to his speech did honey passage yieid ; 
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, 



Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds. 
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 

This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth, 
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, 
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460 

Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, 
His meaning struck her ere his words begun. 

And at his look she flatly falleth down, 

For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth ; 

A smile recures the wounding of a frown ; 

But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! 
The silly boy, believing she is dead. 
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red ; 

And all amazed brake off his late intent, 
For sharply he did think to reprehend her, 470 
Which cunning love did wittily prevent : 
Fair fall the wit that can so svell defend her ! 
For on the grass she lies as she were slain, 
Till his breath breatheth life in her again. 

He wrings her nose, he strikes heron the cheeks, 
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard. 
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks 
To mend the hurt that his unkind ness marr'd: 
He kisses her; and she, by her good will, 
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480 

The night of sorrow now is turn'd t<> day : 
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, 
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth ; 
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, 
So is her face illumined with her eye ; 

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, 
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
Were never four such lamps together mix'd, 
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine ; 490 

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave 
light, 

Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 

' O, where am I ?' quoth she, ' in earth or heaven, 
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the 
What hour is this? or morn or weary even? 
Do I delight to die, or life desire? 

But now I lived, and life was death's annoy ; 

But now I died, and death was lively joy. 

' O, thou didst kill me : kill me once again : 499 

Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine. 

Hath taught them scornful tricksand such disdain 

ley have murder'd this poor heart of mine ; 

And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, 

But for thy piteous lips no more had .seen. 

' Long may they kiss each other, for this cure ! 
I ), never let their crimson liveries wear ! 
\11.l as they last, their verdure still endure, 
To drive infection from the dangerous year! 
That the star-gazers, having writ on death, 509 
May say, the plague is lunish'd by thy breath. 

' Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, 
What bargains may 1 make, still to be sealing? 



r ioo8 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



To sell myself I can be well contented, 
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; 
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips 
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 

1 A thousand kisses buys my heart from me ; 
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 
What is ten hundred touches unto thee? 
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520 

Say, for non-payment that the debt should 
double, 

Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ?' 

'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me, 
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years: 
Before I know myself, seek not to know me ; 
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears : 
The mellow plum, doth fall, the green sticks fast, 
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. 

' Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, 
His day's hot task hath ended in the west ; 530 
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, "'Tis very late;" 
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 
Andcoal-black clouds that shadow heaven'slight 
Do summon us to part and bid good night. 

' Now let me say "Good night," and so say you ; 
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.' 
' Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,' 
The honey fee of parting tender'd is : 

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ; 

Incorporate then they seem; face grows to 
face. 540 

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew 
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, 
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, 
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth : 

He with her plenty press'd, she faint with 
dearth, 

Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. 

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, 
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth ; 
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey. 
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ; 550 

Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so 
high, 

That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry : 

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, 
With blindfold fury she begins to forage ; 
Her face dothreek and smoke, her blood doth boil, 
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage ; 
Planting oblivion, beating reason back, 
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's 
wrack. 

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much 
handling, 560 

Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing, 
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling, 
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, 
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, 
And yields at last to every light impression ? 



Things out of hope are compass'd oft with ventur- 
ing, 
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission : 
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, 
But then woos best when most his choice is 
froward. 570 

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over, 
Such neclar from his lips she had not suck'd. 
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; 
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis 
pluck'd : 
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, 
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at 
last. 

For pity now she can no more detain him ; 

The poor fool prays her that he may depart: 

She is resolved no longer to restrain him; 

Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580 
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
He carries thence incaged in his breast. 

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in 
sorrow, 

For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 

Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow? 

Say, shall we ? shall we ? wilt thou make the match ?' 
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends 
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 

' The boar !' quoth she ; whereat a sudden pale, 
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, 
Usurps her cheek ; she trembles at his tale, 591 
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws : 
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck, 
He on her belly falls, she on her back. 

Now is she in the very lists of love, 

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: 

All is imaginary she doth prove, 

He will not manage her, although he mount her ; 
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 
To clip Elysium and to lack her jcy. 600 

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes, 
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw, 
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, 
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 
The warm effects which she in him finds missing 
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. 

But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved; 
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee ; 609 
She 's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved. 

' Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me ; let me go ; 

You have no reason to withhold me so.' 

1 
' Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweetboy, ere 

this, 
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. 
O, be advised ! thou know'st not what it is 
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 

Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still, 

Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill. 

' On his bow-back he hath a battle set 

Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 620 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth 
fret: 

His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay. 

' His brawny sides, with hairy bristles ann'd, 

Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter; 

His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ; 

Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: 
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, 
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes. 

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 6ji 
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; 
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne, 
Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 
But having thee at vantage, — wondrous dread! — 
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. 

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still : 
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends : 
Come not within his danger by thy will ; 639 

They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. 
When thou didst name the boar,not to dissemble, 
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 

' Didst thou not mark my face ? was it not white? 

Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 

Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright? 

Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, 

My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, 
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my 
breast. 

' For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy 
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel ; 650 

Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, 
And in a peaceful hour doth cry "Kill, kill!" 

Distempering gentle Love in his desire, 

As air and water do abate the fire. 

' This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, 
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring, 
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, 
That sometime true news, sometime false doth 
bring, 
Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine ear 
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear : 660 

' And more than so, presenteth to mine eye 
The picture of an angry-chafing boar, 
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore; 
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed 
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the 
head. 

' What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, 

That tremble at the imagination? 

The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, 

And fear doth teach it divination : 670 

•I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow. 
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 

' But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me ; 
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare. 
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety, 

Or at the roe which no encounter dare : 



Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the d 

And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy 
hounds. 

' And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 
How he outruns the wind and with wli.it rare 681 
He cranks an.! crosses with a thousand doubles: 

The many musets through the which he 

Are like a labyrinth to amaze bis 

' Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, 
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, 
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, 
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 
.And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: 

r deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear: 690 

' For there his smell with othc. s being mil 
The hot scent-MUiinng hounds are dli 

doubt, 
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; 
Then do they Spend their mouths : I 
As if another chase were in the skies. 

' By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hi'.l. 
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, 
To hearken if his fees pursue him still : 
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700 

And now his grief may be compared well 
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell. 

'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 
Turn, and return, indenting with the way : 
Each envious brier his weary legs doth St 
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : 

For misery is trodden on by many. 
And being low never relieved by any. 

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not ri 
To make thee hate the hunting of tl 
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize, 

Applying this t > that, and so t*. 

For love can comment upon ever; 

' Where did I leave ? ' ' No matter where : 'quoth he, 

'Leave me, and then the story aptl\ 

The night is spent." 'Why, what Of that?' quoth 

she. 
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my fri 

And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.' 

' In night,' quoth sh< . 

'But if thou fall, (>, then imagine this. 
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing I 

And all is but to 1 klSS. 

Rich preys make true men thieve- : sodo thy lips 
Make modest Diao cloudy and forlorn. 
Lest she should steal a kis, and die for 

' Now of this dark night I percejve the r 
Cynthia for si ilver shine. 

Till forging Nature be condemn'd 

. ling mouldsfrom heaven that were 

in she frame! thee in h 
de-i 
To shame the sun by day and her by I 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



' And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies 
To cross the curious workmanship of nature, 
To mingle beauty with infirmities, 
And pure perfection with impure defeature, 
Making it subject to the tyranny 
Of mad mischances and much misery ; 

' As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740 
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 

Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd de- 
spair, 

Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair. 

' And not the least of all these maladies 
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under : 
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, 
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, 
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done, 
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun. 

'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, 751 

Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 
! That on the earth would breed a scarcity 
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, 
Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night 
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 

' What is thy body but a swallowing grave, 

Seeming to bury that posterity 

Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, 

If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760 | 
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 

'So in thyself thyself art made away; 

A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 

Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do 
slay, 

Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life. 

Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, 
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.' 

' Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again 
Into your idle over-handled theme: 770 

The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain, 
And all in vain you strive against the stream ; 
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse, 
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. 

' If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
And every tongue more moving than your own, 
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, 
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown ; 
F'or know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, 
And will not let a false sound enter there ; 780 

' Lest the deceiving harmony should run 
j Into the quiet closure of my breast; 
And then my little heart were quite undone, 
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest. 

No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan, 
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 

' What have you urged that I cannot reprove? 
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger : 
I hate not love, but your device in love, 789 

That lends embracements unto every stranger. 



You do it for increase : O strange excuse, 
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse ! 

'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled, 
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name ; 
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed 
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ; 

Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves, 
As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun ; 800 

Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, 
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done ; 

Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; 

Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies. 

' More I could tell, but more I dare not say; 

The text is old, the orator too green. 

Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ; 

My face is full of shame, my heart of teen : 
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended, 
Do burn themselves for having so offended.' 810 

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace, 
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast. 
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace ; 
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky, 
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; 

Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, 
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, 
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend : 
So did the merciless and pitchy night 821 

Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware 
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, 
Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are, 
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood, 
Even so confounded in the dark she lay, 
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, 
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled. 
Make verbal repetition of her moans ; 831 

Passion on passion deepl}' is redoubled : 

'Ay me I'she cries, ana twenty times 'Woe, woe !' 
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 

She marking them begins a wailing note 

And sings extemporally a woeful ditty ; 

How love makes young men thrall and old men 
dote ; 

How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: 
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 
And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840 

Her song was tedious and outwore the night, 
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short : 
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight 
In such-like circumstance, with such-like sport: 
Their copious stories oftentimes begun 
End without audience and are never done. 

For who hath she to spend the night withal 
But idle sounds resembling parasites, 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Like shrill-tongued tapsters answeringevery call, 
j Soothing the humour of fantastic wits? 850 

She^ays "Tis so:' they answer all "Tis so;' 
Ancr. .ould say after her, if she said 'No.' 

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast 
The sun ariseth in his majesty ; 

Who doth the world so gloriously behold 
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: 
' O thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860 
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow 
The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother, 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend toother.' 

; This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 
i Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, 
I And yet she hears no tidings of her love : 
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn: 
Anon she hears them chant it lustily, 
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 870 

And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
1 Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 
1 Some twine about her thigh to make her stay : 
She wildly breaketh from their strieft embrace, 
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache. 
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay; 
! Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way, 
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shud- 
der ; 880 
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds 
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds. 

For now she knows it is no gentle chase. 
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
' Because the cry remaineth in one place, 
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: 
Finding their enemy to be so curst, 
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. 

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
Through which it enters to surprise her heart ; 890 
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, 
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part : 
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, 
They basely fly and dare not stay the field. 

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy : 
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd, 
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy, 
And childish error, that they are afraid ; 

Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no 
more : — 899 

And with that word she spied the hunted boar, 

/ 
Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, 
Like milk and blood being mingled both together, 
A second fear through all her sinews spn 
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither : 

This way she rims, and now she will no further, 

But back retires to rate the boar for murther. 



A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ; 
She treads the path that she untreads again ; 
Her more than haste is mated with delays, 
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, 910 

Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting ; 

In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. 

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
And asks the weary caitiff for his master, 
And there another licking of his wound, 
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster ; 
And here she meets another sadly scowling, 
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howl- 



When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise, 
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim. 
Against the welkin volleys out his voice ; 921 

Another and another answer him, 

Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, 
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed 

At apparitions, signs and prodigies, 

Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, 

Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; 

So she at these sad signs draws up her breath 
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 930 

' Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 
Hateful divorce of love,' — thus chides sheDeath. — 
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost 

thou mean 
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, 

Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set 
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet? 

'If he be dead,— O no, it cannot be, 
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it : — 
O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see, 
But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940 

Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart 
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart. 

' Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 
The Destinies will curse thee for this str 
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower : 
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, 
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such 

weeping? 
What may a heavy groan advantage thee? 950 
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 
Those eyes that taught all other eyes I > see? 
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, 
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.' 

Here overcome, as one full of despair, 
She vail'd her eyelids who, like sluices, stopt 
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt : 

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver 
rain, 9-9 

And with his strong course opens them again. 

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye : 



64- 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Both crystals, where they view'd each other's 
sorrow, 

Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, 
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them we t again. 

Variable passions throng her constant woe, 
As striving who should best become her grief; 
All entertain' d, each passion labours so, 
That every present sorrow seemeth chief, 970 
But none is best : then join they all together, 
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo ; 
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well : 
The dire imagination she did follow 
This sound of hope doth labour to expel; 

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 

And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 
Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass ; 980 
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, 
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. 

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes ; 
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous : 

The one doth natter thee in thoughts unlikely. 

In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; 
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ; 
It was not she that call'd him all-to naught: 
Now she adds honours to his hateful name ; 

She clepes him king of graves and grave for 
kings, 

Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 

'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest; 
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear 
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast, 
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 1000 
Then, gentle shadow, — truth I must confess, — 
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 

' 'Tis not my fault : the boar provoked my tongue ; 

Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ; 

'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong ; 

I did but act, he 's author of thy slander : 

Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.' 

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, 
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; _ 1010 

And that his beauty may the better thrive, 
With Death she humbly doth insinuate ; 

Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories 
His victories, his triumphs and his glories. 

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I 
To be of such a weak and silly mind 
To wail his death who lives and must not die 
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, 
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 



'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear 1021 
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves ; 
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 
Thy coward heart with false bethinking .Sieves.' 
Even at this word she hears a merry horn, 
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. 

As falcon to the lure, away she flies ; 

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; 

And in her haste unfortunately spies 

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; 1030 

Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the 
view, 

Like starsashamed of day, themselves withdrew; 

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, 
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit, 
Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
Into the deep dark cabins of her head : 

Where they resign their office and their light 
To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 1040 

Who bids them still consort with ugly night, 
And never wound the heart with looks again ; 
Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, 
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan, 

Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, 
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, 
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound. 
This mutiny each part doth so surprise 
That from their dark beds once more leap her 
eyes ; 1050 

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light 
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd 
In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was 
drench'd : 
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, 
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed. 

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; 
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ; 
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead : 1060 

Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow ; 

Her eyes are mad that they have wept tiil now. 

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, 

That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem 

three ; 
And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 
That makes more gashes where no breach should 
be: 
His face seems twain, each several limb Is 

doubled ; 
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being 
troubled. 

' My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 
And 3'et,' quoth she, 4 behold two Adons dead ! 
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, 
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead: 

Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire ! 

So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



' Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! 
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? 
Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou boast 
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? 

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and 
trim ; io 79 

But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him. 

' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear ! 

Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you: 

Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 

The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss 
you : 
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air 
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair: 

'And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 
The wind would blow it off and, being gone, 
Play with his locks : then would Adonis weep ; 
And straight, in pity of his tender years, 1091 
They both would strive who first should dry his 
tears. 

'To see his face the lion walk'd along 
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him ; 
To recreate himself when he hath sung, 
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him ; 
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey 
And never fright the silly lamb that day. 

' When he beheld his shadow in the brook,. 
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; 1100 
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, 
That some would sing, some other in their bills 

Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cher- 
ries; 

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 

' But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, 
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; 
Witness the entertainment that he gave : 
If he did see his face, why then I know 
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 

"Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain : 1111 
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 
Who did not whet his teeth at him again, 
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; 
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 

' Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess, 
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first ; 
But he is dead, and never did he bless 
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.' 1120 
With this, she falleth in the place she stood, 
And stains her face with his congealed blood. 

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ; 

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 

She whispers in his ears a heavy tale, 

As if they heard the woeful words she told ; 
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, 
Where, lo, two lamps, burntout, in darkness lies; 

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 

A thousand times, and now no more reflect ; 1130 



Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, 
And every beauty robb'd of his effect: 

'Wonder of time,' quoth she, ' this is my spite, 
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be 
light. 

' Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy: 
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend : 
It shall be waited on with jealousy. 
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end, 

Ne'er settled equally, but high or low, 1139 

That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. 

' It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while : 
The bottom poison,, and the top o'erstraw'd 
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile : 
The strongest body shall it make most weak, 
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak. 

' It shall be sparing and too full of riot, 
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, 
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with trea- 
sures ; 1 1 50 
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild, 
Make the young old, the old become a child. 

'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear; 

It shall not fear where it should most mistrust; 

It shall be merciful and too severe, 

And most deceiving when it seems most just ; 
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward, 
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 

'It shall be cause of war and dire events, 

And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ; 1160 

Subject and servile to all discontents, 

As dry combustious matter is to fire : 

Sith in his prime Death doth my lovedestroy, 
They that love best their loves shall notenjJy.' 

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, 
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, 
A purple flower sprung up, chequered with white. 
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood 
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to 
smell, 1 1 7 1 

Comparing it to her Adonis' breath, 
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, 
Since he himself is reft from her by death : 

She crops the sta'k, and in the breach appears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy father's 
guise — 

Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire — 

For every little grief to wet his ey rs: 

To grow unto himself was his desire, 1180 

And so 'tis thine : but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast as in his blood. 

' Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast ; 
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : 
I, 'i, in this hollow cradle take thy rest. 
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night : 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



There shall not be one minute in an hour 
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.' 

Thus weary of the world, away she hies, n8g 
And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 



Their mistress mounted through the empty skies 
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd ; 

Holding their course to Paphos, where their 
queen 

Means to immure herself and not be seen. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. 

The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, 
is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth 
of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours ; what I 
have to do is yours ; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty 
would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, 
still lengthened with all happiness. 

Your lordship's in all duty, 

William Shakespeare. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus, after he had caused his own 
father-in-law Servius Tullius to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and 
customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, 
went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During 
which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarqui- 
nius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his 
own wife: among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In 
that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome ; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, 
to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though 
it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids : the other ladies were all found dancing 
and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, 
and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, 
yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp ; from 
whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to his estate, royally 
entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth 
into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, 
in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another 
to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other 
with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of 
her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole 
manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent 
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins ; and bearing the defcd 
body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with 
a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved, that 
with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state govern- 
ment changed from kings to consuls. 



From the besieged Ardea all in post, 
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, 
And to Collatium bears the lightiess fire 
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire 

And girdle with embracing flames the 
waist _ 

Of Collatine' s fair love, Lncrcce the chaste. 



Haply that name of ' chaste' unhappily set 
This batekss edge on his keen appetite ; 
When Collatine unwisely did not let 10 

To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, 

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's 
beauties, 

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 



LUCRECE. 



For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state; 
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 
In the possession of his beauteous mate ; 
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, 
That kings might be espoused to more fame, 20 
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 

O happiness enjoy' d but of a few ! 
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done 
As is the morning's silver-melting dew 
Against the golden splendour of the sun ! 
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun; 
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms, 
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 

The eyes of men without an orator; 30 

What needeth then apologies be made, 

To set forth that which is so singular? 

Or why is Collatine the publisher 

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
From thievish ears, because it is his own? 

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
Suggested this proud issue of a king; 
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be : 
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting 40 

His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men 
should vaunt 

That golden hap which their superiors want. 

But some untimely thought did instigate 
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those : 
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, 
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'ergrows old ! 

When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 50 

Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame, 
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived 
Which of them both should underprop her fame : 
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for 
shame ; 
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 

But beauty, in that white intituled, 
! From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field : 
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild 60 

Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield ; 
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, 
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the 
white. 

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen. 
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white : 
Of either's colour was the other queen, 
Proving from world's minority their right : 
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; 
The sovereignty of either being so great, 
That oft they interchange each other's seat. 70 

Their silent war of lilies and of roses, 
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, 



In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; 
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, 
The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
To those two armies that would let him go, 
Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue, — 
The niggard prodigal that praised her so, — 
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, 80 
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show : 
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe 
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 

This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 
Little suspecteth the false worshipper; 
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil ; 
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear : 
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
And reverend welcome to her princely guest, 90 
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : 

For that he colour'd with his high estate, 
Hiding base sin in plaits 
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, 
Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, 
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for mo.c. 

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, 
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks* 
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies 101 

Writ in the glassy margents of such books : 
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks ; 
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 

He stories to her ears her husband's fame, 

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 

And decks with praises Collatine's high name, 

Made glorious by his manly chivalry 

With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : no 
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express, 
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 

Far from the purpose of his coming hither, 
He makes excuses for his being th 
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
Doth yet in his fair welkin once ap 
Till sable Night, mother of Tear. 

Upon the world dim darkness doth display, 
And in her vaulty prison stows the 1 >ay. 

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, 120 
Intending weariness with heavy spright; 
For, after supper, long he questioned 
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the 1 i 
Now leaden slumber with life's strength dotliti- lit ; 
And every one to rest themselves betake, 
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds. 
that wake. 

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
The sundry dangers of his will's obtain ii 
Yel e\cr to obtain his will resolving, 
Though weak-built hopes persuade him 1 

staining: 130 

Despair to gain dotrf traffic oft for gaining; 



ioi6 



LUCRECE. 



And when great treasure is the meed proposed, 
Though death be adjunct, there's no death sup- 
posed. 

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, 
For what they have not, that which they possess 
They scatter and unloose it from their bond, 
And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess 
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich 
gain. 140 

The aim of all is but to nurse the life 

With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age; 

And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, 

That one for all, or all for one we gage; 

As life for honour in fell battle's rage ; 

Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth 
cost 

The death of all, and all together lost. 

So that in venturing ill we leave to be 

The things we are for that which we expect ; 

And this ambitious foul infirmity, 150 

In having much, torments us with defect 

Of that we have : so then we do neglect 

The thing we have ; and, all for want of wit, 
Make something nothing by augmenting it. 

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, 
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; 
And for himself himself he must forsake : 
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? 
When shall he think to find a stranger just, 159 
When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful 
days? 

Now stole upon the time the dead of night, 
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes : 
No comfortable star did lend his light, 
No noise but owls' and wolves' death -boding cries; 
Now serves the season that they may surprise 

The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and 
still, 

While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ; 170 
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ; 
But honest fear, bewitch' d with lust's foul charm, 
Doth too too oft betake him to retire, 
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. 

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, 
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly; 
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, 
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; 
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly, 180 

'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, 
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.' 

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
And in his inward mind he doth debate 
What following sorrow may on this arise : 
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 



His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, 
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust: 

' Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
To darken her whose light excelleth thine : 191 
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
With your uncleanness that which is divine ; 
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine : 

Let fair humanity abhor the deed 

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
weed. 

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! 
O foul dishonour to my household's grave ! 

impious act, including all foul harms ! 

A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 200 

True valour still a true respecl should have ; 
Then my digression is so vile, so base, 
That it will live engraven in my face. 

' Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; 
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, 
To cipher me how fondly I did dote ; 
That my posterity, shamed with the note, 
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin 
To wish that I their father had not bin. 210 

' What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? 

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. 

Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? 

Or sells eternity to get a toy ? 

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? 
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken 
down ? 

' If Collatinus dream of my intent, 
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? 220 

This siege that hath engirt his marriage, 
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 
This dying virtue, this surviving shame, 
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? 

' O, what excuse can my invention make, 

When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? 

Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints 
shake, 

Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed ? 

The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, 230 
But coward-like with trembling terror die. 

' Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, 
Or lain in ambush to betray my life, 
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
Might have excuse to work upon his wife, 
As in revenge or quittal of such strife : 
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, 
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 

' Shameful it is ; ay, if the fact be known : 
Hateful it is ; there is no hate in loving: 240 

1 '11 beg her love ; but she is not her own : 
The worst is but denial and reproving : 

My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw 
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.' 



L UCRECE. 



1017 



Thus, graceless, holds he disputation 
'Tvveen frozen conscience and hot-burning will, 
And with good thoughts makes dispensation, 
Urging the worser sense for vantage still ; 
Which in a moment doth confound and kill 250 
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, 
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. 

Quoth he, ' She took me kindly by the hand, 
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes, 
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band, 
Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 
O, how her fear did make her colour rise ! 
First red as roses that on lawn we lay, 
Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 

' And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 260 
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear ! 
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, 
Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; 
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, 
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 

' Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? 

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth ; 

Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; 

Love thrives not in the heart that shadows 
dreadeth : 270 

Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
And when his gaudy banner is display'd, 
The coward fights and will not be dismay'd. 

' Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die ! 
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age ! 
My heart shall never countermand mine eye : 
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ; 
My part is youth, and beats these from the 
stage : 
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ; 
Then who fears sinking where such treasure 
lies?' 280 

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 

Is almost choked by unresisted lust. 

Away he steals with open listening ear, 

Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust; 

Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 

So cross him with their opposite persuasion, 
That now he vows a league, and now invasion. 

Within his thought her heavenly image sits, 
And in the seif-same seat sits Collatine : 
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits ; 
That eye which him beholds, as more divine, 291 
Unto a view so false will not incline ; 

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, 
Which once corrupted takes the worser part ; 

And therein heartens up his servile powers. 
Who, flatter' d by their leader's jocund show, 
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ; 
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
By reprobate desire thus madly led, 300 

The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 

The locks between her chamber and his will, 
j Each one by him enforced, retires his ward; 



But, as they open, they all rate his ill, 

Which drives the creeping thief to some regard : 

The threshold grates the door to have him heard; 

Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him 
there ; 

They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 

As each unwilling portal yields him way, 
Through little vents and crannies of the place 310 
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay, 
And bl nvs the smoke of it into his face, 
Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : 

And being lighted, by the light he spies 
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks: 
He takes it from the rushes where it lies, 
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks ; 
As who should say ' This glove to wanton tricks 
Is not inured ; return again in haste ; 321 

Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.' 

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him : 
He in the worst sense construes their denial : 
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him, 
He takes for accidental things of trial ; 
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial. 
Who with a lingering stay his course doth let, 
Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time, 330 
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, 
To add a more rejoicing to the prime, 
And give the sneap>d birds more cause to sing. 
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; 

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves 
and sands, 

The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' 

Now is he come unto the chamber-door, 
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, 
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, 
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
So from himself impiety hath wrought, 341 

That for his prey to pray he doth begin, 
As if the heavens should countenance his sin. 

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
Having solicited th' eternal power 
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, 
And they would stand auspicious to the hour, 
Even there he starts : quoth he, ' I must d< 
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, 
How can they then assist me in the act? 350 

'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 

My will is back'd with resolution: 

Thoughts are but dreams till. their effects be tried ; 

The blackest sin is dear'd with absolution : 

Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. 
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' 

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, 
And with his knee the door he opens wide. 
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch : 
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 361 
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside; 



L UCRECE. 



But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, 
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, 
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. 
The curtains being close, about he walks, 
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head : 
By their high treason is his heart misled ; 

Which gives the watch-word to his hand full 
soon 370 

To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, 
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; 
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
To wink, being blinded with a greater light : 
Whether it is that she reflects so bright, 

That dazzleth them, or else some shame sup- 
posed ; 
But blind they are, and keep themselves en- 
closed. 

O, had they in that darksome prison died ! 
Then had they seen the period of their ill ; 380 
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side, 
In his clear bed might have reposed still: 
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill; 
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss : 
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
Swelling on either side to want his bliss ; 
Between whose hills her head entombed is: 390 
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, 
To be admired of lewd unhallow'd eyes. 

Without the bed her other fair hand was, 
On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white 
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass, 
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their 
light, 
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, 
Till they might open to adorn the' day. 

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her 
breath ; 400 

O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 
Showing life's triumph in the map of death, 
And death's dim look in life's mortality: 
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 

As if between them twain there were no strife, 
But that life lived in death, and death in life. 

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, 
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, 
And him by oath they truly honoured 410 

These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ; 
Who, like a foul usurper went about 
From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 

What could he see but mightily he noted? 
What did he note but strongly he desired? 
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, 
And in his will his wilful eye he tired. 
With more than admiration he admired 



Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, 

Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, 421 

Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, 
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 
His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 
Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, 
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, 
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins: 

Andthey, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, 
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting, 
In bloody death and ravishment delighting, 430 
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respect- 

Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: 
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, 
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their 
liking. 

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, 
His eye commends the leading to his hand ; 
His hand, as proud of such a dignity, 
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 

Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did 
scale, 440 

Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 
Where their dear governess and lady lies, 
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, 
And fright her with confusion of their cries: 
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, 
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, 
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and con- 
troll'd. 

Imagine her as one in dead of night 449 

From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking. 
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, 
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking ; 
What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking, 
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view 
The sight which makes supposed terror true. 

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears 
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes: 
Such shadows are the weak brain's fo geries ; 460 
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, 
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful 
sights. 

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, — 
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall ! — 
May feel her heart — poor citizen ! — distress'd, 
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, 
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity, 
To make the breach and enter this sweet city. 

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 470 

To sound a parley to his heartless foe ; 

Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, 

The reason of this rash alarm to know, 

Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ; 



But.she with vehement prayers urgeth still 
Under what colour he commits this ill. 

Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face, 
That even for anger makes the lily pale, 
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace, 
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale : 480 
Under that colour am I come to scale 

Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine, 
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 

'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide : 
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night, 
Where thou with patience must my will abide ; 
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, 
Which I to conquer sought with all my might ; 
But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 490 

'I see what crosses my attempt will bring; 

I know what thorns the growing rose defends ; 

I think the honey guarded with a sting ; 

All this beforehand counsel comprehends : 

But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends; 
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, 
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. 

' I have debated, even in my soul, 

What wrong, what shame, what borrow I shall 

breed ; 
But nothing can affection's course control, 500 
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 
I know repentant tears ensue the deed, 

Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity; 

Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.' 

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, 
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, 
Whose crooked beak threats if lie mount he dies : 
So under his insulting falchion lies 

Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells 510 
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's 
bells. 

'Lucrece,' quoth he, 'this night I must enjoy 

thee : 
If thou deny, then force must work my way, 
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee : 
That done, some worthless slave of thine T '11 slay, 
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ; 
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, 
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 

' So thy surviving husband shall remain 
The scornful mark of every open eye ; 520 

Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, 
Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy : 
And thou, the author of their obloquy, 

Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, 
And sung by children in succeeding times. 

'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: 

The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ; 

A little harm done to a great good end 

For lawful policy remains enacted. 

The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 

In a pure compound ; being so applied, 531 

His venom in effect is purified. 



'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, 
Tender my suit: bequeath nut to their lut 
The shame that from them no device can take, 
The blemish that will never be forgot; 
Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot: 
For marks descried in men's nativity 
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' 

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye 540 

He rouseth up himself and makes a pause ; 
While she, the picture of pure piety, 
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws, 
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws, 

To the rough beast that knows no gentle 
right, 

Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. 

But when a black-faced cloud the world doth 

threat, 
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, 
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, 
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their bid- 
in S> 550 

Hindering their present fall by this dividing; 
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, 
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dallv. 
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth: 

Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture tolly, 
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth : 
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 
No penetrable entrance to her plaining : 
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with rain- 
ing. 5 6o 

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd 
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; 
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd, 
Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
She puts the period often from his place ; 
And midst the sentence so her accent breaks, 
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. 

She conjures him by high almighty Jove, 

By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's 

oath, 
By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 570 
By holy human law, and common troth, 
By heaven and earth, and, all the power of both, 
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, 
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 

Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality 
With such black payment as thou hast pretended ; 
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee : 
Mar not the tiling that cannot be amended; 
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended; 

He is no woodman that doth bend his bow 580 

To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 

' My husband is thy friend ; for his sake spare me : 
Thyself art mighty ; for thine own sake leave me : 
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me: 
Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me. 
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave 
thee : 

If ever man were moved with woman's moans. 

Be moved with my tears, mv sighs, my groans: 



LUCRECE. 



'All which together, like a troubled ocean, 
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, 
To soften it with their continual motion ; 591 

For stones dissolved to water do convert. 
O, if no harder than a stone thou art, 

Melt at my tears, and be compassionate ! 

Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 

' In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee : 
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? 
To all the host of heaven I complain me, 
Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely 
name. 599 

Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the same, 

Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; 

For kings like gods should govern every thing. 

' How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring ! 
If in thy hope thou darest do such outrage, 
What darest thou not when once thou art a king? 
O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing 

From vassal actors can be wiped away ; 

Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 

'This deed will make thee only loved for fear ; 610 
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love : 
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, 
When they in thee the like offences prove : 
If but for fear of this, thy will remove ; 

For princes are the glass, the school, the book, 
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 

'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall 
learn ? 

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame? 

Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern 

Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 620 

To privilege dishonour in thy name? 

Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, 
And makest fair reputation but a bawd. 

' Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee, 
From a pure heart command thy rebel will : 
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, 
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil, 

When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may say, 
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way? 

' Think but how vile a spectacle it were, 631 

To view thy present trespass in another. 
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 
Their own transgressions partially they smother : 
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies 
That from their own misdeeds askance their 
eyes! 

'To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal, 
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier: 
I sue for exiled majesty's repeal ; ^ 640 

Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire : 
His true respect will prison false desire, 

And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.' 

'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide 
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 



Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, 
And with the wind in greater fury fret: 
The petty streams that pay a daily debt 

To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' 
haste 650 

Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' 

'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king; 
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, 
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 
If all these petty ills shall change thy good, 
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed, 
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 

'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave; 
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 660 

Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave : 
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride : 
The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; 
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 

' So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state' — 
' No more,' quoth he ; 'by heaven, I will not hear 

thee: 
Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate, 
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee ; 
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee 670 
U nto the base bed of some rascal groom, 
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' 

This said, he sets his foot upon the light, 
For light and lust are deadly enemies : 
Shame folded up in blind concealing night, 
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize 
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries ; 
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd 
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold : 

For with the nightly linen that she wears 680 
He pens her piteous clamours in her head ; 
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed ! 
The spots whereof could weeping purify, 
Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 
And he hath won what he would lose again : 
This forced league doth force a further strife ; 
This momentary joy breeds months of pain ; 690 
This hot desire converts to cold disdain : 
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store, 
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, 
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
The prey wherein by nature they delight; 
So surfeit-taking Ta'rquin fares this night: 

His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 699 
Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring. 

O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit 
Can comprehend in still imagination ! 
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt, 
Ere he can see his own abomination. 
While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation 



LUCRECE. 



Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire, 
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire. 

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek. 
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless 

pace, 
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, 710 
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : 
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with 
Grace, 
For there it revels ; and when that decays, 
The guilty rebel for remission prays. 

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, 
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased; 
For now against himself he sounds this doom, 
That through the length of times he stands dis- 
graced : 
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ; 

To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, 720 
To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
Have batter' d down her consecrated wall, 
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
Her immortality, and made her thrall 
To living death and pain perpetual : 

Which in her prescience she controlled still, 
But her foresight could not forestall their will. 

Even in this thought through the dark night he 

stealeth, 
A captive victor that hath lost in gain : 730 

Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, 
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain ; 
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. 
She bears the load of lust he left behind, 
And he the burden of a guilty mind. 

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence ; 
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there ; 
He scowls and hates himself for his offence ; 
She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; 
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear; 740 

She stays, exclaiming on the direful night ; 

He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed de- 
light. 

He thence departs a heavy convertite ; 

She there remains a hopeless castaway; 

He in his speed looks for the morning light; 

She prays she never may behold the day, 

' For day,' quoth she, ' night's scapes doth open lay, 
And my true eyes have never practised how 
To cloak offences with a cunning brow. 

'They think not but that every eye can see 750 
The same disgrace which they themselves behold ; 
And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
To have their unseen sin remain untold ; 
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel. 
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' 

Here she exclaims against repose and rest, 
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, 
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind. 761 I 



Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her 

spite 
Against the unseen secrecy of night : 

' O comfort-killing Night, image of hell ! 

Dim register and notary of shame ! 

Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! 

Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame ! 

Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame ! 
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator 
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher ! 

'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night! 771 

Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, 
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, 
Make war against proportion'd course of time ; 
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 

'With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick 
The life of purity, the supreme fair, 780 

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ; 
And let thy misty vapours march so thick, 
That in their smoky ranks his smother' d light 
May set at noon and make perpetual night. 

'Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child, 
The silver-shining queen he would distain ; 
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled, 
Through Night's black bosom should not peep 

again : 
So should I have co-partners in my pain ; 

And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, 790 
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 

'Where now I have no one to blush with me, 
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine, 
To mask their brows and hide their infamy ; 
But I alone alone must sit and pine, 
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 

Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with 
groans, 

Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 

'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
Let not the jealous Day behold that face 800 

Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
Immodestly lies martyrM with disgrace ! 
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 
That all the faults which in thy reign are made 
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade ! 

' Make me not object to the tell-tale Day ! 

The light will show, character'd in my brow, 

The story of sweet chastity 's 

The impious breach of holy wedlock vow: 

Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 810 

To cipher what is writ in learned books, 
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. 

'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 

And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's nanie : 

The orator, to deck his oratory, 

Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame ; 

Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
Will lie the hearers to attend each line, 
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 



LUCRECE. 



' Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted: 821 
If that be made a theme for disputation, 
The branches of another root are rotted, 
And undeserved reproach to him allotted 
That is as clear from this attaint of mine 
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 

'O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, 
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, 830 
How he in peace is wounded, not in war. 
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
Which not themselves, but he that gives them 
knows ! 

' If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, 
From me by strong assault it is bereft. 
My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, 
Have no perfection of my summer left, 
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft: 
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, 
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. 

'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack ; 841 

Yet for thy honour did I entertain him; 
Coming from thee, I could not put him back, 
For it had been dishonour to disdain him: 
Besides, of weariness he did complain him, 
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for evil, 
When virtue is profaned in such a devil ! 

'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? 

Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? 

Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ? 850 

Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? 

Or kings be breakers of their own behests? 
But no perfection is so absolute, 
That some impurity doth not pollute. 

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold 

Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful 

fits; 
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, 
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, 
And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 

Having no other pleasure of his gain 860 

But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 

'So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 
And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; 
Who in their pride do presently abuse it: 
Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours 
Even in the moment that we call them ours. 

'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; 
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious 
flowers; 870 

The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; 
What virtue breeds iniquity devours: 
We have no good that we can say is ours, 

But ill-annexed Opportunity 

Or kills his life or else his quality. 

'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great! 

'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason : 



Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get; 

Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season ; 

'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason ; 
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, 
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 

'Thou makest the vestal violate her oath ; 

Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd ; 

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth ; 

Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 

Thou plainest scandal and displacest laud :_ 
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! 

' Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 890 
Thy private feasting to a public fast, 
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, 
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : 
Thy violent vanities can never last. 
How comes it then, vile Opportunity, 
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ? 

' When wilt thou be. the humble suppliant's friend, 
And bring him where his suit may b^ obtain'd? 
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ? 
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd ? 
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd? 901 

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for 
thee; 

But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. 

'The patient dies while the physician sleeps; 

The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 

Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ; 

Advice is sporting while infection breeds : 

Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : 
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, 
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. 

' When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid : 
They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee, 
He gratis comes ; and thou art well appaid 
As well to hear as grant what he hath said. 
My Collatine would else have come to me 
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 

' Guilty thou art of murder and of theft, 

Guilty of perjury and subornation, 

Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift, 920 

Guilty of incest, that abomination ; 

An accessary by thine inclination 

To all sins past, and all that are to come, 
From the creation to the general doom. 

'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night, 
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care, 
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's 

snare ; 
Thou nursest all and murder'st all that are : 

O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time ! 930 
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 

'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, 
Betray'd the hours thou gavest me to repose, 
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
To endless date of never-ending woes? 
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes ; 



LUCRECE. 



1023 



To eat up errors by opinion bred, 
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 

'Time's glory is to calm contending kings, 
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light, 940 
To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 
To wake the morn and sentinel the night, 
To wrong the wronger till he render right, 
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
And smear with dust their glittering golden 
towers ; 

'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, 
To feed oblivion with decay of things, 
To blot old books and alter their contents, 
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs, 950 
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, 
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel ; 

'To show the beldam daughters of her daughter, 
To make the child a man, the man a child, 
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, 
To tame the unicorn and lion wild, 
To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled, 

To cheer the ploughman with increaseful 
crops. 

And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 

' Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, 
Unless thou couldst return to make amends? 961 
One poor retiring minute in an age 
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, 
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends: 

O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour 
come back, 

I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack ! 

' Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity. 
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight : 
Devise extremes beyond extremity, 
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night : 
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright ; 971 
And the dire thought of his committed evil 
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 

'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans : 
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, 
To make him moan ; but pity not his moans : 
Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones ; 
And let mild women to him lose their mildness. 
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 980 

' Let him have time to tear his curled hair, 
Let him have time against himself to rave, 
Let him have time of Time's help to despair, 
Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave. 
And time to see one that by alms doth live 
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 

' Let him have time to see his friends his foes, 
And merry fools to mock at him resort : 
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes 
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 991 
His time of folly and his time of sport; 
And ever let his unrecalling crime 
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time. 



' O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, 
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill ! 
At his own shadow let the thief run mad, 
Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should 
spill; 
For who so base would such an office have 1000 
As slanderous dcath's-man to so base a slave? 

' The baser is he, coming from a king, 
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate: 
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate; 
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, 
But little stars may hide them when they list. 

' The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, 
And unperceived fly with the filth away; 1010 
But if the like the snow-white swan desire, 
The stain upon his silver down will stay. 
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious 
day: 
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 
But eagles gazed upon with every eye. 

" Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 

Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! 

Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools ; 

Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters: 

To trembling clients be you mediators: 1020 

For me, I force not argument a straw, 
Since that my case is past the help of law. 

' In vain I rail at Opportunity, 
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night; 
In vain I cavil with mine infamy. 
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite : 
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. 
The remedy indeed to do me good 
Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood. 

' Poor hand, why quivcr'st thou at this decree? 

Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; 1031 

For if I die, my honour lives in thee ; 

But if I live, thou livest in my defame : 

Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, 
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe, 
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' 

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, 
To find some desperate instrument of death : 
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth 
To make more vent forpassage ofher breath ; 1040 
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth 
As smoke from >Etna. that in air consumes, 
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 

' In vain,' quoth she, ' I live, and seek in vain 

S >me happy mean to end a hapless life. 

I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain. 

Yet for the self-same ;■ .knife: 

But when 1 fear'd I was a loyal wife: 
So am I new: () no, that cannot be: 
Of that true type hath Tarquin rilled me. 1050 

' O, that is gone for which I sought to live, 
And therefore now 1 ne id nol fear to die. 
To clear this spot by death, at least I give 



1024 



LUCRECE. 



A badge of fame to slander's livery ; 

A dying life to living infamy : 

Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away, 
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay ! 

' Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know 

The stained taste of violated troth ; 

I will not wrong thy true affection so, 1060 

To natter thee with an infringed oath ; 

This bastard graff shall never come to growth : 
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute 
That thou art doting father of his fruit. 

' Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state : 
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
Basely with gold, but stol'n from forth thy gate. 
For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 
And with my trespass never will dispense, 1070 
Till life to death acquit my forced offence. 

' I will not poison thee with my attaint, 
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; 
My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes, like sluices, 
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, 
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure 
tale.' 

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow, 1080 
And solemn night with slow sad gait descended 
To ugly hell ; when, lo, the blushing morrow 
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : 
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, 
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 

Revealing day through every cranny spies, 
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping; 
To whom she sobbing speaks : ' O eye of eyes, 
Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy 

peeping : 

Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are 

sleeping: 1090 

Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light. 

For day hath nought to do what 's done by night. ' 

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : 
True grief is fond and testy as a child, 
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees : 
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ; 
Continuance tames the one ; the other wild, 
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still, 
With too much labour drowns for want of skill. 

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, 1100 

Holds disputation with each thing she views, 
And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; 
No object but her passion's strength renews ; 
And as one shifts, another straight ensues : 

Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words ; 

Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords. 

The little birds that tune their morning's joy 
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody : 
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ; 
Sad souls are slain in merry company ; 11 10 

Grief best is pleased with grief's society : 



True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed 
When with like semblance it is sympathized. 

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore : 
He ten times pines that pines beholding food ; 
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more ; 
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, 

Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er- 
flows ; 

Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 1 120 

' You mocking birds,' quoth she, ' your tunes 

entomb 
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts, 
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb : 
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; 
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests : 
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with 
tears. 

' Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, 
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair: 
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, 
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 1131 
And with deep groans the diapason bear ; 
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, 
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. 

' And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
To imitate thee well, against my heart 
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye ; * 
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 

These means, as frets upon an instrument, 1140 
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languish- 
ment. 

' And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, 
As shaming any eye should thee behold, 
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, 
Will we find out ; and there we will unfold 

To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their 

kinds: 
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle 
minds.' 

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 
Wildly determining which way to fly/ 1150 

Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, 
That cannot tread the way out readily ; 
So with herself is she in mutiny, 
To live or die which of the twain were better, 
When life is shamed, and death reproach's 
debtor. 

'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack, what were it, 
But with my body my poor soul's pollution? 
They that lose half with greater patience bear it 
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
That mother tries a merciless conclusion 1160 

Who, having two sweet babes, when death 
takes one, 

Will slay the other and be nurse to none. 

' My body or my soul, which was the dearer, 
When the one pure, the other made divine? 



LUCRE CE. 



1025 



Whose love of either to myself was nearer, 
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine? 
Ay me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 

His leaves will wither and his sap decay ; 

So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 

' Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, 1170 

Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, 

Grossly engirt with daring infamy : 

Then let it not be call'd impiety, 

If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole 
Through which I may convey this troubled soul. 

' Yet die I will not till my Collatine 
Have heard the cause of my untimely death; 
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, 
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, 11 81 
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent, 
And as his due writ in my testament. 

' My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife 
That wounds my body so dishonoured. 
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; 
The one will live, the other being dead : 
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; 
For in my death I murder shameful scorn : 
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 

' Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 1191 
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ? 
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast, 
By whose example thou revenged mayst be. 
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me : 
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, 
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so. 

' This brief abridgement of my will I make : 
My soul and body to the skies and ground ; 
My resolution, husband, do thou take; 1200 

Mine honour be the knife 's that makes my wound ; 
My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 
And all my fame that lives disbursed be 
To those that live, and think no shame of me. 

'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will; 

How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 

My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 

My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. 

Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say " So be it:" 
Yield to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee : 
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.' 

This plot of death when sadly she had kid, 
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, 
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid, 
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies; 
For fleet- wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. 
" Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. 

! Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow. 
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, 
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 1221 
For why her face wore sorrow's livery ; 
But durst not ask of her audaciously 

Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, 
Nor why her fair cheeks over-washd with woe. 



But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, 
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; 
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet 
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy 
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky, 1230 
Who in a salt-waved ocean quench their light, 
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy 
night. 

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, 
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling: 
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand 
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling: 
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; 

Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts 
And then they drown their eyes or break their 
hearts. 

For men have marble, women waxen, minds, 1240 
And therefore are they form'd as marble will ; 
The weak oppress' d, the impression of strange 

kinds 
Ts form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill: 
Then call them not the authors of their ill, 
No more than wax shall be accounted evil 
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, 
Lays open all the little worms that creep ; 
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep : 1250 
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep: 

Though men can cover crimes with bold stern 
looks, 

Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower, 
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd : 
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, 
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild 
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill' d 
With men's abuses : those proud lords, to blame, 
Make weak-made women tenants to theirshame. 

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, 1261 
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong 
Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
By that her death, to do her husband wrong : 
Such danger to resistance did belong, 

That dying fear through all her body spread ; 

And who cannot abuse a body dead? 

By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining: 
' My girl,' quoth she, ' on what occasion break 
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are 
raining? 1271 

If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining. 
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood: 
If tears could help, mine own would do me good. 

' But tell me, girl, when went ' — and there she 

stay'd 
Till after a deep groan — : 'Tarquin from hence?' 
'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, 
' The more to blame my sluggard negligence : 
Vet with the fault I thus far can dispense : 

Myself was stirring ere the break of day, 1280 
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 

65 



1026 



LUCRECE. 



' But, lady, if your maid may be so bold, 
She would request to know your heaviness.' 
' O, peace !' quoth Lucrece : 'if it should be told. 
The repetition cannot make it less : 
For more it is than I can well express : 
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell 
When more is felt than one hath power to tell. 

' Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen : 

Yet save that labour, for I have them here. 1290 

What should I say? One of my husband's men 

Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 

A letter to my lord, my love, my dear: 

Bid him with speed prepare to carry it ; 

The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.' 

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, 
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill : 
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ; 
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will ; 
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill : 1300 
Much like a press of people at a door, 
Throng her inventions, which shall go before. 

At last she tbus begins : ' Thou worthy lord 
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, 
Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe t' afford — 
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see — 
Some present speed to come and visit me. _ 
- So, I commend me from our house in grief: 
My woes are tedious, though my words are 
brief.' 

Here folds she up the tenour of her woe, 1310 
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 
By this short schedule Collatine may know 
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality : 
She dares not thereof make discoyery, 

Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, 
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain' d 
excuse. 

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 

She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 

When sighs and groans and tears may grace the 

fashion 

Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 1320 

From that suspicion which the world might bear 

her. 

To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter 

With words, till action might become them better. 

To see sad sights moves more, than hear them told ; 
For then the eye interprets to the ear 
The heavy motion that it doth behold, 
When every part a part of woe doth bear. 
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear : 

Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, 

And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of 

words. 1330 

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ 
' At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.' 
The post attends, and she delivers it, 
Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast 
As lagging fowls before the northern blast : 

Speed more than speed but dull and slow she 
deems : 

Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 



The homely villain court'sies to her low ; 
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye 
Receives the scroll without or yea or no, 1340 
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie 

Imagine every eye beholds their blame ; 

For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her 
shame : 

When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 
Such harmless creatures have a true respect 
To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely : 

Even so this pattern- of the worn-out age 1350 
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, 
That two red fires in both their faces blazed ; 
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust, 
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed ; 
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed: 
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish, 
The more she thought he spied in her some 
blemish. 

But long she thinks till he return again, 
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 1360 
The weary time she cannot entertain, 
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan : 
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, 
That she her plaints a little while doth stay, 
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy ; 
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
For Helen's rape the city to destroy, 
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy: 1370 
Which the conceited painter drew so proud, 
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd. 

A thousand lamentable objects there ? 
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life: 
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, 
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife: 
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife ; 
And dying eyes gleam 'd forth their ashy lights, 
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 

There might you see the labouring pioner 1380 
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust; 
And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, 
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust : 

Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 

In great commanders grace and majesty 
You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; 
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; 
And here and there the painter interlaces 1390 
1 Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces; 
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, 
That one would swear he saw them quake and 
tremble. 

In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art 
Of physiognomy might one behold ! 



The face of either cipher'd either's heart ; 
Their face their manners most expressly told: 
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roli'd ; 

But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent 1399 
Show'd deep regard and smiling government. 

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight ; 
Making such sober action with his hand. 
That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight : 
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, 
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
Thin winding breath, which purl'dup to the sky. 

About him were a press of gaping faces, 
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice ; 
All jointly listening, but with several graces, 1410 
As if some mermaid did their cars entice, 
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice ; 
The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, 

His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's car; 

Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n 
and red ; 

Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear ; 

And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, 1420 
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 

For much imaginary work was there ; 
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, 
That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
Griped in an armed hand ; himself, behind, 
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind : 
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, 
Stood for the whole to be imagined. 

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy 
When their brave hope, bold Hedtor, march'd to 
field, 1430 

! Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
! To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield ; 
! And to their hope they such odd action yield. 
That through their light joy seemed to appear, 
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear. 

! And from the strand of Dardan, where they 

fought, 
I To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran, 
j Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began 
To break upon the galled shore, and than 1440 
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks, 
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. 

! To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, 
\ To find a face where all distress is stell'd. 
Many she sees where cares have carved some, 
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, 
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, 

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, 
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 

In her the painter had anatomized r45o 

Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign : 
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were dis- 
guised ; 



Of what she was no semblance did remain: 
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein, 

Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had 
fed, 

Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. 

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's v. 
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, 
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 1460 

The painter was no god to lend her those ; 

And therefore Lucrece swears he did herwrong, 
To give her so much grief and not a tongue. 

' Poor instrument,' quoth she, ' without a sound, 
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue ; 
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong; 1 
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long ; j 
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes j 
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 1470 

' Show me the strumpet that began this stir, 
That with my nails her beauty i may tear. 
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear: 
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here ; 
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, 
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. 

' Why should the private pleasure of some one 

Become the public plague of many moe? 

Let sin. alone committed, light alone 1480 

Upon his head that hath trangressed so ; 

Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe: 

For one's offence why should so many fall, 

To plague a private sin in general? 

' Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, 
Here manly Heclor faints, here Troilus swounds, 
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, 
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, 
And one man's lust these many lives confounds : 
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 1400 
Troy had been bright with fame and not with 
fire.' 

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes: 
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell, 
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; 
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell : 
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell 

To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow; 

She lends them words, and she their looks doth 
borrow. 

She throws her eyes about the painting round, 
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament. 
At last she sees a wretched image bound, 1501 
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent: 
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content; 
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, 
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 



In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, 
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe ; 
Cheeksneitherrednorpale, butmingledso 1510 



65- ' 



That blushing red no guilty instance gave, 
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 

But, like a constant and confirmed devil, 
He entertain'd a show so seeming just, 
And therein so ensconced his secret evil, 
That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms, 
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. 

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
For perjured Sinon, whose enchanting story 1521 
The credulous old Friam after slew ; 
Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining gloiy 
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 
And little stars shot from their fixed places, 
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their 
faces. 

This picture she advisedly perused, 
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill, 
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused ; 
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill : 1530 

And still on him she gazed; and gazing still, 
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, 
That she concludes the picture was belied. 

' It cannot be,' quoth she, 'that so much guile' — 
She would have said ' can lurk in such a look ; ' 
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while, 
And from her tongue ' can lurk' from ' cannot' took: 
' It cannot be' she in that sense forsook, 
And turn'd it thus, 'It cannot be, I find, 
But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 

' For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
As if with grief or travail he had fainted, 
To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguiled 
With outward honesty, but yet defiled 

With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish, 
So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish. 

' Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, 
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds ! 
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise? 1550 
For ever}' tear he falls a Trojan bleeds : 
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceed.; ; 
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy 

pity? 

Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 

' Such devils steal effects from lightless hell ; 
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, 
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell ; 
These contraries such unity do hold, 
Only to flatter fools and make them bold : 

So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter, 
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water. ' 

Here, all enraged, such passion her assails, 
That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, 
Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest : 

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 

' Fool, fool ! ' quoth she, ' his wounds will not 
be sore.' 



Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, 
And both she thinks too long with her remaining : 
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sus- 
taining : 
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps 5 
And they that watch see time how slow it creeps. 

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 
That she with painted images hath spent ; 
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 
Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 1580 

It easeth some, though none it ever cured, 
To think their dolour others have endured. ' 

But now the mindful messenger, come back, 
Brings home his lord and other company ; 
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black: 
And round about her tear-distained eye 
Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky : 
These water-galls in her dim element 
Foretell new storms to those already spent. 

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 
Amazedly in her sad face he stares : 1591 

Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and 

raw, 
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 
He hath no power to ask her how she fares : 
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, 
Met far from home, wondering each other's 
chance. 

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 
And thus begins : 'What uncouth ill event 
Hath thee.befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand ? 
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent? 
I Why art thou thus attired in discontent ? 1601 
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, 
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' 

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, 
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : 
At length address'd to answer his desire, 
She modestly prepares, to let them know 
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe; 
While Collatine and his consorted lords 
With sad attention long to hear her words. 1610 

And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending; 
' Few words,' quoth she, 'shall fit the trespass best, 
Where no excuse can give the fault amending : 
In me moe woes than words are now depending ; 
And my laments would be drawn out too long, 
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 

'Then be this all the task it hath to say: 
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 1620 

Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head ; 
And what wrong else mny be imagined 
By foul enforcement might be done to me, 
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free. 

'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
With shining falchion in my chamber came 



LUCRECE. 



1029 



A creeping creature, with a flaming light, 
And softly cried "Awake, thou Roman dame, 
And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 

On thee and thine this night I will inflict, 1630 
If thou my love's desire do contradict. 

' " For some hard-favour'd groom of thine," quoth 

he, 
"Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
I '11 murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee 
And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 
The lechers in their deed : this a6t will be 
My fame and thy perpetual infamy." 

•'With this, I did begin to start and cry ; 
And then against my heart he sets his sword, 1640 
Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 
I should not live to speak another word ; 
So should my shame still rest upon record, 
And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
Th' adulterate death of Lucrcce and her groom. 

'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
And far the weaker with so strong a fear: 
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; 
No rightful plea might plead for justice there : 
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 1650 

That my poor beauty had purloin' d his eyes ; 

And when the judge is rolib'd the prisoner 
dies. 

' O, teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 

Or at the least this refuge let me find; 

Though my gross blood be stain' d with this abuse, 

Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 

That was not forced ; that never was inclined 
To accessary yieldings, but still pure 
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' 

To, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, 1660 
With head declined, and voice damm'd up with 

woe, 
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
The grief away that stops his answer so: 
But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain; 
What he breathes out his breath drinks up 
again. 

As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste, 
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast ; 1670 
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past: 
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw, 
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, 
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh: 
'Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh. 
My woe too sensible thy passion m: 
• More feeling-painful : let it then suffice 1679 
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 

'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so 
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me : 
Be suddenly revenged on m 



Thine, mine, his own : suppose thou dost defend me 
From what is past: the help that thou slialt lend me 

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 

For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 

' But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she, 
Speaking to those that came with Collating 
' Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, 1690 
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ; 
For 'tis a meritorious fair design 
To chase injustice with revengeful arms: 
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor 
ladies' harms.' 

At this request, with noble disposition 
Each present lord began to promise aid, 
As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 1699 
The protestation stops. ' O, speak,' quoth she, 
' How may this forced stain be wiped from me 1 

'What is the quality of mine offence, 
Being constraint with dreadful circumstance? 
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, 
My low-declined honour to advance? 
May any terms acquit me from this chance? 
The poison'd fountain clears itself again : 
And why not I from this compelled stain?' 

With this, they all at once began to say, 

Her body's stain her mind untainted clears; 1710 

While with a joyless smile she turns away 

The face, that map which deep impression bears 

Of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears. 

'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living, 
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.' 

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, 
She throws forthTarquin's name: 'He. he, 'she says, 
But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not 

speak ; 
Till after many accents and delays, 
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 1720 
She utters this, ' He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, 
That guides this hand to give this wound tome.' 

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed : 
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
Of that polluted prison where it breathed: 
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd 

Her winged sprite, and through her wounds 
doth fly 

Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, 1730 
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew ; 
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed, 
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw; 
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
The murderous knife, and, as it left the place, 
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ; 

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
Circles her body in on every side, 
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood 1740 
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood. 



LUCRECE. 



Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, 
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin 
stain'd. 

About the mourning and congealed face 
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes, 
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place : 
I And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes, 
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
And blood untainted still doth red abide, 
Blushing at that which is so putrified. 1750 

' Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius Cries, 
'That life was mine which thou hast here de- 
prived. 
If in the child the father's image lies, 
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived? 
Thou wast not to this end from me derived. 
If children pre-decease progenitors, 
We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 

' Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born ; 
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim and old, 1760 
Shows me a bare-boned death by time outworn : 
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn, 
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
That I no more can see what once I was ! 

'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer, 
If they surcease to be that should survive. 
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger 
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive? 
The old bees die, the young possess their hive : 
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see 
Thy father die, and net thy father thee !' 1771 

By this, starts Collatine as from a dream, 
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; 
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, 
And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 

Till manly shame bids him possess his breath 
And live to be revenged on her death. 

The deep vexation of his inward soul 
' Hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; 1 780 
J Who, mad that sorrow should his use control, 
I Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, 
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's 

aid, 
That no man could distinguish what he said. 

Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain, 
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. 
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain, 
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more ; 
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: 1790 
Then son and father weep with equal strife 
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife. 

The one doth call her his, the other his, 
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
The father says 'She's mine.' 'O, mine she is,' 
Replies her husband: 'do not take away 
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say 
He weeps for her, for she was only mine, 
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.' 



' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life 1800 
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' 
'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife, 
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.' 
'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd 
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life, 
Answer'd their cries, 'my daughter' and 'my 
wife. ' 

Brutus, who pluck 'd the knife from Lucrece' side, 
Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 1810 
He with the Romans was esteemed so 
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings, 
For sportive words and uttering foolish things : 

But now he throws that shallow habit by, 
Wherein deep policy did him disguise; 
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, 
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 
' Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, 'arise : 
Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool, 
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. 

' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? 1821 
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous 

deeds? 
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow 
For his foul acl by whom thy fair wife bleeds? 
Such childish humour from weak minds pro- 
ceeds : 
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, 
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
In such relenting dew of lamentations ; 
But kneel with me and help to bear thy part, 
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, 183 1 
That they will suffer these abominations, 

Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis- 
graced, 
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets 
chased. 

' Now, by the Capitol that we adore, 

And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd, 

By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's 

store, 
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd, 
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd 
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, 
We will revenge the death of this true wife.' 

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow; 
And to his protestation urged the rest, 
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow : 
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow; 
And that deep vow, which Brutus made before, 
He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 

When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ; 
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, 1851 
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence : 
Which being done with speedy diligence, 
The Romans plausibly did give consent 
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 



SONNETS. 



TO THE ONLIE BEGETTER OF 

THESE INSUING SONNETS 

MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINJESSE 

AND THAT ETERNITIE 

PROMISED BY 

OUR EVER-LIVING POET 

WISHETH 

THE WELL-WISHING 

ADVENTURER IN 

SETTING 

.FORTH 

T. T. 



From fairest creatures we desire increase, 
That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 
But as the riper should by time decease, 
His tender heir might bear his memory: 
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
Making a famine where abundance lies, 
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament 
And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
Within thine, own bud buriest thy content 
And, tender churl, raakest waste in niggarding. 
Pity the world, or else this glutton be, 
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 



When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now. 
Will be a tatter d weed, of small worth held: 
j Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, 
I Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, 
I To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, 
i Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. 
: How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, 
! If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine 
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,' 
Proving his beauty by succession thine ! 

This were to be new made when thou art old, 
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. 



Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest 
Now is the time that face should form another ; 
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, 
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. 
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb 
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? 
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb 
Of his self-love, to stop posterity? 



Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the Lovely April of her prime : 
So thou through windows of thine age shalt sec 
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. 
But if thou live, remember' d not to be, 
Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 



Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
Upon thyself thy beauty's le - 
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, 
And being frank she lends to those are free. 
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou 
The bounteous largess given thee to give? 
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? 
For having traffic with thyself alone, 
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, 
What acceptable audit canst thou li 

Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, 
Which, used, lives th' executor to be. 



Those hours, that with gentle Work did frame 

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 

Will play the tyrants t<> the very same 

And that unfair which fairly doth excel ; 

For never-resting time leads summer on 

To hideous winter and confounds him there; 

Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite 

gone, 
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where : 
Then, were not summer's distillation left, 
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of g 
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, 
Nor it nor no remembrance what i; 

But Bowers distill'd, though they with winter 

meet, 
Leese but their show; their substance still liv^s 

sweet. 



SOWETS: 



Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd : 

Make sweet some vial ; treasure thou some place 

With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 

That use is not forbidden usury 

Which happies those that pay the willing loan ; 

That's for thyself to breed another thee, 

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ; 

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, 

If ten of thine ten times refigured thee : 

Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart, 

Leaving thee living in posterity? 

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair 
To be death's conquest and make worms thine 
heir. ' 



Lo! in the orient when the gracious light 
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, 
Serving with looks his sacred majesty; 
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, 
Resembling strong youth in his middle age, 
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, 
Attending on his golden pilgrimage ; 
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, 
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, 
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
From his low tract and look another way : 
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, 
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 



Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? 
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. 
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not 

gladly,_ 
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy? 
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, 
By unions married, do offend thine ear, 
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds 
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. 
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, 
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering, 
Resembling sire and child and happy mother 
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: 

Whose speechless song, being many, seeming 
one, 

Sings this to thee : ' thou single wilt prove none. ' 



Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye 
That thou consumest thyself in single life? 
Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, 
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife ; 
The world will be thy widow and still weep 
That thou no form of thee hast left behind, 
When every private widow well may keep 
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind. 
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend 
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,. 
And kept unused, the user so destroys it. 
No love toward others in that bosom sits 
That on himself such murderous shame com- 
mits. 



For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any, 

Who for thyself art so unprovident. 

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, 

But that thou none lovest is most evident ; 

For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate 

That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire, 

Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate 

Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 

O, change thy thought, that I may change my 

mind ! 
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? 
Be,- as thy presence is, gracious and kind, 
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove : 
Make' thee another self, for love of me, 
That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 



As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest 
In one of thine, from that which thou departest; 
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest 
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth con- 

vertest. 
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase; 
Without this, folly, age and cold decay : 
If all were minded so, the times should cease 
And threescore year would make the world away. 
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, 
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish : 
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more ; 
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty 
cherish : 
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby 
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. 



When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
When I behold the violet past prime, 
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white ; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, 
Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake 
And die as fast as they see others grow ; 

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make 
defence 

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee 
hence. 



O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are 
No longer yours than you yourself here live : 
Against this coming end you should prepare, 
And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
So should that beauty which you hold in lease 
Find no determination ; then you were 
Yourself again after yourself 's decease, 
When your sweet issue your sweet form should 

bear. 
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, 
Which husbandry in honour might uphold 
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day 
And barren rage of death's eternal cold? 

O, none but unthrifts ! Dear my love, you know 
You had a father : let your son say so. 



SONNETS. 



103; 



Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck ; 
And yet methinks I have astronomy, 
But not to tell of good or evil luck, 
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;: 
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, 
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, 
Or say with princes if it shall go_ well, 
By oft predict that I in heaven hnd : 
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, 
And, constant stars, in them I read such art 
As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; 
Or else of thee this I prognosticate : 
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 



When I consider every thing that grows 
Holds in perfection but a little moment, 
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows 
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;. 
When I perceive that men as plants increase. 
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky, 
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
And wear their brave state out of memory; 
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, 
To change your day of youth to sullied night ; 
And all in war with Time for love of you. 
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 



But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time ? 
And fortify yourself in your decay 
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? 
Now stand you on the top of happy hours, 
And many maiden gardens yet unset 
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, 
Much liker than your painted counterfeit : 
So should the lines of life that life repair, 
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, 
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 
To give away yourself keeps yourself still, 
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet 
skill. 



Who will believe my verse in time to come, 
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? 
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
Which hides your life and shows not half yourparts. 
If I could write the beauty of your eyes 
And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 
The age to come would say 'This poet lies ; 
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' 
So should my papers yellow'd with their age 
Be scorn'd like old men c( less truth than tongue, 
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage 
And stretched metre of an antique song : 

But were some child of yours alive that time, 
You should live twice ; in it and in my rhyme. 



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 



Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too snort a date : 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion tlimm'd; 
And every fair from Cur sometime declines, 
By chance or nature's changing mrse un trimm'd ; 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest : 
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest : 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can sec, 
So long lives this and this gives life to th-e. 



Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws. 
And make the earth devour her own sweetbrood ; 
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaw- , 
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her 1 ! 
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, 
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
To the wide world and all her fading sweets ; 
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : 
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, 
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen ; 
Him in thy course untainted do allow 
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 
Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong, 
My love shall in my verse ever live young. 



A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted 
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion ; 
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion ; 
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, 
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling. 
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls 

amazeth. 
And for a woman wcrt thou first created ; 
Till Nature, as she wrought thee,. fell a-dotihg, 
And by addition me of thee defeated, 
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. t 

But since she prick'd thee out for women's 
pleasure, 

Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. 



So is it not with me as with that Mu6e 
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his \ • 
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use 
And every. fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
Making a couplement of proud compare, 
With sun and moon, with eartfi and sea's rich gems, 
With April's first-born flowers, and all tin: ; 
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 
O, let me, true in love, but truly write, 
And then believe me, my love is as fair 
As any mother's child, though not so bright 
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: 

Let them say more that like of hearsay well ; 

I will not praise that purpose not to sell. 



My glass shall not persuade me I am old. 
So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
But when in thee time's furrows 1 behold, 
Then look I death my days should expiate. 



1034 



SONNETS. 



For all that beauty that doth cover thee 
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, 
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me : 
How can I then be elder than thou art ? 
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary 
As I, not for myself, but for thee will; 
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ; 

Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again. 

XXIII. 

As an imperfect actor on the stage 

Who with his fear is put besides his part, 

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, 

Whose strength's abundance weakens his own 

heart, 
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love's rite, 
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, 
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might. 
O, let my books be then the eloquence 
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, 
Who plead for love and look for recompense 
More than that tongue that more hath more ex- 

press'd. 
>0, learn to read what silent love hath writ : 
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 



Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd 
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ; 
My body is the frame wherein 'tis -held, 
And perspective it is best painter's art. 
For through the painter must you see his skill, 
To find where your true image pictured lies; 
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, 
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done : 
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun 
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; 

They draw but what they see, know not the 
heart. 



Let those who are in favour with their stars 
Of public honour and proud titles boast, 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. 
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread 
But as the marigold at the sun's eye, 
And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
After a thousand victories once foil'd, 
Is from the book of honour razed quite. 
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
Then happy I, that love and am beloved 
Where I may not remove nor be removed. 

XXVI. 

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 

Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 

To thee I send this written embassage, 

To witness duty, not to show my wit : 

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 

May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, 



But that I hope some good conceit of thine 
In thy soul's thought, all naked, willbestow it; 
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving 
Points on me graciously with fair aspect 
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, 
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect : 

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee ; 

Till then not show my head where thou mayst 
prove me. 



Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ; 
But then begins a journey in my head, 
To work my mind, when body's work's expired : 
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, 
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, 
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, 
Looking on darkness which the blind do see : 
Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 
Makesblack night beauteousand heroldface new. 
Lo ! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, 
For thee and for myself no quiet find. 



How can I then return in happy plight, 
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? 
When day's oppression is not eased by night, 
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? 
And each, though enemies to cither's reign, 
Do in consent shake hands to torture me ; 
The one by toil, the other to complain 
How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright 
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: 
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, 
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the 
even. 
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer 
And night doth nightly make grief's strength 
seem stronger. 



When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 

I all alone beweep my outcast state 

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries 

And look upon myself and curse my fate, 

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 

Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, 

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 

With what I most enjoy contented least; 

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 

Haply I think on thee, and then my state, 

Like to the lark at break of day arising 

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth 
brings 

That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 



When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 

I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : 

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, ' 

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 



SONNETS. 



And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, 
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight : 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
Which I new pay as if not paid before. 

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
All losses are restored and sorrows end. 



Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
Which I by lacking have supposed dead, 
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts 
And all those friends which I thought buried. 
How many a holy and obsequious tear 
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye 
As interest of the dead, which now appear 
But things removed that hidden in thee lie ! 
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 
That due of many now is thine alone : 
Their images I loved I view in thee, 
. And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. 



If thnu survive my well-contented day. 

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall 

cover, 
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 
Compare them with the bettering of the time, 
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, 
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, 
Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought : 
' Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing 

age, 
A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
To march in ranks of better equipage : 
But since he died and poets better prove, 
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.' 



Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, 
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
(Hiding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; 
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : 
Even so my sun one early morn did shine 
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow ; 
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine ; 
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 

Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun 
staineth. 



Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day 
And make me travel forth without my cloak, 
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my v. 
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 
'Tis not enough that through the cl< aid thou break, 
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, 
F r no man well of such a salve can speak 
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace : 



Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; 
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: 
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief ' 
To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 

Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love 
sheds, 

And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. 



No more be grieved at that which thou hast done : 
Roses have thorn;, and silver fountains mud; 
( louds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, 
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
All men make faults, and even I in this, 
.Authorizing thy trespass with compare, 
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, 
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are ; 
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense — 
Thy adverse party is thy advocate — 
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : 
Such civil war is in my love and hate 
That I an accessary needs must be 
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. 

xxxvi. 
Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
Although our undivided loves are one : 
So shall those blots that do with me remaii. 
Without thy help by me be borne alone-. 
In our two loves there is but one respect, 
Though in our lives a separable spite, 
Which though it alter not love's sole effect, 
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
I may not evermore acknowledge thee, 
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, 
Nor thou with public kindness honour me, 
Unless thou take that honour from thy name : 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort 
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 



As a decrepit father takes delight 

To sec his active child do deeds of youth, 

So 1, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, 

Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. 

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, 

Or any of these all, or all, or more, 

Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 

I make my love engrafted to this store : 

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, 

Whilst that this shadow doth Mich substance give 

That I in thy abundance am sufficed 

And by a part of all thy glory live. 

Look, what i-, best, that best I wish in thee: 
This wish I have ; then ten times happy me ! 

XXXVIII. 

How can my Muse want subject to invent, 
While thou dost breathe, thafrpour'st into my verse 
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
For every vulgar paper to rehearse? 
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 
Worthy perusj i thy sight; 

For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, 
When thou thyself dost give invention light? 
Be thou the tenth .Muse, ten times more in worth 
Than those old nine which rhymers invo 
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 
Eternal numbers to outlive long date. 



If my slight Muse do please these curious days, 
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 



O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
When thou art all the better part of me ? 
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? 
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee? 
Even for this let us divided live, 
And our dear love lose- name of single one, 
That by this separation I may give 
That due to thee which thou deservest alone. 
O absence, what a -torment wouldst thou prove, 
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
Which time and thoughts so sweetlydoth deceive, 
^ And that thou teachest how to make one twain, 
By praising him here who doth hence remain ! 



Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all ; 
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before : 
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call ; 
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. 
Then if for my love thou my love receivest, 
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest ; 
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest 
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
1 do forgive thy robbery,- gentle thief, 
Although thou steal thee all my poverty ; 
And yet,, love knows, it is a greater grief 
To bear love's wrong than hate's known. injury. 
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, 
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes. 



Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, 
When I am sometime absent from thy heart, 
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, 
For still temptation follows where thou art. 
Gentle thou art and' therefore to be won,. 
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed; 
And when a woman woos, what woman's son 
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed ? 
Ay me ! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, 
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, 
Who lead thee in their riot even there 
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth, 
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, 
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 



That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, 
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly ; 
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 
A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : 
Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her ; 
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, 
Suffering my friend for my sa'ke to approve her. 
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, 
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; 
Both find each other, and I lose both twain, 
And both for my sake lay on me this cross : 

But here's the joy ; my friend and I are one ; 

Sweet flattery ! then she loves but me alone. 



When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, 
For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, 
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed. 
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make 

bright, 
How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
To the clear day with thy much clearer light, 
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so ! 
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made 
By looking on thee in the living day, 
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ! 
All days are nights to see till I see thee, 
And nights bright days when dreams do show 
thee me. 

XLIV. 

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
Injurious distance should not stop my way; 
For then despite of space I would be brought, 
Fromdimits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
No matter then although my foot did stand 
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee ; 
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land 
As soon as think the place where he would be. 
But, ah ! thought kills me that Lam not thought, 
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, 
But that so much of earth and water wrought 
I must attend time's leisure with my moan, 
Receiving nought by elements -so slow 
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. 



The other two, slight air and purging fire, 
Are both with thee, wherever I abide; 
The first my thought, the other my desire, 
These present-absent with swift motion slide. 
For when these quicker elements are gone 
In tender embassy of love to -thee, 
My life, being made of four, with two alone 
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy 
Until life's composition be recured 
By those swift messengers return'd from thee, 
Who even but now comeback again, assured 
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: 
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, 
I send them back again and straight grow sad. 



Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war 
How to divide the conquest of thy sight; 
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, 
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, — 
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes — 
But the defendant dbth that plea deny 
And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
To 'cide this title is impanneled 
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, 
And by their verdict is determined 
The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part : 
As thus ; mine eye's due is thy outward part, 
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. 

XLVII. 

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, 
And each doth good turns now unto the other : 



SONNETS. 



1037 



When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, 
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, 
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast 
And to the painted banquet bids my heart ; 
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest 
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: 
So, cither by thy picture or my love, 
Thyself away art present still with me : 
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, 
And I am still with them and they with thee; 
Or, if they sleep, thy piclurc in my sight 
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 

XLviir. 
How careful was I, when I took my way, 
F.ach trifle under truest bars to thrust, 
That to my use it might unused stay 
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust ! 
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, 
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, 
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care, 
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, 
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, 
Within the gentle closure of my breast, 
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come. and 
part; 
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear, 
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 



Against that time, if ever that time come, 
When I shall see thee frown on my defects, 
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, 
Call'd to that audit by advised respects ; 
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass 
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, 
When love, converted from the thing it was, 
Shall reasons find of settled gravity, — 
Against that time do I ensconce me here 
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
And this my hand against myself uprear, 
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: 

To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, 
Since why to love I can allege no cause. 



How heavy do I journey on the way. 
When what I seek, my weary travel's end, 
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say 
' Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend .!' 
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, 
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, 
As if by some instinct the wretch did know 
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee: 
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide ; 
Which heavily he answers with a groan, 
More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 

For that same groan doth put this in my mind ; 

My grief lies onward and my joy behind. 



Tints can my love excuse the slow offence 

Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed : 

From where thou art why should I haste me thence? 

Till I return, of posting is no need. 

• ). what excuse will my poor beast then find, 

When swift extremity can seem but slow? 



Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind ; 
In winged speed no motion shall I know: 
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; 
Therefore desire, of pcrfec't'st love being made, 
Shall neigh — no dull flesh — in his fiery race ; 
But love. f>r love, thus shall ex< use my jade; 
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow, 
Towards thee I '11 run, and give him leave to go. 



So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
The which he will not every hour survey, 
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
Therefore are feasts so solemn 
Since, seldom 1 oming, in the long year set, 
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, 
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
So is the time that keeps you as my chest. 
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 
To make some special instant special blest, 
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. 
'Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 



What is your substance, whereof arc you made. 
That millions of strange shadows on you tend? 
Since every one hath, every one, one shade, 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you ; 
( )n Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
Speak of the spring and foison of the year : 
The one doth shadow of your beauty show, 
The other as your bounty doth appear; 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part, 
But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 



O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem 
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! 
1 The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 

For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
I The canker-blcoms have full as deep a dye 

As the perfumed tincture of the p 
I Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly 
When summer's breath their masked buds dis- 
closes : 
But, for their virtue only is their show, 
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: 
And so of -you, beauteous and lovely youth. 
When that shall fade, my verse distills your 
truth. 



Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 

But you shall shine more bright in these contents 

Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. 

When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 

And broils root out the work of masonry, 

Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn 

The living record of your memory. 



1038 



SONNETS. 



'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 

Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find 
room 

Even in the eyes of all posterity 

That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, till the judgement that yourself arise, 
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 



Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said 
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, 
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, 
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : 
So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill 
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness, 
To-morrow see again, and do not kill 
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. 
Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new 
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
Return of love, more' blest may be the view; 
Else call it winter, which being full of care 
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, 
more rare. 



Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire? 
I have no precious time at all to spend, 
Nor services to do, till you require. 
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
But, like a sad' slave, stay and think of nought 
Save, where you are how happy you make those. 
So true a fool is love that in your will, 
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. 



That god forbid that made me first your slave, 
I should in thought control your times of pleasure, 
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, 
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! 
O, let me suffer, being at your beck, 
The imprison'd absence of your liberty; 
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, 
Without accusing you of injury. 
Be where you list, your charter is so strong 
That you yourself may privilege your time 
To what you will; to you it doth belong 
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; 

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 



If there be nothing new, but that which is 
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, 
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss 
The second burden of a former child ! 
O, that record could with a backward look, 
Even of five hundred courses of the sun, 
Show me your image in some antique book, 
Since mind at first in character was done ! 
That I might see what the old world could say 
To this composed wonder of your frame ; 



Whether we are mended, or whether better they, 

Or whether revolution be the same. 
O, sure I am, the wits of former days 
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 



Like as the waves make towards the pebbled 

shore, 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes before, 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 1 

Nativity, once in the main of light, 
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, 
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. 
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : 
f And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 



Is it thy will thy image should keep open 

My heavy eyelids to the weary night? 

Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 

While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? 

Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 

So far from home into my deeds to pry, 

To find out shames and idle hours in me, 

The scope and tenour of thy jealousy? 

O, no ! thy love, though much, is not so great : 

It is my I0V2 that keeps mine eye awake ; 

Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, 

To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 

For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake else 
where, 

From me far off, with others all too near. 



Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye 
And all my sold and all my every part; 
And for this sin there is no remedy, 
It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, 
No shape so true, no truth of such account; 
And for myself mine own worth do define, 
As I all other in all worths surmount. 
But when my glass shows me myself indeed, 
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, 
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; 
Self so self-loving were- iniquity. 

'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, 
Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 

lxiii. 

Against my love shall be, as I am now, 

With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn ; 

When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his 

brow 
With lines and wrinkles ; when his youthful morn 
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night, 
And all those beauties whereof now he's king 
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, 
Stealing away the treasure of his spring; 
For such a time do I now fortify 
Against confounding age's cruel knife, 
That he shall never cut from memory 
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life : 



SONNE TS. 



His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, 
And they shall live, and he in them still green. 



When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age ; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed 
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
Increasing store with loss and loss with store; 
When I have seen such interchange of state, 
Or state itself confounded to decay : 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, 
That Time will come rind take my love away. 
Thfs thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 



Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, 
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? 
O fearful meditation ! where, alack, 
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? 
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? 
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 
O, none, unless this miracle have might. 
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 



Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, 
As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, 
And strength by limping sway disabled, 
And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
And folly doctor-like controlling skill. 
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 
| And captive good attending captain ill : 

Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 



Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live, 
And with his presence grace impiety. 
That sin by him advantage should achieve 
And lace itself with his society? 
Why should false painting imitate his cheek 
And steal dead seeing of his living hue? 
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek 
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? 
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, 
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins? 
For she hath no exchequer now but his, 
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. 

O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had 
In days long since, before these last so bad. 



LXVIII. 

Thus is his cheek the map i irn, 

When beauty lived and died as Bowers do now, 
Before these bastard signs of fair were born, 
Or durst inhabit on a living brew : 

the golden tresses of the dead, 
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away. 
To live a second life on second head; 
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: 
In him those holy antique hours arc seen, 
Without all ornament, itself and true, 
Making do summer of another's green, 

j no old to dress his beauty new; 
And him as for a map doth Nature store, 
To show false Art what beauty was of yore. 



Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view 
Wantnothing that the thought of hearts can mend ; 
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, 
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. 
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd ; 
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own 
In other accents do this praise confound 
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 
They look into the beauty of thy mind, 
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ; 
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes 

were kind, 
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: 
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show. 
The solve is this, that thou dost common grow. 



That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, 
Either not assail'd or victor being charged ; 
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, 
To tie up envy evermore enlarged : 

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, 
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst 



No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
If thinking on me then should make you wue. 
O, if. I s.iy. you look upon this ver.se 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
But let your love even with my life decay, 
Lest the wise worl 1 should look Into your moan 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 



O, lest the world should ta<--k you to recite 
What merit lived in me, th.it you should I 



1040 



SONNETS. 



After my death, dear love, forget me quite, 
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, 
To do more for me than mine own desert, 
And hang more praise upon deceased I 
Than niggard truth would willingly impart : 
O, lest your true love may seem false in this, 
That you for love speak well of me untrue, 
My name be buried where my body is, 
And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, 
And so should you, to love things nothing worth. 



That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds 

sang. 
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
Which by and by black night doth take away, 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire 
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. 

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love 
more strong, 

To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

LXXIV. 

But be contented : when that fell arrest* 
J Without all bail shall carry me away, 
1 My life hath in this line some interest, 

Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 

When thou reviewest this, thou dost review 

The very part was consecrate to thee : 

The earth can have but earth, which ishis due. 

My spirit is thine, the better part of me : 

So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, • 

The prey of worms, my body. being dead, 

The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, 

Too base of thee to be remembered. 

The worth of that is that which it contains, 
And that is this, and this with thee remains. 



So are you to my thoughts as food to life, 

Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground ; 

And for the peace of you I hold such strife 

As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found ; 

Now proud as an enjoyer and anon 

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, 

Now counting best to be with you alone, 

Then better' d that the world may see my pleasure ; 

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight 

And by and by clean starved for a look ; . 

Possessing or pursuing no delight, 

Save what is had or must from you be took. 

Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, 
. Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 



Why is my verse so barren of new pride, 

So far from variation or quick change? 

Why with the time do I not glance aside 

To new-found methods and to compounds strange? 



Why write 1 still all one, ever the same, 
And keep invention in a noted weed, 
That every word doth almost tell my name, 
Showing their birth and where they did proceed? 
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, 
And you and love are still my argument; 
So all my best is dressing old words new, 
Spending again what is already spent: 
For as the sun is daily new and old, 
So is my love still telling what is told. 

LXXVII. 

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, 
Ihy dial how thy precious minutes waste; 
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
And df this book this learning mayst thou taste. 
Ihe wrinkles which thy glass will truly show 
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; 
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know 
Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
Look, what thy memory can not contain 
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
1 hose children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain. 
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. 

LXXVIII. 

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse 
And found such fair assistance in my .verse 
As every alien pen hath got my use 
And under thee their poesy disperse. 
Thine eyes that taught the dumb on. high to sing 
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly 
Have added feathers to the learned's wing 
And given grace a double majestv. 
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
Whose influence is thine and born of thee : 
In others' works thou dost but mend the style. 
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
But thou art all my art and dost advance 
As high as learning my rude ignorance. 

LXXIX. 

Whilst I alone did call upon thjr aid, 
My verse alone had all th)^ gentle grace, 
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd 
And my sick Muse doth give another place. 
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, 
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent 
He robs thee of and pays it thee again. 
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word 
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give 
And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 
Then thank him not for that which he doth say, 
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay! 

LXXX. 

O, how I faint when I of you do write, 
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, 
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame 
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, 
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
My saucy bark inferior far to his 
On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 



SONNE TS. 



Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, 
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride ; 
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, 
He of tall building and of goodly pride : 
Then if he thrive and I be cast away, 
The worst was this ; my love was my decay. 



Or I shall live your epitaph to make, 
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten ; 
From hence your memory death cannot take, 
Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die : 
The earth can yield me but a common grave, 
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
Your monument shall be my gentle verse, 
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, 
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse 
When all the breathers of this world are dead ; 
You still shall live— such virtue hath my pen — 
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths 
of men. 



I grant thou wert not married to my Muse 
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook 
The dedicated words which writers use 
Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, 
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, 
And therefore art enforced to seek anew 
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
And do so, love ; yet when they have devised 
What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized 
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend ; 
And their gross painting might be better used 
Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abused. 



I never saw that you did painting need 
And therefore to your fair no painting set; 
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
The barren tender of a poet's debt ; 
And therefore have I slept in your report, 
That you yourself being extant well might show 
How far a modern quill doth come too short, 
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
This silence for my sin you did impute, 
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ; 
For I impair not beauty being jnute, 
When others would give life and bring a tomb. 
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes 
Than both your poets can in praise devise. 



Who is it that says most? which can say more 
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? 
In whose confine immured is the store 
Which should example where your equal grew. 
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell 
That to his subject lends not some small glory ; 
But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
That you are you, so dignifies his story, 
Let him but copy what in you is writ, 
Not making worse what nature made so clear, 
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, 
Making his style admired every where. 



You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, 
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises 
worse. 



My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, 
While comments of your praise, richly compiled, 
Reserve their character with golden quill 
And precious phrase by all the .Muses filed. 
I think good thoughts whilst other write good 

words, 
And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen' 
To every hymn that able spirit affords 
In polish'd form of well-refined pen. 
Hearing you praised, I say "Tis so, 'tis true,' 
And to the most <>f praise add something more ; 
But that is in my thought, whose love to you, 
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank 
before. 
Then others for the breath of words respect, 
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 



Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, 
Bound for the prize of nil too precious you, 
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, 
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew! 
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? 
No, neither be, nor his compeers by night 
Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 
He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
As victors of my silence cannot b<>asi ; 
I was not sick of any fear from thence : 

But when your countenance fill'd up his line, 
Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine. 



Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
The charter of thy worth gives thee rele.:- 
My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
For how do I hold thee but by thy granr 
And for that riches whore is my deserving! 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 

my patent back again is swerving. 
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not 

knowing, 
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking; 
So thy great sit" 1 , upon misprision grov I 
Comes home again, on better judgement I 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth 
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. 

Lxxxvnr. 

When thou shalt be d t me light 

And place my merit in the eye of scorn. 
Upon thy side against myself I 'II fighl 
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. 
With mine own weakness being best acq 

thy part 1 can set down a si 
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted. 
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory : 
And 1 by this will be a gainer t"<> : 
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee. 
The injuries that to myself I 
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 



5 



SONNE TS. 



Such is my love, to thee I so belong. 

That for thy right myself will bear all wronj; 



Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, 
And I will comment upon that offence ; 
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, 
Against thy reasons making no defence. 
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, 
To set a form upon desired change, 
As I'll myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange, 
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue 
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, 
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong 
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
For thee against myself I'll vow debate, 
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 



Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 

Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 

Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 

And do not drop in for an after-loss : 

Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, 

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 

To linger out a purposed overthrow. 

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 

When other petty griefs have done their spite, 

But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 

At first the very worst of fortune's might, 

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. 



Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, 
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force, 
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill. 
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their 

horse : 
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, 
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest : 
But these particulars are not my measure ; 
All these I better in one general best. 
Thy love is better than high birth to me, 
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, 
Of more delight than hawks or horses be ; 
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast : 
. Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take 
All this away and me most wretched make. 



But do thy worst to steal thyself away, 
For term of life thou art assured mine, 
And life no longer than thy love will stay, 
For it depends upon that love of thine. 
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, 
When in the least of them my life hath end. 
I see a better state to me belongs 
Than that which on thy humour doth depend ; 
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, 
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
O, what a happy title do I find, 
Happy to have thy love, happy to die ! 

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? 

Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. 



XCIII. 

So shall I live, supposing thou art true, 
Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; 
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
For there can live no hatred in thine eye, 
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
In many's looks the false heart's history 
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange, 
But heaven in thy creation did decree 
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; 
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, 
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness 
tell. 
How like Eve's apple doth thy beaut}*- grow, 
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ! 

xciv. 
They that have power to hurt and will do none, 
That do not do the thing they most do show, 
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, 
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces 
And husband nature's riches from expense ; 
They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
Others but stewards of their excellence. 
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
Though to itself it only live and die, 
But if that flower with base infection meet, 
The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 



How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ! 
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose !_ 
That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 
Making lascivious comments on thy sport, 
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 
Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
O, what a mansion have those vices got 
Which for their habitation chose out thee, 
Where bsauty's veil doth cover every blot, 
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see ! 

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 

The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. 



Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness ; 
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport ; 
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less ; 
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort. 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd, 
So are those errors that in thee are seen 
To truths translated and for true things deem'd. 
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
How many gazers mightst thou lead away, 
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state ! 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort 
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 



How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 



SONNE TS. 



What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! 
What old December's bareness every where ! 
And yet this time removed was summer's time, 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : 
Vet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit : 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's 
near. 



From you have I been absent in the spring. 
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, 
That heavy Saturn laugh' d and leap'd with him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell 
Gf different flowers in odour and in hue 
Could make me any summer's story tell, 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 

grew ; 
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose : 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
Vet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
As with your shadow I with these did play : 

xcix. 
The forward violet thus did I chide : 
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet 

that smells, 
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair : 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. 
One blushing shame, another white despair : 
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both 
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ; 
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see- 
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. 



Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long 

To speak of that which gives thee all thy might'/ 

Spend'st thou thy fury on sonic v, 

Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? 

Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 

In gentle numbers time so idiy spent ; 

Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem 

And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 

Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, 

If Time have any wrinkle graven there; 

If any, be a satire to decay, 

And make Time's spoils despised every where. 

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ; 

So thou prevent' st his scythe and crooked knife. 



O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends 
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? 



Both truth and beauty on my love depends ; 

So dost thou too, and therein dignified. 

Make answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say 

'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd ; 

Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay; 

But best is best, if never intermix' 

Because he needs no praise, will th u lie dumb? 

Excuse not silence so ; for't lies in thee 

To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, 

And to be praised of ages yet to be. 

Then do thy office, Muse ; I teach thee how 
To make him seem long hence as he shows now. 



My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 

seeming ; 
I love not less, though less the show appear : 
That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming 
The owner's tongue doth publish every where. 
( hir love was new and then but in the spring 
When I was wont to greet it with my lays, 
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing 
And stops her pipe in growth of riper d .- 
Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, 
But that wild music burthens every bough 
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue, 
Because I would not dull you with my song. 



Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, 
That having such a scope to show her pride, 
The argument all bare is of more worth 
Than when it hath my added praise beside ! 
O, blame me not, if I no more can write ! 
Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
That over-goes my blunt invention quite. 
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. 
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, 
To mar the subject that before was well? 
For to no other pass my verses tend 
Than of your gra cs and your .uifts to tell : 

And more, much more, than in my verse can sit 
Your own glass shows you when you look in it. 



To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 

For as you were when first your eye 1 eyed, 

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 

Have from the forests shook three sun 

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 

In process of the seasons have I seen, 

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes 

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 

Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 

Steal from his ("mure and no pace perceived ; 

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth 

stand, 
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived : 

For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred ; 

Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 



Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
Nor my beloved ;<s an idol show. 
Since all alike my songs and praises be 
To one, of one, still such, and 



61-2 



io44 



SONNETS. 



Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
Therefore my verse to constancy confined, 
One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
' Fair, kind, and true' is all my argument, 
' Fair, kind', and true ' varying to other words ; 
And in this change is my invention spent, 
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope 
affords. 
' Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone, 
Which three till now never kept seat in one. 



When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have express'd 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
For we, which now behold these present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 



Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
Incertainties now crown themselves assured 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes : 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are 
spent. 

CVIII. 
What's in the brain that ink may character 
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? 
What 's new to speak, what new to register, 
That may express my love or thy dear merit ? 
Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, 
I must each day say o'er the very same, 
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
Even as when first I hallo w'd thy fair name. 
So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, 
But makes antiquity for aye his page, 

Finding the first conceit of love there bred 
Where time and outward form would show it 
dead. 



O, never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. 
As easy might I from myself depart 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie : 
That is my home of love : if I have ranged, 
Like him that travels I return again, 



Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call, 
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 



Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there 

And made myself a motley to the view, 

Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is 

most dear, 
Made old offences of affections new ; 
Most true it is that I have look'd on truth 
Askance and strangely : but, by all above, 
These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
And worse essays proved thee my best of love. 
Now all is done, have what shall have no end : 
Mine appetite I never more will grind 
On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
A god in love, to whom I am confined. 

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the 
best, 

Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 



O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
That did not better for my life provide 
Than public means which public manners breeds. 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
And almost thence my nature is subdued 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand : 
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd ; 
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection ; 
No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye 
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 



Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; 
For what care I who calls me well or ill, 
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? 
You are my all the world, and I must strive 
To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
None else to me, nor I to none alive, 
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong. 
In so profound abysm I throw all care 
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 
To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense : 
You are so strongly in my purpose bred 
That all the world besides methinks are dead. 



Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; 
And that which governs me to go about 
Doth part his function and is partly blind, 
Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; 
For it no form delivers to the heart 
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch : 
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, 
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 



SONA T ETS. 



1045 



For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight, 
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, 
The mountain or the sea, the day or night, 
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature : 
Incapable of more, replete with you, 
My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue. 



Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with 

you, 
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? 
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, 
And that your love taught it this alchemy, 
To make of monsters and things indigest 
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, 
Creating every bad a perfect best, 
As fast as objects to his beams assemble? 
O, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing, 
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up : 
Mine eye well knows what with hisgust is'greeing, 
And to his palate doth prepare the cup: 
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin 
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. 



Those lines that I before have writ do lie, 
Even those that said I could not love you dearer: 
Yet then my judgement knew no reason why 
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings, 
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, 
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; 
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny, 
Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,' 
When I was certain o'er incertainty, 
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? 
Love is a babe ; then might I not say so, 
To give full growth to that which still doth grow? 

cxvi. 
Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove: 
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark 
That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 
It is the star to every wandering bark, 
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be 

taken. 
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and 

cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be error and upon me proved, 

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

CXVII. 

Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all 
Wherein I should your great deserts repay, 
Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
That I have frequent been with unknown minds 
And given to time your own dear-purchased right ; 
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
Which should transport me farthest from your 
sight. 



Book both my wilfulness and errors down 
And on just proof surmise accumulate ; 
Bring me within the level of your frown, 
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate; 
Since my appeal says 1 did strive to pn >\e 
The constancy and virtue of your love. 



Like as, to make our appetites more keen. 
With eager compounds we our palate urge, 
As, to prevent our maladies unseen, 
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge, 
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweet- 
ness, 
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding 
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
To be diseased ere that there was true needing. 
Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured 
And brought to medicine a healthful state 
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured : 
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 

cxix. 
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, 
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within. 
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, 
Still Losing when I saw myself to win ! 
What wretched errors hath my heart committed, 
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! 
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been 

fitted 
In the distraction of this madding fever ! 
O benefit of ill ! now I find true 
That better is by evil still made better; 
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew. 
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
So I return rebuked to my content 
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. 



That you were once unkind befriends me now. 
And for that sorrow which I then did feel 
Needs must I under my transgression bow, 
Unless my nen es were brass or hammer'd steel. 
For if you were by my unkindness shaken 
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time, 
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd 
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, 
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd 
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits ' 

But that your tie-pass now becomes a fee ; 

Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 



'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd, 
When not to be receives reproach of being, 
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd 
Not by our feeling but by others' seeing : 
For why should others' false adulterate eyes 
Give salutation to my sportive blood? 
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, 
Which in their wills count bad what I think good? 

m that I am, and they that level 
At my abuses reckon up their own : 



1046 



SONNETS. 



I may be straight, though they themselves be 

bevel ; 
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be 
shown ; 
Unless this general evil they maintain, 
All men are^bad, and in their badness reign. 



Thv gift, thy tables, are within my brain 
Full characler'd with lasting memory, 
Which shall above that idle rank remain 
Beyond all date, even to eternity; 
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart 
Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part 
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
That poor retention could not so much hold, 
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ; 
Therefore to give them from me was I bold, 
To trust those tables that receive thee more : 
To keep an adjunct to remember thee 
Were to import forgetfulness in me. 

CXXIII. 

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : 

Thy pyramids built up with newer might 

To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; 

They are but dressings of a former sight. 

Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 

What thou dost foist upon us that is old, 

And rather make them born to our desire 

Than think that we before have heard them told. 

Thy registers and thee I both defy, 

Not wondering at the present nor the past, 

For thy records and what we see doth lie, 

Made more or less by thy continual haste. 

This I do vow and this shall ever be ; 

I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. 



If my dear love were but the child of state, 
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd, 
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, 
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers 

gather'd. 
No, it was builded far from accident ; 
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 
Under the blow of thralled discontent, 
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : 
It fears not policy, that heretic, 
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, 
But all alone stands hugely politic, 
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with 
showers. 
To this I witness call the fools of time, 
Which die for goodness, who have lived for 
crime. 

cxxv. 
Were 't aught to*me I bore the canopy, 
With my extern the outward honouring, 
Or laid great bases for eternity, 
Which prove more short than waste or ruining ? 
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, 
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour, 
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? 
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, 
And take thou my oblation, poor but free, 



Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art, 
But mutual render, only me for thee. 

Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul 
When most impeach'd stands least in thy control. 



O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power 
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ; 
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st 
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st ; 
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, 
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, 
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill 
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. 
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ! 
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure : 
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, 
And her quietus is to render thee. 



CXXVII. 

In the old age black was not counted fair, 
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
But now is black beauty's successive heir, 
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame : 
For since each hand hath put on nature's power, 
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, 
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, 
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. 
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black, 
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem 
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, 
Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, 
That every tongue says beauty should look so. 

cxxvin. 
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, 
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap 
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, 
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest 

reap, 
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! 
To be so tickled, they would change their state 
And situation with those dancing chips, 
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, 
Making dead wood more blest than living lips. 
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, 
Give them thy .fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 



The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
Is lust in action ; and till action, lust 
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, 
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, 
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had 
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait 
On purpose laid to make the taker mad ; 
Mad in pursuit and in possession so ; 
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe ; 
Before, a joy proposed ; behind, a dream. 



All this the world well knows ; yet none knows 

well 
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 



My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ; 

Coral is far more red than her lips' red ; 

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; 

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 

But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 

And in some perfumes is there more delight 

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know 

That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 

I grant I never saw a goddess go ; 

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the 
ground : 
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare 
As any she belied with false compare. 

CXXXI. 

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, 
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel ; 
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold 
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : 
To say they err I dare not be so bold, 
Although I swear it to myself alone. 
And, to be sure that is not false I swear, 
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
One on another's neck, do witness bear 
Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place. 
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, 
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 



Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, 
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, 
Have put on black and loving mourners be, 
I Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 
Nor that full star that ushers in the even 
Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
As those two mourning eyes become thy face : 
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart 
To mourn forme, since mourning doth thee grace, 
And suit thy pity like in every part. 

Then will I swear beauty herself is black 
And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 

CXX'XIII. 

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me ! 
Is't not enough to torture me alone, 
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? 
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, 
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd : 
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; 
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd. 
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, 
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail ; 
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; 
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : 
And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee, 
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 



c XX XIV. 
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine, 
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, 
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine 
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: 
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, 
For thou art covetous and he is kind; 
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me 
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, 
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use, 
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake ; 
So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me: 
J I e pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 

cxxxv. 

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,' 
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus ; 
More than enough am I that vex thee still, 
To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? 
Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
And in my will no fair acceptance shine? 
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still 
And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
So thou, being rich in ' Will,' add to thy 
One will of mine, to make thy large 'Will' more. 

Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill ; 

Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.' 



If thy soul check thee that I come sn near, 
Swear to thy blind soul ihat I u;b thy ' 
| And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ; 
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 
'Will' will fulfd the treasure of thy love, 
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
In things of great receipt with ease we prove 
Among a number one is reckon'd none: 
Then in the number let me pass in 
Though in thy stores' account 1 one must be ; 
For nothing hold me, mi it please thee hold 
That nothing me, a s unethi ;iiee: 

Make but my name thy love, and love that still. 
And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.' 



Thoublindfool, Love, what dost thou tomine eyes, 
That they behold, and see not what they 
They know what beauty is, see where it lies, 
Yet what the best is take the worst to be. 

irrupt by over-partial looks 
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride, 
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged b 
Whereto the judgement of my heart is tied? 
Why should my heart think that a several plot 
Which my heart knows the wide world's <, 

place? 
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, 
To put fair truth upon so foul a i.iC'j'! 

In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, 
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. 



When my love swears that she is made of truth 
I do believe her, though I know she lies, 



SONNETS. 



That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
Although she knows my days are past the best, 
Simplyl credit her false-speaking tongue : 
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd. 
But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 
And wherefore say not I that I am old? 
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, 
And age in love loves not to have years told : 
Therefore I lie with her and she with me, 
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 



O, call not me to justify the wrong 
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; 
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue ; 
Use power with power and slay me not by art. 
Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight, 
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside : 
What need'st thou wound with cunning when 

thy might 
Is more than my o'er-press'd defence can bide? 
Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, 
And therefore from my face she turns my foes, 
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : 
Yet do not so ; but since I am near slain, 
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain. 



Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain ; 
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express 
The manner of my pity-wanting pain. 
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, 
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ; 
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, 
No news but health from their physicians know; 
For if I should despair, I should grow mad, 
And in my madness might speak ill of thee : 
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, 
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. 
That I may not be so, nor thou belied, 
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud 
heart go wide. 



In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, 
For they in thee a thousand errors note ; 
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, 
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote ; 
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted, 
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, 
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited 
To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
But my five wits nor my five senses can 
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, 
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, 
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : 
Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 
That she that makes me sin awards me pain. 



Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate, 
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : 
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, 
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ; 



Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, 
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments 
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, 
Pvobb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. 
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those 
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee : 
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows 
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. 

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 
By self-example mayst thou be denied ! 



Lo ! as a careful housewife runs to catch 
One of her feather'd creatures broke away, 
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch 
In pursui-t of the thing she would have stay, 
Whilst her neglecled child holds her in chase, 
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent 
To follow that which flies before her face, 
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent ; 
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, 
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; 
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, 
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind: 
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy ' Will,' 
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 



Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
Which like two spirits do suggest me still : 
The better angel is a man right fair, 
The worser spirit a woman colour' d ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, 
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend 
Suspecl I may, yet not diredtly tell ; 
But being both from me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell : 
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 



Those lips that Love's own hand did make 
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate' 
To me that languish'd for her sake ; 
But when she saw my woeful state, 
Straight in her heart did mercy come, 
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet 
Was used in giving gentle doom, 
And taught it thus anew to greet ; 
' I hate' she alter'd with an end, 
That follow'd it as gentle day 
Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
From heaven to hell is flown away ; 
' I hate' from hate away she threw, 
And saved my life, saying 'not you.' 



Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 

t these rebel powers that thee array, 

Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? 



SONNETS. 



1049 



Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 

And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 

Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 

Within be fed, without be rich no more : 

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, 
And Death once dead, there's no more dying 
then. 



My love is as a fever, longing still 

For that which longer nursetn the disease, 

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 

The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 

My reason, the physician to my love, 

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 

Hath left me, and I desperate ndw approve 

Desire is death, which physic did except. 

Past cure I am, now reason is past care, 

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest ; 

My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, 

At random from the truth vainly cxpress'd ; 

For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee 
bright, 

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 

CXLVIII. 

O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head, 
Which have no correspondence with true sight ! 
Or, if they have, where is my judgement fled, 
That censures falsely what they see aright? 
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
What means the world to say it is not so? 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's 'No.' 
How can it ? O, how can Love's eye be true, 
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 
No marvel then, though I mistake my view ; 
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 

O cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me 
blind, 

Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 



Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not, 
When I against myself with thee partake? 
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot 
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? 
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? 
On whom frown' st thou that I do fawn upon? 
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend 
Revenge upon myself with present moan? 
What merit do I in myself respect, 
That is so proud thy service to despise, 
When all my best doth worship thy defect. 
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? 

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ; 

Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind. 



O, from what power hast thou this powerful might 

With insufficiency my heart to sway? 

To make me give the lie to my true sight, 

And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? 

Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, 

That in the very refuse of thy deeds 

There is such strength and warrantise of skill 

That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? 

Who taught thee how to make me love thee more 

The more I hear and see just cause of hate? 



O, though I love what others do abhor, 
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state : 
If thy unworthiness raised love in me, 
More worthy I to be beloved of thee. 



Love is too young to know what conscience is ; 
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? 
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, 
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove : 
For, thou betraying me, I do betray 
.My nobler part to my gross body's treason ; 
My soul doth tell my body that he may 
Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason ; 
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, 
He is contented thy poor drudge to be, 
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. 
No want of conscience hold it that I call 
Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall. 



In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, 
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing, 
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn 
In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
When I break twenty? I am perjured n: 
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee 
And all my honest faith in thee is lost, 
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, 
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, 
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, 
Or made them swear against the thing they see ; 
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured I, 
To swear against the truth so foul a lie ! 



Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep: 
A maid of Dian's this advantage found, 
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep 
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ; 
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love 
A dateless lively heat, still to endure, 
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired. 
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired. 
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest, 
But found no cure : the hath for my help lies 
W'hcre Cupid got new lire — my mi>trc 

CLIV. 

The little Love-god lying once asleep 
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, 
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep 
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
The fairest votary took up that fire 
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd ; 
And so the general of hot desire 
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd 
This brand she quenched in a cool well by. 
Which from Love's tire took heat perpetual, 
Growing a bath and healthful remedy 
For men diseased ; but I, my mistress' thrall, 
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove. 
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT, 



From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
A plaintful story from a sistering vale, 
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, 
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale ; 
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, 
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, 
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 

Upon her head a platted hive of straw, 
"Which fortified her visage from the sun, 
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 
The carcass of a beauty spent and done : n 

Time had not scythed all that youth begun, 
Ncr youth all quit ; but, spite of heaven's fell rage, 
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 

Which on it had conceited characters, 

Laundering the silken figures in the brine 

That season'd woe had pelleted in tears, 

And often reading what contents it bears ; 

As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, 20 

In clamours of all size, both high and low. 

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride, 
As they did battery to the spheres intend ; 
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied 
To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend 
Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd, 
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, 
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride 30 

For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat, 
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ; 
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, 
And true to bondage would not break from 

thence, 
Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 

A thousand favours from a maund she drew 
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet, 
Which one by one she in a river threw, 
Upon whose weeping margent she was set ; 
Like usury, applying wet to wet, 40 

Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall 
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. 

Of folded schedules had she many a one, 
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the 

flood; 
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone, 
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; 
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood, 
With sleided silk feat and affectedly 
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy. 

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, 50 
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear : 
Cried ' O false blood, thou register of lies, 
What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! 
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned 
here ! ' 



This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, 
Big discontent so breaking their contents. 

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh — 

Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 

Of court, of city, and had let go by 

The swiftest hours, observed as they flew — 60 

Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew, 

And, privileged by age, desires to know 

In brief the grounds and motives of her woe. 

So slides he down upon his grained bat, 

And comely-distant sits he by her side ; 

When he again desires her, being sat, 

Her grievance with his hearing to divide : 

If that from him there may be aught applied 

Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 

'Tis promised in the charity of age. 70 

' Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold 
The injury of many a blasting hour, 
Let it not tell your judgement I am old ; 
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power : 
I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied 
Love to myself and to no love beside. 

' But, woe is me ! too early I attended 

A youthful suit — it was to gain my grace— 

Of one by nature's outwards so commended, 80 

That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face : 

Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her 

place ;' 
And when in his fair parts she did abide, 
She was new lodged and newly deified. 

' His browny locks did hang in crooked curls ; 
And every light occasion of the wind 
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find: 
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind, 
For on his visage was in little drawn 90 

What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. 

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin ; 
His phcenix down began but to appear 
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin 
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to 

wear : 
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear ; 
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 
If best were as it was, or best without. 

' His qualities were beauteous as his form, 

For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free ; 100 

Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm 

As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, 

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they 

be. 
His rudeness so with his authorized youth 
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 

'Well could he ride, and often men would say 
"That horse his mettle from his rider takes: 



Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, 

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what 

stop he makes !" 
And controversy hence a question takes, no 

Whether the horse by him became his deed, 
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 

' But quickly on this side the verdict went : 

His real habitude gave life and grace 

To appertainings and to ornament, 

Accomplished in himself, not in his case : 

All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 

Came for additions ; yet their purposed trim 

Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him. 

' So on the tip of his subduing tongue 120 

All kind of arguments and question deep, 
All replication prompt, and reason strong, 
For his advantage still did wake and sleep : 
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
He had the dialect and different skill, 
Catching all passions in his craft of will : 

' That he did in the general bosom reign 
Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted, 
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
In personal duty, following where he haunt 
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted ; 
And dialogued for him what he would say, 
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 

' Many there were that did his picture get, 
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; 
Like fools that in th' imagination set 
The goodly objects which abroad they find 
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd ; 
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them 
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe 
them: 140 

' So many have, that never touch'd his hand, 
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart. 
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, 
And was my own fee-simple, not in part, 
What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 
Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my dower. 

' Yet did I not, as some my equals did, 
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; 
Finding myself in honour so forbid, 150 

With safest distance I mine honour shielded : 
Experience for me many bulwarks builded 
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil 
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 

' But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent 

The destined ill she must herself assay? 

Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content, 

To put the by-past perils in her way? 

Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay ; 

For when we rage, advice is often seen 160 

By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 

' Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, 
That we must curb it upon others' proof: 
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good, 
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. 
O appetite, from judgement stand aloof! 



The one a palate hath that needs will taste, 
Though Reason weep, and cry " It is thy last." 

' For further I could say " This man's untrue," 
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; 170 
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew, 
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; 
Kivjw vows were ever brokers to defiling; 
Thought characters and words merely but art. 
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 

' And long upon these terms I held my city. 
Till thus he gan besiege me : " Gentle maid, 
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity. 
And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
That 's to ye sworn to none was ever said ; 1S0 
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto, 
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo. 

' " All my offences that abroad you see 
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind ; 
Love made them not: with acture they may be, 
Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 
They sought their shame that so their shame did 

find; 
And so much less of shame in me remains, 
By how much of me their reproach contains. 

' " Among the many that mine eyes have seen, 190 
Not one whose flame my heart so much as 

warm'd, 
Or my affection put to the smallest teen, 
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd : 
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was 

harm'd ; 
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, 
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy. 

' " Look here, what tributes wounded fancies 

sent me, 
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood ; 
Figuring that they their passions likewise 

lent me 
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 200 

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ; 
Effects of terror and dear modesty, 
Encamp' d in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 

' "And, lo, behold these talents of their hair. 
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, 
I have received from many a several fair, 
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd. 
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd. 
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 210 

' " The diamond, — why, 'twas beautiful and hard, 
Whereto his invised properties did tend ; 
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend : 
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 
With objects manifold: each several stone, 
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan. 

1 " Lo, all these trophies of affections hot 
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender, 
Nature hath charged me that I h.'.ud them not, 220 
But yield them up where I myself must render, 
That is, to you, my origin and ender; 



1052 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 

'"O, then, advance of yours that phraseless 

hand, 
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of 

praise ; 
Take all these similes to your own command, 
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise ; 
What me your minister, for you obeys, 
Works under you ; and to your audit comes 230 
Their distract parcels in combined sums. 

' " Lo, this device was sent me from a nun, 
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note ; 
Which late her noble suit in court did shun, 
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ; 
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove, 
To spend her living in eternal love. 

' " But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave 
The thing we have not, mastering what not 

strives, 
t Playing the place which did no form receive, 241 
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves? 
She that her fame so to herself contrives, 
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight, 
And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 

' " O, pardon me, in that my boast is true : 
The accident which brought me to her eye 
Upon the moment did her force subdue, 
And now she would the caged cloister fly : 
Religious love put out Religion's eye : 250 

Not to be tempted, would she be immured, 
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured. 

' " How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell ! 

The broken bosoms that to me belong 

Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 

And mine I pour your ocean all among : 

I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 

Must for your victory us all congest, 

As compound love to physic your cold breast. 

' " My parts had power to charm a sacred nun, 
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace, 261 

Believed her eyes when they to assail begun, 
All vows and consecrations giving place : 
O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space, 
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 

* " When thou impressest, whatare precepts worth 
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame, 
How coldly those impediments stand forth 
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ! 27c 
t Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst 

sense, 'gainst shame, 
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, 
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 

' " Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, 
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine ; 



And supplicant their sighs to you extend, 
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, 
Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath 
That shall prefer and undertake my troth." 280 

' This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, 
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face ; 
Each cheek a river running from a fount 
With brinish current downward flow'd apace : 
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace ! 
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses 
That flame through water which their hue en- 
closes. 

' O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 

In the small orb of one particular tear! 

But with the inundation of the eyes 290 

What rocky heart to water will not wear? 

What breast so cold that is not warmed here? 

O cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath, 

Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath. 

' For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft, 
Even there resolved my reason into tears ; 
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd, 
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears ; 
Appear to him, as he to me appears, 
All melting; though our drops this difference 
bore, 300 

His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 

' In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 

Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, 

Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, 

Or swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves, 

In either's aptness, as it best deceives, 

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, 

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows : 

' That not a heart which in his level came 
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, 310 
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame ; 
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would 

maim : 
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; 
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury, 
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity. 

' Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd ; 
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place, 
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd. 
Who, young and simple, would not be so 
lover'd ? 320 

Ay me ! I fell ; and yet do question make 
What I should do again for such a sake. 

' O, that infected moisture of his eye, 

O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, 

O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly, 

O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd, 

O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed, 

Would yet again betray the fore-betray' d, 

And new pervert a reconciled maid!' 329 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
I do believe her, though I know she lies, 
That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
Although I know my years be past the best, 
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue, 
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest. 
But wherefore says my love that she is young? 
And wherefore say not I that I am old? ic 

O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue. 
And age, in love, loves not to have years told. 
Therefore I '11 lie with love, and love with me, 
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be. 



Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, 

That like two spirits do suggest me still ; 

My better angel is a man right fair, 

My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. 

To win me soon to hell, my female evil 

Tempteth my better angel from my side, s 

And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, 

Wooing his purity with her fair pride. 

And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 

Suspecl I may, yet not directly tell : 

For being both to me, both to each friend, 

I guess one angel in another's hell ; 

The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt, 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 



Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argu- 
ment, 3 o 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore; but I will prove. 
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. 
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is : 
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine, 
Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is: 
If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 40 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To break an oath, to win a paradise? 



Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook 

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, 

Did court the lad with many a lovely I 

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 

She told him stories to delight his ear ; 

She show'd him favours to allure his eye ; 

To win his heart, she touch'd him here and 

there, — 
Touches so soft still conquer chastity. ' 50 

But whether unripe years did want conceit, 
Or he refused to take her figured proffer. 



The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, 
But smile and jest at every gentle offer: 
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward : 
He rose and ran away ; ah, fool too froward ! 



If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 

love? 
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant 

prove ; 
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like 

osiers bow'd. 60 

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine 

eyes, 
Where all those pleasures live that art can com- 
prehend. 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall 

suffice ; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 

commend ; 
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without 

wonder; 
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire : 
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 

dreadful thunder, 

Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. 

Celestial as thou art, Odo not love that wrong, 

To sing heavens' praise with such an earthly 

tongue. 70 



Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, 
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, 
W hen Cytherea. all in love forli rn, 
A longing tarriance for Adonis made 
Under an osier growing by a brook, 
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen : 
Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look 
For his approach, that often there had been. 
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by. 
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim : 
I he sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, Si 
^ et not so wistly as thi:« queen on him. 

He, spying her, bounced in. whereas he stood: 
' O Jove,' quoth she, ' why was not I a flood !' 



Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ; 
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty: 
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle: 
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty: 
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her, 
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 90 

Her lips to mine how often hath shejoin'd, 
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! 
How many tales to please me hath she coiu'd. ' 
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! 
the midst of all her pure protesting^ 
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were 
jestings. 



io54 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth ; 
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out-burneth ; 
She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the fram- 
ing; 
She bade Jove last, and yet she fell a-turning. ioo 

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether? 

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 



If music and sweet poetry agree, 
As they must needs, the sister and the brother, 
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, 
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other. 
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; 
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such 
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. no 

Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound 
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; 
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd 
Whenas himself to singing he betakes. 

One god is god of both, as poets feign ; 

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. 



Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love, 

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, 
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild; 120 
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : 
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; 
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will, 
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds : 
' Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth 
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a 

boar, 
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the sore.' 

She showed hers : he saw more wounds than 
one, 

And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 1^0 



Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon 

vaded, 
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring ! 
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded ! 
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp 
sting ! 
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, 
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. 

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 

For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will : 

And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; 

For why I craved nothing of thee still : 140 

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee, 
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 



Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her 

Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 

She told the youngling how god Mars did try 

her, 
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. 



'Even thus,' quoth she, ' the warlike god em- 
braced me,' 
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms ; 
' Even thus,' quoth she, ' the warlike god unlaced 

me,' 
As if the boy should use like loving charms ; 150 
' Even thus,' quoth she, ' he seized on my lips,' 
And with her lips on his did acl the seizure : 
And as she fetched breath, away he skips, 
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay, 
To kiss and clip me till I run away ! 



Crabbed age and youth cannot live together : 
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care ; 
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather ; 
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; 161 

Youth is nimble, age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee ; youth, I do adore thee ; 

O, my love, my love is young ! 
Age, I do defy thee : O, sweet shepherd, hie thee, 

For methinks thou stay'st too long. 



Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good ; 

A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly; 170 

A flower that dies when first it gins to bud ; 

A brittle glass that's broken presently: 
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, 
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. 

And as goods lost are seld or never found, 
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh, 
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground, 
As broken glass no cement can redress, 
So beauty blemish'd once 's for ever lost, 
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost. 180 



XIV. 

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share : 
She bade good night that kept my rest away; 
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care, 
To descant on the doubts of my decay. 

'Farewell/ quoth she, 'and come again to- 
morrow : ' 

Fare well I could not,' for I supp'd with sorrow. 

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, 
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
'T may be, again to make me wander thither : 
'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself, 191 
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 



Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 

My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise 

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, 
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, 
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



i°55 



For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, 
And drives away, dark dismal-dreaming night : 
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty; 201 
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ; 
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with 

sorrow ; 
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come to- 
morrow. 



Were I with her, the night would post too soon ; 
But now are minutes added to the hours; 
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ; 
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now 

borrow : 
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to- 
morrow. 210 



SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC. 



[XVI.] 

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of 

three, 
That liked of her master as well as well might be, 
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that 

eye could see, 
Her fancy fell a-turning. 
Long was the combat doubtful that love with love 

did fight, 
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant 

knight: 
To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite 

Unto the silly damsel ! 
But one must be refused ; more mickle was the pain 
That nothing could be used to turn them both to 

gain, 220 

For of the two the trusty knight was wounded 

with disdain : 
Alas, she could not help it ! 
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the 

day, 
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid 

away: 
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady 

gay; 
For now my song is ended. 



On a day, alack the day ! 
Love, whose month was ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair, 
Playing in the wanton air : 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, gan passage find; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath, 
'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But, alas ! my hand hath sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet : 
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love.' 



[xvai.] 



My flocks feed not, 
My ewes breed not, 
My rams speed not, 
All is amiss : 



Love 's denying, 

Faith's defying, 250 

Heart's renying, 

Causer of this. 
All my merry jigs are quite forgot, 
All my lady's love is lost, < rod wot : 
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, 
There a nay is placed without remove. 
One silly cross 
Wrought all my loss ; 

O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame ! 
For now I see 260 

Inconstancy 

More in women than in men remain. 

In black mourn I, 
All fears scorn I, 
Love hath forlorn me, 

Living in thrall : 
Heart is bleeding, 
All help needing, 
O cruel speeding, 

Fraughted with gall. 270 

My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal ; 
My wether's bell rings doleful knell : 
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd, 
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; 
My sighs so deep 
Procure to weep, 

In howling wise, to see my doleful plight. 
How sighs resound 
Through heartless ground, 

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloodv 
fight ! 280 

Clear wells spring not, 
Sweet birds sing not, 
Green plants bring not 

Forth their dye ; 
Herds stand weeping, 
Flocks all sleeping, 
Nymphs back peeping 

Fearfully \ 
All our pleasure known to us poor swains. 
All our merry meetings on the plains, 290 
All our evening sport from us is fled, 
All our love is lost, for Love is dead. 
Farewell, sweet lass, 
Thy like ne'er was 

For a sweet content, the cause of all my 
moan : 
Poor Corydon 
Must live alone: 

Other help for him I see that there is 



1056 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



When as thine eye hath chose the dame, 

And stall' d the deer that thou shouldst strike, 300 

Let reason rule things worthy blame, 

t As well as fancy partial might : 

Take counsel of some wiser head, 

Neither too young nor yet unwed. 

And when thou comest thy tale to tell, 
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, 
Lest she some subtle practice smell, — 
A cripple soon can find a halt ; — 
But plainly say thou lovest her well, 
And set thy person forth to sell. 310 

What though her frowning brows be bent, 

Her cloudy looks will calm ere night : 

And then too late she will repent 

That thus dissembled her delight ; 
And twice desire, ere it be day, 
That which with scorn she put away. 

What though she strive to try her strength, 

And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, 

Her feeble force will yield at length, 

When craft hath taught her thus to say, 320 

' Had women been so strong as men, 

In faith, you had not had it then.' 

And to her will frame all thy ways : 
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there 
Where thy desert may merit praise, 
By ringing in thy lady's ear : 

The strongest castle, tower, and town, 

The golden bullet beats it down. 

Serve always with assured trust, 

And in thy suit be humble true ; 33° 

Unless thy lady prove unjust, 

Press never thou to choose anew : 
When time shall serve, be thou not slack 
To proffer, though she put thee back. 

The wiles and guiles that women work, 
Dissembled with an outward show, 
The tricks and toys that in them lurk, 
The cock that treads them shall not know. 
Have you not heard it said full oft, 
A woman's nay doth stand for nought? 340 

t Think women still to strive with men, 
To sin and never for to saint : 
There is no heaven, by holy then, 
When time with age doth them attaint. 

Were kisses all the joys in bed, 

One woman would another wed. 

But, soft ! enough, too much, I fear ; 

Lest that my mistress hear my song, 

She will not stick to round me i' the ear, 

To teach my tongue to be so. long: 350 

Yet will she blush, here be it said, 

To hear her secrets so bewray'd. 

[xx.] 
Live with me, and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dales and fields, 
And all the craggy mountains yields. 



There will we sit upon the rocks, 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 360 

There will I make thee a bed of roses, 
With a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

A belt of straw and ivy buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs; 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Then live with me and be my love. 



Love's Answer. 

If that the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee and be thy love. 



[xxi.] 

As it fell upon a day 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade 

Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 

Trees did grow, and plants did spring ; 

Every thing did banish moan, 

Save the nightingale alone : 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 

And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, 

That to hear it was great pity : 

' Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; 

' Tereu, tereu !' by and by ; 

That to hear her so complain, 

Scarce I could from tears refrain; 

For her griefs, so lively shown, 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah, thought I, thou mourn' st in vain ! 

None takes pity on thy pain : 

Senseless trees they cannot hear thee ; 

Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee : 

King Pandion he is dead ; 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead ; 

All thy fellow birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee, 

None alive will pity me. 

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, 

Thou and I were both beguiled. 

Every one that flatters thee 
Is no friend in misery. 
Words are easy, like the wind ; 
Faithful friends are hard to find : 
Every man will be thy friend 
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; 
But if store of crowns be scant, 
No man will supply thy want. 
If that one be prodigal, 
Bountiful they will him call, 
And with such-like flattering, 
' Pity but he were a king ; ' 



THE PHCENIX AND TURTLE. 



If he be addict to vice, 
Quickly him they will entice ; 
If to women he be bent, 
They have at commandement : 
But if Fortune once do frown, 
Then farewell his great renown ; 
They that fawn'd on him before 
Use nis company no more. 



He that is thy friend indeed, 
He will help thee in thy need : 
If thou sorrow, he will weep; 
If thou wake, he cannot sleep; 
Thus of every grief in heart 
He with thee doth bear a part. 
These are certain signs to know 
Faithful friend from flattering foe. 



THE PHCENIX AND THE TURTLE. 



Let the bird of loudest lay, 

On the sole Arabian tree, 

Herald sad and trumpet be, 

To whose sound chaste wings obey. 

P>ut thou shrieking harbinger, 
Foul precurrer of the fiend, 
Augur of the fever's end, 
To this troop come thou not near ! 

From this session interdict 
Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
Save the eagle, feather'd king : 
Keep the obsequy so strict. 

Let the priest in surplice white, 
That defunctive music can, 
Be the death-divining swan, 
Lest the requiem lack his right. 

And thou treble-dated crow, 

That thy sable gender makest 

With the breath thou givest and takest, 

'Moiigst our mourners shalt thou go. 

Here the anthem doth commence: 
Love and constancy is dead ; 
Phoenix and the turtle fled 
In a mutual flame from hence. 

So they loved, as love in twain 
Had the essence but in one ; 
Two distincts, division none: 
Number there in love was slain. 

Hearts remote, yet not asunder; 
Distance, and no space was scon 
Twixt the turtle and his queen: 
But in them it were a wonder. 

So between them love did shine, 
That the turtle saw his right 
Flaming in the phoenix' sight; 
Either was the other's mine. 



Property was thus aopall'd, 
That the self was not the same; 
Single nature's double name 
Neither two nor one was call'd. 

Reason, in itself confounded, 
Saw division grow together, 
To themselves yet either neither, 
Simple were so well compounded, 

That it cried, How true a twain 
Seemeth this concordant one ! 
Love hath reason, reason none, 
If what parts can so remain. 

Whereupon it made this threne 
To the phoenix and the dove, 
Co-supremes and stars of love, 
As chorus to their tragic scene. 



Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
( rrace in all simplicity, 
Here enclosed in cinders lie. 

Death is now the phoenix' nest ; 
And the turtle's loyal breast 
To eternity doth rest, 

Leaving no posterity: 
'Twas not their infirmity, 
It was married chastity. 

Truth may seem, but cannot be; 
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she; 
Truth and beauty buried be. 

To this urn let those repair 
That are either true or fair ; 
For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 



40 



7 



GLOSSARY TO SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS. 



Abate, v.t. to shorten. M. N's Dr. m 2. To 

cast down. Cor. in. 3. To blunt. R. III. V. 4. 
Abatement, sb. diminution. Lear, 1. 4. 
Abide, v.i. to sojourn. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. v.t. to 

expiate (a corruption of 'Aby'). J. 0. in. 1; 

Ibid. in. 2. 
Able, v.t. to uphold. Lear, iv. 6. 
Abridgement, sb. a short play. Ham. n. 2. 
Abrook, v.t. to brook, abide. 2 H. VI. 11. 4. 
Absey-Book, sb. a primer. John, 1. 1. 
Absolute, adj. positive, certain. Cym. IV. 2 ; 

Ham. v. 2. Complete. Temp. 1. 2. 
Abuse, v.t. to deceive. Lear, iv. 7. 
Abuse, sb. deception. M. for M. v. 1. 
Aby, v.t. to expiate a fault. M. N : s Dr. 111. 2. 
Abysm, sb. abyss. Temp. 1. 2. 
Accite, v.t. to cite, summon. 2 H. IV. v. 2. 
Accuse, sb. accusation. 2 H. VI. in. 1. 
Achieve, v. to obtain. H. V. iv. 3. 
Acknown,/./. ' to be acknown ' is to acknowledge. 

Oth. in. 3. 
Acquittance, sb. a receipt or discharge. Ham. iv. 2. 
Action-taking, adj. litigious. Lear, n. 2. 
Acture, sb. action. Lover's Com. 185. 
Addition, sb. title, attribute. All's Well, n. 3; 

T. & Cr. 1. 2. 
Address, v.r. to prepare oneself. 2 H. VI. v. 2; 

Ham. 1. 2. 
Addressed, part, prepared. L's L's L. n. 1. 
Advance, v.t. to prefer, promote to honour. 

Tim. 1. 2. 
Advertisement, sb. admonition. Much Ado, &c. 

v. 1. 
Advertising, pr. /. attentive. M. for M. v. 1. 
Advice, sb. consideration, discretion. Two Gent. 

n. 4; M. for M. v. 1. 
Advise, v. sometimes neuter, sometimes rcjleflive , 

to consider, reflect. Tw. N. iv. 2. 
Advised,/./, considerate. Com. of E. v. 1. 
Advocation, sb. pleading, advocacy. Oth. in. 4. 
Afeard, adj. afraid. Merry Wives, in. 4. 
Affect, v.t. to love. Merry Wives, 11. 1. 
Affeered, /./. assessed, confirmed. Mac. IV. 3. 
Afront, adv. in front. 1 H. IV. n. 4. 
Affy, v.t. to affiance. 2 H. VI. iv. 1. To trust. 

T. A. 1. 1 
Agazed, /./. looking in amazement. 1 H. VI. r. 1. 
Aglet-baby, sb. the small figure engraved on a 

jewel. Tarn, of S. 1. 2. 
Agnise, v.t. to acknowledge, confess. Otn. 1. 3. 
A-good, adv. a good deal, plenteously. Two Gent. 

iv. 4. 
A-hold, adj. a sea-term. Temp. 1. 1. 
Aiery, sb. the nest of a bird of prey. R. III. 1. 3. 
Aim, sb. a guess. Two Gent. in. 1. 
Alder-liefest, adj. most loved of all. 2 H. VI. 1. 1. 
Ale, sb. alehouse. Two Gent. n. 5. 
Allow, v. to approve. Tw. N. 1. 2. 
Allowance, sb. approval. Cor. in. 2. 
Ames-ace, sb. two aces, the lowest throw of the 

dice. All's Well, n. 3. 
Amort, adj. dead, dejected. Tam. of S. iv. 3. 
An, conj. if. Much Ado, 1. 1. 



Anchor, sb. an anchorite, hermit. Ham. in. 2. 

Ancient, sb. an ensign-bearer. 1 H. IV. iv. 2. 

Angel, sb. a coin, so called because it bore the 
image of an angel. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 

Anight, adv. by night. As you Like it, n. 4. 

Answer, sb. retaliation. Cym. v. 3. 

Anthropophaginian, sb. a cannibal. Merry Wives, 
iv. 5. 

Antick, sb. the fool in the old plays. R. II. in. 2. 

Antre, sb. a cave. Oth. 1. 3. 

Apparent, sb. heir-apparent. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Appeal, sb. accusation. M. for M. v. 1. 

Appeal, v.t. to accuse. R. II. 1. 1. 

Appeared,/./, made apparent. Cor. iv. 3. 

Apple-John, sb. a kind of apple. 1 Hen. IV. in. 3. 

Appointment, sb. preparation. M. for M. in. 1. 

Apprehension, sb. opinion. Much Ado, in. 4. 

Apprehensive, adj. apt to apprehend or under- 
stand. J. C. in. 1. 

Approbation, sb. probation. Cym. 1. 5. 

Approof, sb. approbation, proof. All 's Well, 1. 2 ; 
Temp. 11. 5. 

Approve, v.t. to prove. R. II. 1. 3. To justify, 
make good. Lear, n. 4. 

Approver, sb. one who proves or tries. Cym. 11. 4. 

Arch, sb. chief. Lear, n. 1. 

Argal, a ridiculous word intended for the Latin 
ergo. Ham. v. 1. 

Argentine, adj. silver. Per. v. 2. 

Argier, sb. Algiers. Temp. 1. 2. 

Argosy, sb. originally a vessel of Ragusa or Ra- 
gosa, a Ragosine ; hence any ship of burden. 
M. ofV. 1. 1. 

Ar. ument, sb. subject. Much Ado, II. 3. 

Armigero, a mistake for Armiger, the Latin for 
Esquire. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Aroint, v.r. found only in the imperat. mood, 
get thee gone. Mac. 1. 3; Lear, in. 4. 

A-row, adv. in a row, Com. of E. v. 1. 

Articulate, v.i. to enter into articles of agree- 
ment. Cor. 1. 9. v.t. to exhibit in articles. 
1 H. IV. v. 1. 

Ask, v.t. to require. 2 H. VI. 1. 2. 

Aspect, sb. regard, looks. A. & C. 1. 5. 

Aspersion, .sA sprinkling; hence blessing, because 
before the Reformation benediction was gene- 
rally accompanied by the sprinkling of holy 
water. Temp. in. 3. 

Assay, sb. attempt. M. for M. in. 1. 

Assay, v. t. to attempt, test, make proof of. Merry 
Wives, n. 1. 

Assinego, sb. an ass. T. & Cr. 11. 1. 

Assubjugate, v.t. to subjugate. T. & Cr. n. 3. 

Assurance, sb. deed of assurance. Tam. ofS. iv. 2. 

Assured,/./, betrothed. Coin. ofE. in. 2. 

Atomy, sb. an atom. As you Like it. 111. a. Used 
in contempt of a small pei\-> n. a H. IV v. 4. 

At" tie, v.t. to put people at one, to reconcile. 
R. II. 1. 1. v.i. to agree. Cor. IV. <>. 

Attach, v.t. to seize, lay hold on. Temp. in. 3; 
Com. of E. iv. 1. 

Attasked, /./. taken to task, reprehended. Lear, 
1. 4. 



67- 



GLOSSARY. 



Attend, v.t. to listen to. Temp. I. 2; M. of V. 

v. 1. 
Attent, adj. attentive. Ham. 1. 2. 
Attorney, sb. an agent. R. III. iv. 4. 
Attorney, v. t. to employ as an agent. M. for M. 

v. 1. To perform by an agent. Wint. Tale, I. 1. 
Audacious, adj. spirited, daring, but without any 

note of blame attached to it. L's L's L. v. 1. 
Augur, sb. augury. Mac. in. 4. 
Authentic, adj. clothed with authority. Merry 

Wives, n. 2. 
Avaunt, int. be gone, a word of abhorrence. 

Com. of E. iv. 3. 
Ave, int. the Latin for hail; hence acclamation. 

M. for M. 1. 1. 
Ave-Mary, sb. the angelic salutation addressed to 

the B. Virgin Mary. 2 H. VI. 1. 3. 
Averring, pr. p. confirming. Cym. v. 5. 
Awful, adj. worshipful. Two Gent. iv. 1. 
Awkward, adj. contrary. 2 H. VI. in. 2. 

Baccare, int. keep back. Tam. of S. n. 1. 
Backward, sb. the hinder part ; hence, when ap- 
plied to time, the past. Temp. 1. 2. 
Balked, /./. heaped, as on a ridge. 1 H. IV. 1. 1. 
Ballow, sb. a cudgel. Lear, iv. 6. 
Balm, sb. the oil of consecration. R. II. iv. 1 ; 

3 H. VI. in. 1. 
Ban, v.t. to curse. Lucr. 1460. 
Bank, v. t. to sail by the banks. John, v. 2. 
Barm, sb. yeast. M. N's Dr. 11. 1. 
Barn, sb. a child. 1 H. IV. 11. 3. 
Barnacle, sb. a shell-fish, supposed to produce the 

sea-bird of the same name. Temp. iv. 1. 
Base, sb. a game, sometimes called Prisoners' 

base. Cym. v. 3. 
Bases, sb. an embroidered mantle worn by 
knights on horseback, and reaching from the 
middle to below the knees. Per. n. 1. 
Basilisk, sb. a kind of ordnance. 1 H. IV. iv. 3. 
Basta, int. (Italian) enough. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 
Bastard, sb. raisin wine. M. for M. in. 2. 
Bat-fowling, part, catching birds witli a clap-net 

by night. Temp. 11. 1. 
Bate, v.i. to flutter, as a hawk. 1 H. IV. iv. 1. 
Bate, v.t. to except. Temp. 11. 1. To abate. Much 

Ado, 11. 3. 
Batlet, sb. a small bat, used for beating clothes. 

As you Like it, 11. 4. 
Battle, sb. army. 1 H. IV. iv. 1. 
Bavin, sb. used as an adj. a piece of waste wood, 
applied contemptuously to anything worthless. 
1 H. IV. in. 2. 
Bawcock, sb. a fine fellow. Tw. N. ill. 4. 
Bay, sb. the space between the main timbers of 

the roof. M. for M. 11. 1. 
Beadsman, sb. one who bids becles, that is, 

prays prayers for another. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Bearing-cloth, sb. a rich cloth in which children 
were wrapt at their christening. Wint. Tale, 
in. 3. 
Beat, v.i. to flutter as a falcon, to meditate, con- 
sider earnestly. Temp. 1. 2. 
Beaver, sb. the lower part of a helmet. 1 H. IV. 

iv. 1. 
Beetle, sb. a mallet. 2 H. IV. 1. 2. 
Being, sb. dwelling. Cym. 1. 6. 
Being, conj. since, inasmuch as. A. & C. in. 6. 
Be-mete, v.t. to measure. Tam. of S. iv. 3. 



Be-moiled, p.p. daubed with dirt. Tam. of S. 

iv. 1. 
Bending, pr. p. stooping under a weight. H. V. 

v. Chorus. 
Benvenuto, sb. (Italian), welcome. L's L's L. iv.2. 
Bergomask, adj. a rustic dance. M. N's Dr. v 1. 
Beshrew, int. evil befal. Com. of E. n. 1. 
Bestraught, p.p. distraught, distracted. Induct. 

to Tam. of S. 
Beteem, v.t. to pour out. M. N s Dr. 1. 1. 
Betid, p.p. happened. Temp. 1. 2. 
Bezonian, sb. a beggarly fellow. 2 H. IV. v. 3. 
Biding, sb. abiding-place. Lear, iv. 6. 
Biggen, sb. a night-cap. 2 H. IV. iv. 5. 
Bilberry, j£. the whortleberry. Merry Wives, v. 5. 
Bilbo, sb. a sword, from Bilboa, a town in Spain 

where they were made. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Bilboes, sb. fetters or stocks. Ham. v. 2. 
Bill, sb. a bill-hook, a weapon. Much Ado, in. 3. 
Bin = been, are. Cym. n. 3. 
Bird-bolt, sb. a bolt to be shot from a crossbow at 

birds. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Birding, part, hawking at partridges. Merry 

Wives, in. 3. 
Bisson, adj. blind. Cor. n. 1. 

Blank, sb. the white mark in the middle of a tar- 
get ; hence, metaphorically, that which is aimed 
at. Wint. Tale, 11. 3. 
Blench, v.i. to start aside, flinch. M. forM. IV. 5. 
Blent, p.p. blended. M. of V. in. 2. 
Blood-boltered, part, smeared with blood. Mac. j 

iv. 1. 
Blow, v.t. to inflate. Tw. N. n. 5. 
Board, v.t. to accost. Tam. of S. 1. 2. 
Bob, sb. a blow, metaph. a sarcasm. As you Like 

it, 11. 7. 
Bob, v. t. to strike, metaph. to ridicule, or to obtain 

by raillery. T. & Cr. m. 1 ; Oth. v. 1. 
Bodge, v. to botch, bungle. 3 H. VI. 1. 4. 
Bodikin, sb. a corrupt word used as an oath. 

'Od's Bodikin, God's little Body. Ham. n. 2. 
Boitier vert (French), green box. Merry Wives, 

I. 4- 
Bold, v. t. to embolden. Lear, v. 1. 
Bollen, adj. swollen. Lucr. 1417. 
Bolter, sb. a sieve. 1 H. IV. in. 3. 
Bolted, p.p. sifted, refined. H. V. n. 2. 
Bolting-hutch, sb. a hutch in which meal was 

sifted. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Bombard, sb. a barrel, a drunkard. Temp. 11. 2. 
Bombast, sb. padding. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Bona-roba, sb. a harlot. 2 H. IV. in. 2. 
Bond, sb. that to which one is bound. Lear, I. 1. 
Book, sb. a paper of conditions. 1 H. IV. m. 1. 
Boot, sb. help, use. Tam. of S. v. 2. 
Boot, v.t. to help, to avail. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Bootless, adj. without boot or advantage, useless. 

Temp. 1. 2. 
Boots, sb. bots, a kind of worm. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Bore, sb. calibre of a gun ; hence, metaph. size, 

weight, importance. Ham. iv. 6. 
Bosky, adj. covered with underwood. Temp. 

in. 3. 
Bosom, sb. wish, heart's desire. M. for M. iv. 3. 
Bots, sb. worms which infest horses. 1 H. IV. n. 1. 
Bourn, sb. a boundary. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. A brook. 

Lear, in. 6. 
Brace, sb. armour for the arm, state of defence. 
Oth. 1. 3; Per. 11. 1. 



GLOSS AH1'. 



ic6i 



Brach, sb. a hound bitch. Indue, to Tarn, of S. 

Braid, adj. deceitful. All's Well, iv. 2. 

Brave, adj. handsome, well-dressed. Temp. 1. 2. 

Brave, sb. boast. John, v. 2. 

Bravery, sb. finery. Tarn, of S. IV. 3. Boastful- 

ness. Ham. v. 2. 
Brawl, sb. a kind of dance. L's L's L. in. 1. 
Breed-bate, sb. a breeder of debate, a fomenter of 

quarrels. Merry Wives, 1. 4. 
Breast, sb. voice. Tw. N. 11. 5. 
Breathe, v.t. to exercise. All's Well, 11. 3. 
Breathing, pr.p. exercising. Ham. v. 2. 
Breeching, adj. liable to be whipt. Tarn, of S. in. 1. 
Breese, sb. the gadfly. A. & C. in. S. 
Bribe-buck, sb. a buck given away in presents. 

Merry Wives, v. 5. 
Bring, v. t. to attend one on a journey. M. forM. 1. 1. 
Brock, sb. a badger, a term of contempt. Tw. N. 

11. 5. 
Broke, v.t. to aft as a procurer. All's Well, in. 5. 
Broken, /. /. having lost some teeth by age. 

All's Well, n. 3. 
Broken music, the music of stringed instruments. 

T. & Cr. in. 1. 
Broker, sb. an agent. Two Gent. 1. 2. 
Brotherhood, sb. trading company. T. & Cr. I. 3. 
Brownist, sb. a sectary, a follower of Brown, the 

founder of the Independents. Tw. N, III. 2. 
Bruit, sb. noise, report, rumour. 3 H. VI. iv. 7. 
Bruit, v.t. to noise abroad. Mac. v. 7. 
Brush, sb. rude assault. 2 H. VI. v. 3 ; Tim. iv. 3. 
Buck, sb. suds or lye for washing clothes in. Merry 

Wives, in. 3: 2 H. VI. iv. 2. 
Buck-basket, sb. the basket in which clothes are 

carried to the wash. Merry Wives, III. 5. 
Bucking, sb. washing. Merry Wives, m. 3. 
Buck-washing, sb. washing in lye. Merry Wives, 

in. 3. 
Bug, sb. a bugbear, a spectre. 3 H. VI. v. 2 ; 

Cym. v. 3. 
Bully-rook, sb. a bragging cheater. Merry Wives, 

*■ 3- 

Burgonet, sb. a kind of helmet. 2 H. VI. v. 1. 
Burst, v.t. to break. Ind. to Tarn, of S. 
Busky, adj. bushy. 1 H. IV. v. 1. 
Butt-shaft, sb. a light arrow for shooting at a butt. 

L's L's L. 1. 2. 
Buxom, adj. obedient. H. V. in. 6. 
By'rlakin, int. by our little Lady: an oath. 

M. N's Dr. in. 1. 

Caddis, sb. worsted galloon, so called because it 

resembles the caddis-worm. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Cade, sb. a cask or barrel. 2 H. VI. IV. 2. 
Cage, sb. a prison. Cym. in. 3. 
Cain-coloured, adj. red (applied to hair). Merry 

Wives, 1. 4. 
Caitiff", sb. a captive, a slave; hence, a witch. 

All's Well, in. 2. 
Calculate, v.t. prophesy. J. C. 1. 3. 
Caliver, sb. a hand-gun. 1 H. IV. IV. 2. 
Callet, sb. a trull. Oth. iv. 2. 
Calling, sb. appellation. As you Like it, 1. 2. 
Calm,J^. qualm. 2H. IV. 11. 4. 
Can, T'.t. to know, be skilful in. Ham. IV. 7. 
Canary, sb. a wine brought from the Canary 

Islands. Merry Wives, in. 2. 
Candle-wasters, sb. persons who sit up all night 

to drink. Much Ado, v. 1. 



Canakin, sb. a little can. Oth. n. 3. 

Canker, sb. a caterpillar. Two Gent. 1. 1. The 

dog-rose. Much Ado, 1. 3. 
Canstick, sb. a candlestick. 1 Hen. IV. in. 1. 
Cantle, sb. a slice, corner. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 
Canton, sb. a canto. Tw. N. 1. 5. 
Canvas, v.t. to sift; hence, metaphorically, to prove. 

2H. IV. n. 4. 
Capable, adj. subject to. John, in. 1. Intelligent. 
T. & Cr. in. 3. Capable of inheriting. Lear, 
11. 1. Ample, capacious. Oth. in. 3. 
Capitulate, v.t. make head. 1 H. IV. m. 2. 
Capocchia, sb. a simpleton. T. & Cr. IV. 2. 
Capricio, sb. (Italian; caprice. All's Well, 11. 3. 
Capricious, adj. lascivious. As you Like it, in. 3. 
Captious, adj. capacious. All's Well, 1. 3. 
Carack,^. a large ship of burden. Com. of E. in. 2. 
Carbonado, sb. meat scotched for broiling:. 1 H. 

IV. v. 3. 

Carbonado, v.t. to scotch for broiling. Lear, 11. 2. 

Card, sb. the paper on which the points <>f the 

compass are marked under the mariner's needle. 

Ham. v. 1. 

Careire, sb. the curvetting of a horse. Merry 

Wives, 1. 1. 
Carkanet, sb. a necklace. Com. of E. in. 1. 
Carl, sb. a churl. Cym. v. 2. 
Carlot, sb. a churl. As you Like it, in. 5. 
Castilian, sb. a native of Castile ; used as a cant 

term. Merry Wives, n. 3. 
Castiliano vulgo, a cant term, meaning, appa- 
rently, to use discreet language. Tw. X. 1. 3. 
Cataian, adj. a native of Cathay, a cant word. 

Tw. N. 11. 3. 
Catling, sb. cat-gut. T. & Cr. in. 3. 
Cavalero, sb. a cavalier, gentleman. 2 H. IV. v. 3. 
Caviare, sb. the roe of sturgeon pickled ; metaph. 
a delicacy not appreciated by the vulgar. Ham. 
11. 2. 
Cautcl, sb. deceit. Ham. 1. 3. 
Cautelous, adj. insidious. Cor. iv. 1. 
Cease, sb. decease. Ham. in. 3. 
Cease,/./, put off, made to cease. Tim. 11. 1. 
Censure, sb. judgement. 1 H. VI. n. 3. 
Censure, v.t. to judge, criticise. Two Gent. 1. 2. 
Century, sb. a hundred of any thing, whether men, 
prayers, or anything else. Cor. 1. 7 ; Cym. IV. 2. 
Ceremony, sb. a ceremonial vestment, religious 
rite, or anything ceremonial. J. C. 1. 1 ; Mac. 
in. 4. 
C cites, ad?: certainly. Oth. 1. 1. 
Cess, sb. rate, reckoning. 1 H. IV. n. 1. 
Chace, sb. a term at tennis. H. V. 1. 2. 
Chamber, sb. a species of great gun. 2 H. IV. II. 4. 
Chambercr, sb. an effeminate man. Oth. in. 3. 
Chanson, sb. a song. Ham. 11. 2. 
( lharact, sb. affected quality. M. for M. v. 1. 
Character, sb. a letter, handwriting. Lear, I. 2. 
Character, 7'. t. to carve or engrave. Two Cient. 

II. 7 ; Ham. 1. 3. 
Charactery, sb. handwriting. Merry Wives, v. 5. 

That which is written. J. C. 11. 1. 
Chare, sb. a turn of work. A. & C. iv. 13. 
Charge-house, sb. a free-school. L's L's L. v. 7. 
Charles' wain, sb. the Constellation railed also 
Ursa Major, or the Great Bear. 1 H. IV. 11. t. 
Charneco, sb. a species of sweet wine. 2 H. VI. 

Chaudron, sb. entrails. Mac. IV. 1. 



1062 



GLOSSARY. 



Cheater, sb. for escheator, an officer who collected 
the fines to be paid into the Exchequer. Merry 
Wives, i. 3. A decoy. 2 H. IV. n. 3. 

Check, v.i. a technical term in falconry; when a 
falcon flies at a bird which is not her proper 
game she is said to check at it. Tw. N. 11. 5. 

Checks, sb. perhaps intended for ethics. Tarn, of 
S. 1. 1. 

Cheer, sb. fortune, countenance. Temp. 1. 1. 

Cherry-pit, sb. a game played with cherry-stones. 
Tw. N. in. 4. 

Cheveril, sb. kid leather. R. & J. 11. 4. 

Chewit, sb. chough. 1 H. IV. v. 1. 

Childing, adj. pregnant. M. N's Dr. II. 2. 

Ch'ill, vulgar for 'I will.' Lear, IV. 6. 

Chirurgeonly, adv. in a manner becoming a sur- 
geon. Temp 11. 1. 

Chopin, sb, a high shoe or clog. Ham. 11. 2. 

Christom, adj. clothed with a chrisom, the white 
garment which used to be put on newly-bap- 
tized children. H. V. 11. 3. 

Christendom, sb. the state of being a Christian. 
John, iv. 1. Name. All's Well, 1. 1. 

Chuck, sb. chicken, a term of endearment. Mac. 
in. 2. 

Chuff, sb. a coarse blunt clown. 1 H. IV. 11. 2. 

Cinque pace, sb. a kind of dance. Much Ado, 
11. 1. 

Cipher, v.t. to decipher. Lucr. 811. 

Circumstance, sb. an argument. Two Gent. 1. 1 ; 
John, 11. 1. 

Cital, sb. recital. 1 H. IV. v. 2. 

Cite, v. to incite. Two Gent. 11. 4; 3 H. VI. 11. 1. 

Cittern, sb. a guitar. L's L's L. v. 2. 

Clack-dish, sb. a beggar's dish. M. for M. in. 2. 

Clap i' the clout, to shoot an arrow into the bull's 
eye of the target. 2 H. IV. in. 2. 

Claw, v.t. to flatter. Much Ado, 1. 3. 

Clepe, v.t. to call. Ham. 1. 4. 

Cliff, sb. clef, the key in music. T. & Cr. v. 2. 

Cling, v. t. to starve. Mac. v. 5. 

Clinquant, adj. glittering. H. VIII. I. 1. 

Clip, v.t. to embrace, enclose. 2 H. VI. iv. 1; 
Cor. 1. 6; Oth. in. 3. 

Clout, sb. the mark in the middle of a target. 
L's L's L. iv. 1. 

Coast, v.i. to advance. V. & A. 870. 

Cobloaf, sb. a big loaf. T. & Cr. 11. 1. 

Cock, so. a cockboat. Lear, iv. 6. 

Cock-and-pie, an oath. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Cock, sb. a euphemism for God. Tarn, of S. IV. 1. 

Cockle, sb. tares or darnel. L's L's L. iv. 3. 

Cockney, sb. a cook. Lear, 11. 4. 

Cock-shut-time, sb. the twilight, when cocks and 
hens go to roost. R. III. v. 3. 

Cog, v.i. to cheat, dissemble. Merry Wives, in. 3. 

Cognizance, sb. badge, token. 1 H. VI. n. 4. 

Coign, sb. projedting cornerstone. Mac. 1. 6. 

Coil, sb. tumult, turmoil. Temp. 1. 2. 

Collection, sb. drawing a conclusion. Ham. iv. 5. 

Collied, p.p. blackened. Oth. n. 3; M. N's Dr. 

Colour, sb. pretence. L's L's L. iv. 2. 
Colourable, adj. specious. Ibid. 
Colt, v.t. to defraud, befool. 1 H. IV. n. 2. 
Co-mart, sb. a joint bargain. Ham. 1. 1. 
Combinate, p.p. betrothed. M. for M. in. 1. 
Combine, v.t. to bind. M. for M. iv. 3. 
Commodity, sb. interest, profit. M. of V. in. 3. 



Common ty, sb. used ludicrously for comedy. In- 
duction to Tarn, of S. 

Compact, p.p. compacted, composed. M. N's Dr. 
v. 1. 

Comparative, adj. drawing comparisons. 1 H. 
IV. 1. 2. 

Comparative, sb. rival. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 

Compare, sb. comparison. T. & Cr. in. 2. 

Compassionate, adj. moving comparison. R. II. 
!• 3- 

Competitor, sb. one who seeks the same thing, 
an associate in any object. Two Gent. n. 6. 

Complement, sb. accomplishment. L's L's L. 1. 1. 

Complexion, sb. passion. Ham. 1. 4. 

Compose, v.i. to agree. A. & C. 11. 2. 

Compostion, sb. composition. Tim. iv. 3. 

Comptible, adj. tractable. Tw. N. 1. 5. 

Con, v.t. to learn by heart. M. N's Dr. I. 2. To 
acknowledge. All 's Well, iv. 3. 

Conceit, sb. conception, opinion, fancy. Two Gent, 
in. 2. 

Concupy, sb. concubine. T. & Cr. v. 2. 

Condition, sb. temper, quality. M. of V. 1. 2 ; 
Lear, 1. 1. 

Condolement, sb. grief. Ham. 1. 2. 

Conduct, sb. escort. John, 1. 1. 

Confect, v. to make up into sweetmeats. Much 
Ado, iv. 1. 

Confound, v.t. to consume, destroy. 1 H. IV. 1. 3 ; 
Cor. 1. 6 ; Cym. 1. 5. 

Conject, sb. conjecture. Oth. in. 3. 

Consign, v. to sign a common bond, to confede- 
rate. 2 H. IV. iv. 1. 

Consort, sb. company. Two Gent. iv. 1. 

Consort, v.t. to accompany. L's L's L. n. 1. 

Constancy, sb. consistency. M. N's Dr. v. 1. 

Constant, adj. settled, determined. Temp. 11. 2 ; 
Lear, v. 1. 

Constantly, adv. firmly. M. for M. iv. 1. 

Conster, v.t. to construe. Tw. N. 1. 4. 

Contemptible, adj. contemptuous. Much Ado, 

"• .3- 

Continent, sb. that which contains anything. 

Lear, in. 2; M. N's Dr. n. 2. That which is 

contained. 2 Hen. IV. n. 4. 
Continuate, adj. uninterrupted. Tim. 1. 1. 
Contraction, sb. the marriage contract. Ham. in. 4. 
Contrary, v.t. to oppose. R. & J. 1. 5. 
Contrive, v.i. to conspire. J. C. II. 3. v.t. to 

wear away. Tarn, of S. 1. 2. 
Control, v. t. to confute. Temp. 1. 2. 
Convent, v.t. To convene, summon. H. VIII. 

v. 1. v.i. To be convenient. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Convert, v.i. To change. Tim. iv. 1. 
Convertite, sb. a convert. As you Like it, v. 4. 
Convey, v.t. to manage. Lear, 1. 2. To filch. 

Merry Wives, 1. 3. 
Conveyance, sb. theft, fraud. 1 H. VI. 1. 3. 
Convict,/./, convicted. R. III. 1. 4. 
Convicted, p.p. overpowered, vanquished. John, 

in. 4. A doubtful word. 
Convince, v.t. to conquer, subdue. Cym. 1. 5. 
Convive, v.i. to feast together. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 
Convoy, sb. escort. All's Well, iv. 3. 
Cony-catch, v.i. to cheat. Tam of S. v. 1. 
Cony-catching, pr. p. poaching, pilfering. Merry 

Wives, 1. 1. 
Cooling card, sb. used metaphorically for an in- 
surmountable obstacle. 1 H. VI. v. 3. 



GLOSSARY. 



1063 



Copatain hat, a high-crowned hat. Tarn, of S. 

v. 1. 
Cope, v.t. to reward, to give in return. M. of V. 

IV. x. 
Copped,/./, rising to a cop or head. Per. 1. 1. 
Copy, sb. theme. Com. of E. v. 1. 
Coragio (Italian), int. courage ! Temp. v. 1. 
Coram, an ignorant mistake for Quorum. Merry 

Wives, 1. 1. 
Coranto, sb. a lively dance. H. V. in. 5. 
Corinth, sb. a cant term for a brothel. Tim. II. 2. 
Corinthian, sb. a wencher. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Corky, adj. dry like cork. Lear, HI. 7. 
Cornuto (Italian), sb. a cuckold. Merry Wives, 

in. 5. 
Corollary, sb. a surplus. Temp. iv. 1. 
Corporal, adj. corporeal, bodily. M. for M. in. 1. 
Corporal of the field, an aide-de-camp. L's L's L. 

in. 1. 
Corrival, sb. rival. 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Costard, sb. the head. R. III. 1. 4. 
Coster-monger, adj. peddling, mercenary. 2 H. 

IV. 1. 2. 
Cot-quean, sb. an effeminate man, molly-coddle. 

R. & J. iv. 4. 
Cote, sb. a cottage. As you Like it, in. 2. 
Cote, 'v.t. to quote, instance. L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Cote, v. t. to come alongside, overtake. Ham. 11. 2. 
Couchings, sb. crouchings. J. C. 11 1. 1. 
Countervail, v.t. to counterpoise, outweigh. R. & 

J. 11. 6. 
Country, adj. belonging to one's country. Oth. 

in. 3; Cym. 1. 5. 
Couplement, sb. union. L's L's L. v. 2 ; Son. 19. 
Court holy- water, sb. flattery. Lear, in. 2. 
Covent, sb. a convent. M. for M. iv. 3. 
Cover, v.t. to lay the table for dinner. M. of V. 

in. 5; As you Like it, 11. 5. 
Count confect, sb. a nobleman composed of af- 
fectation. Much Ado, iv. 1. 
Countenance, sb. fair shew. M. for M. v. 1. 
Counterfeit, sb. portrait. M. of V. III. 2. A piece 

of base coin. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Counterpoint, sb. a counterpane. Tarn of S. 11. 1. 
County, sb. count, earl. R. & J. 1. 3. 
Cowish, adj. cowardly. Lear, iv. 2. 
Cowl-staff, sb. the staff on which a vessel is sup- 
ported between two men. Merry Wives, in. 3. 
Cox my passion, an oath, a euphemism for u God's 

Passion." All's Well, v. 2. 
Coy, v.t. to stroke, fondle. M. N's Dr.iv. 1. v.t. 

to condescend with difficulty. Cor. v. 1. 
Coystril, sb. a kestrel, a cowardly kind of hawk. 

Tw. N. 1. 3. 
Cozen, v.t. to cheat. M. of V. 11. 9. 
Cozenage, sb. cheating. Merry Wives, iv. 5. 
Cozener, sb. a cheater. 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Cozier, sb. a tailor. Tw. N. 11. 3. 
Crack, v.i. to boast. L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Crack, sb. a loud noise, clap. Mac. iv. r. A 

forward boy. 2 H. IV. Hi. 2. 
Cracker, sb. boaster. John, 11. r. 
Crack-hemp, sb. a gallows-bird. Tam. of S. 

v. x. 
Crank, sb. a winding passage. Cor. 1. 1. 
Cranking, pr. />. winding. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 
Crants, sb. garlands. Ham. v. 1. A doubtful 

word. 
Crare, sb. a ship of burden. Cym. iv. 2. 



Craven, sb. a dunghill cock. Tam. of S. n. 1. 

Create,/./, formed, compounded. H. V. 11. 2. 

Credent, adj. creditable. M. for M. rv. 4. Cre- 
dible. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. Credulous, Ham. 1. 3. 

Credit, sb. report. Tw. N. iv. 3. 

Crescive, adj. increasing. H. V. 1. 1. 

Crestless, adj. not entitled to bear arms, low- 
born. 1 H. VI. 11. 4. 

Crisp, adj. curled, winding. Temp. iv. t. 

Cross, sb. apiece of money, so called because coin 
was formerly stamped with a cross. As you 
Like it, 11. 4. 

Crow-keeper, sb. one who scares crows. Lear,iv.6. 

Crowner, sb. a coroner. Ham. v. 1. 

Crownet, sb. a coronet. A. & C. v. 2. 

Cry, sb. the yelping of hounds. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
A pack of hounds. Ibid. iv. 1. A company, 
used contemptuously. Ham. in. 2. 

Cry aim, v.t. to encourage. John, n. 1. 

Cue, sb. the last words of an actor's speech, which 
is the signal for the next actor to begin. Lear, 
1. 2. 

Cuisses, sb. pieces of armour to cover the thighs. 
1 H. IV. iv. x. 

Cullion, sb. a base fellow. Tam. of S. iv. 2. 

Cunning, sb. skill. Induction to Tam. of S. 

Cunning, adj. skilful. Ibid. 

Curb, v.i. to bend, truckle. Ham. III. 4. 

Currents, sb. occurrences. 1 H. IV. II. 3. 

Curst, adj. petulant, shrewish. . Tam. of S. 1. 2. 

Curstness. sb. shrewishness. A. & C. II. 2. 

Curtail, sb. a cur. Com. of E. in. 2. 

Curtal, sb. a docked horse. All's Well, n. 3. 

Curtal-axe, sb. a cutlass. As you Like it, I. 3. 

Custalorum, a ludicrous mistake for Custos Ro- 
tulorum. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Custard-coffin, sb. the crust of a custard-pudding. 
Tam. of S. iv. 3. 

Customer, sb. a common woman. Oth. iv. 1. 

Cut, sb. a cheat. Tw. N. II. 3. 'To draw cuts' is 
to draw lots. Com. of E. v. 1. 

Cypress, sb. a kind of crape. Tw. N. m. 1. 



Daff, v. t. to befool. Much Ado, iv. 1. To put off; 
this seems to be a corruption of 'doff.' Ibid. 

Damn, v.t. to condemn. J. C. IV. t. 
Danger, sb. reach, control, power. M. of V. iv. 1. 
Dansker, sb. a Dane. Ham. 11. 1. 
Dare, v.t. to challenge. 2 H. VI. in. 2. 
Darkling, adv. in the dark. M. N's Dr. II. 2. 
Darraign, v.t. to set in array. 3 Hen. VI. 11. 2. 
Daub, v.t. to disguise. Lear, rv. 1. 
Daubery, sb. imposition. Merry Wives, iv. 2. 
Day-woman, sb. a dairy-maid. L's L's L. 1. 2. 
Dear, adj. dire. Tim. v.i. That which has to do 

with the affeaions. R. II. 1. 1 ; R. & J. III. 3. 

Piteous. T. A. lit 1. Important. Lear, iv. 3. 
Dearn, adj. lonely. Per. III. (Gower . 
Deboshed,/./. debauched, drunken. Temp. in. 2. 
Deck, v.t. to bedew. This is probably a form of 

the verb 'to dag,' now a provincial word. 

Temp. 1. 2. 
Deck, sb. a pack of cards. 3 Hen. VI. v. 1. 
Decline, v.t. to enumerate, as in going through 

the cases of a noun. T. S Cr. 11. 3. 
Declined,/./, fallen. T. & Cr. in. 3. 
Deem, sb. doom, judgement. T. & Cr. iv. 4. 



1064 



GLOSSARY. 



Defeat, v.t. to undo, destroy. Oth. I. 3; iv. 2. 
Defeat, sb. destrudlion. Much Ado, iv. 1. 
Defeature, sb. disfigurement. Com. of E. 11. 1. 
Defence, sb. art of fencing. Tvv. N. ill. 4. 
Defend, v.t. to forbid. Much Ado, II. t. 
Defensible, adj. having the power to defend. 

2 Hen. IV. 11. 3. 
Deftly, adv. dexterously. Mac. iv. 1. 
Defy, v.t. renounce. 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Degrees, sb. a step. J. C n. 1. 
Delay, v. t. to let slip by delaying. Cor. 1. 6. 
Demerit, sb. merit, desert. Oth. 1. 2. 
Demurely, adv. solemnly. A. & C. IV. 9. 
Denay, sb. denial. Tw. N. 11. 4. 
Denier, sb. the 12th part of a French sol. R. III. 

1. 2. 
Denotement, sb. marking. Oth. 11. 3. Note or 

manifestation. Ibid. in. 3. 
Deny, v.t. to refuse. Tim. III. 2. 
Depart, sb. departure. 2 H. VI, 1. 1. 
Depart, v.t. to part. L's L's L. 11. 1. 
Departing, sb. parting, separation. 3 H. VI. n. 6. 
Depend, v.i. to be in service. Lear, 1. 4. 
Derived, p.p. born, descended. Two Gent. v. 4. 
Derogate,/./, degraded, Lear 1. 4. 
Descant, sb. a variation upon a melody, hence, 

metaphorically, a comment on a given theme. 

Two Gent. 1. 2. 
Design, v.t. to draw up articles. Ham. 1. 1. 
Despatch, v.t. to deprive, bereave. Ham. 1. 5. 
Desperate, adj. determined, bold. R. & J. in. 4. 
Detect, v.t. to charge, blame. M. for M. 111. 2. 
Determine, v.t. to conclude. Cor. in. 3. 
Dich, v.i. optative mood, perhaps contracted for 

'do it.' Tim. 1. 2. 
Diet, sb. food regulated by the rules of medicine. 

Two Gent. n. 1. 
Diet, v.t. to have one's food regulated by the 

rules of medicine. All's Well, iv. 3. 
Diffused, p.p. confused. Merry Wives, n r . 4. 
Digressing, pr.p. transgressing, going out of the 

right way. R. II. v. 3. 
Digression, sb. transgression. L's L's L. 1. 2. 
Dig-you -good-den, int. give you good evening. 

L's L's L. iv. 1. 
Dildo, sb. the chorus or burden of a song. Wint. 

Tale, iv. 3. 
Dint, sb. stroke, J. C. in. 2. 
Direction, sb. judgement, skill. R. III. v. 3. 
Disable, v.t. to disparage. As you Like it, iv. 1. 
Disappointed, p.p. unprepared. Ham. 1. 5. 
Disease, v.r. to undress. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Discontent, sb. a malcontent. A. & C. I. 4. 
Discourse, sb. power of reasoning. Ham. IV. 4. 
Disdained, p.p. disdainful, 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Dislimn, v.t. to disfigure, transform. A. & C. iv. 12. 
Disme, sb. a tenth or tithe. T. & Cr. n. 2. 
Dispark, v.t. to destroy a park. R. II. in. 1. 
Disponge, v.i. to squeeze out as from a sponge. 

A. & C. iv. 9. 
Dispose, sb. disposal. Two Gent. iv. 1. 
Dispose, v.i. to conspire. A. & C. iv. 12. 
Disposition, sb. maintenance. Oth. 1. 3. 
Disputable, adj. disputatious. As you Like it, 11. 5. 
Dispute, v.t. to argue, examine. Oth. 1. 2. 
Dissembly, sb. used ridiculously for assembly. 

Much Ado, iv. 2. 
Distaste, v. t. to corrupt. T. & Cr. 11. 2. 
Distempered, adj. discontented. John, iv. 3. 



Distraction, sb. a detached troop or company of 

soldiers. A. & C. in. 7. 
Distraught,/./, distracted, mad. R. III. in. 5. 
Diverted, p.p. turned from the natural course. 

As you Like it, n. 3. 
Division, sb. a phrase or passage in a melody. 

R. & J. in. 5. 
Dividged, p.p. published, spoken of. Tw. N. 1. 5. 
Doff, v.t. to do off, strip. Tam of S. in. 2. To 

put off with an excuse. Oth. iv. 2. 
Doit, sb. a small Dutch coin. Temp. n. 2. 
Dole, sb. portion dealt. Merry Wives, in. 4; 

2 H. IV. 1. 1. Grief, lamentation. M. N's Dr. 

v. 1. 
Don, v. t. to do on, put on. T. A. 1. 2 ; Ham. iv. 5. 
Done, /./. 'done to death,' put to death. 2 H. 

VI. in. 2. 
Dotant, sb. one who dotes, a dotard. Cor. v. 2. 
Dout, v. t. to do out, quench. Ham. 1. 4. 
Dowlas, sb. a kind of coarse sacking. 1 H. IV. 

in. 3. 
Dowle, sb. the swirl of a feather. Temp. in. 3. 
Down-gyved, adj. hanging down like gyves or 

fetters. Ham. n. 1. 
Drab, sb. a harlot. Wint. Tale, iv. 2. 
Drabbing, pr.p. whoring. Ham. n. 1. 
Draught, sb. a privy. T. A. v. 1. 
Drawn,/./, having his sword drawn. Temp. n. t. 
Drawn, /./. drunk, having taken a good draught. 

Ibid. 
Dribbling, adj. weak. M. for M. 1. 4. 
Drive, v.i. to rush impetuously. T. A. 11. 3. 
Drollery, sb. a puppet-show. Temp. in. 3. 
Drumble, v.i. to dawdle. Merry Wives, in. 3. 
Dry, adj. thirsty. Temp. 1. 2. 
Duc-dame ; perhaps the Latin duc-ad-me, bring 

him to me. As you Like it. 
Dudgeon, sb. a dagger. Mac. 11. 1. 
Dull, adj. soothing. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 
Dullard, sb. a dull person. Cym. v. 5. 
Dump, sb. complaint. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Dup, v.t. to do up, lift up. Ham. iv. 5. 



Eager, adj. sour. Ham. 1. 5. Harsh. 3 H. VI. 

11. 6. Biting. Ham. 1. 4. 
Eanling, sb. a yeanling, a lamb. M. of V. 1. 3. 
Ear, v.t. to plough. All's Well, 1. 3. 
Eche, v.t. to eke out. Per. 111. (Gower). 
Ecstacy, sb. madness. Temp. hi. 3. 
Eft, adj. ready, convenient. Much Ado, iv. 2. 
Eisel, sb. vinegar. Ham. v. 1; Son. 111. 
Eld, sb. old age. M. for M. in. 1. 
Embossed, adj. swollen into protubeiances. As 

you Like it, n. 7. Covered with foam. A. 

& C. iv. 11. 
Embowelled, /./. disembowelled, emptied. All's 

Well, 1. 3. 
Embrasure, sb. embrace. T. & Cr. iv. 4. 
Eminence, sb. exalted station. Mac. in. 2, 
Empery, sb. empire. H. V. 1. 2. 
Emulation, sb. jealousy, mutiny. T. & Cr. n. 2. 
Emulous, adj. jealous. T. & Cr. iv. 1. 
Encave, v.r. to place oneself in a cave. Oth. iv. 1. 
End, sb. 'Still an end,' continually for ever. 

Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Enfeoff, v.t. to place in possession in fee simple. 

1 H. IV. in. 2. 
Engine, sb. a machine of war. T. & Cr. 11. 3. 



GLOSSARY. 



1065 



Englut, v.t. to swallow speedily. Tim. 11. 2. 

Engross, v.t. to make gross or fat. R. III. in. 7. 

Engrossment, sb. immoderate acquisition. 2 H. 
IV. iv. 4. 

Enkindle, v.t. to make keen. Mac. t 3. 

Enmew, 7'. t. to shut up as a hawk is shut up in a 
mew. M. for M. in. 1. 

Ensconce, v.t. to cover as with a fort. Merry 
Wives, n. 2. 

Enseanied, p.p. fat. rank. Ham. in. 4. 

Enshield, p.p. hidden. M. for M. 11. 4. 

Entertain, v.t. encounter. H. V. 1. 2. Expe- 
rience. A. & C. 11. 7. 

Entertainment, sb. treatment. Temp. 1. 2. A dis- 
position to entertain a proposal. Merry Wives, 
1. 3. Service. All's Well, iv. 1. 

Entreatments, sb. interview:-. Ham. 1. 3. 

Ephesian, sb. a toper, a cant term. Merry Wives, 
iv. 5. 

Equipage, sb. attendance. Merry Wives, 11. 2. 

Erewhile, adv. a short time since. As you Like 
it, 11. 4. 

Escot, v.t. to pay a man's reckoning, to maintain. 
Ham. 11. 2. 

Esperance, sb. hope, used as a war-cry. 1 H. 
IV. v. 2 ; T. & Cr. v. 2. 

Espial, sb. a scout or spy. 1 H. VI. iv. 3. 

Estimation, sb. conjecture. 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 

Estridge, sb. ostridge. 1 H. IV. iv. 1. 

Eterne, adj. eternal. Mac. in. 2. 

Even, adj. coequal. Ham. v. 1. 

Even. v.t. to equal. All's Well, 1. 3 ; Cym. in. 4. 

Examine, v.t. to question. All's Well, III. 5. 

Excrement, sb. that which grows outwardly from 
the body and has no sensation, like the hair or 
nails. L's L's L. v. 1 ; Ham. in. 4. Any out- 
ward show. M. of V. in. 2. ; Wint. Tale, IV. 3. 

Executor, sb. an executioner. H. V. 1. 2. 

Exempt, adj. excluded. 1 H. VI. n. 4. 

Exercise, sb. a religious service. R. III. lit 2. 

Exhale, v.t. to hale or draw out. R. III. 1. 2; 
v.t. to draw the sword. H. V. II. 1. 

Exhibition, sb. allowance, pension. Two Gent. 1. 3. 

Exigent, sb. death, ending. 1 H. VI. n. 5. 

Exion, sb. ridiculously used for ' action.' 2 H. 
IV. 11. r. 

Expect, sb. expectation. T. & Cr. 1. 3. 

Expedience, sb. expedition, undertaking. A. S: C. 
1. 2. Haste. R. II. II. 1. 

Expedient, adj. expeditious, swift. John, 11. 1. 

Expiate,/./, completed. R. III. in. 3. 

Expostulate, v.t. to expound, discuss. Ham. n. 2. 

Exposture, sb. exposure. Cor. iv. 1. 

Express, v.t. to reveal. Wint. Tale, in. 2. 

Expulse, v.t. to expel. 1 H. VI. in. 3. 

Exsufficate, adj. that which has been hissed off, 
contemptible. Tw. N. in. 3. 

Extend, v.t. to seize. A. & C. 1. 2. 

Extent, sb. a seizure. As you Like it, m. 1. 

Extern, adj. outward. Oth. 1. 1. 

Extirp, v.t. to extirpate. M. for M. m. 2. 

Extracting, adj. distracting. Tw. N. v. 1. 

Extraught, part, extracted, descended. 3 H. VI. 
n. 2. 

Extravagant, adj. foreign, wandering. Oth. 1. 1. 

Extremes, sb. extravagance of conduct. Wint. 
Tale, iv. 3. Extremities. R. & J. iv. 1. 

Eyas, sb. a nestling hawk. Ham. 11. 2. 

Eyas-musket, sb. a nestling of the musket or 



merlin, the smallest species of British hawk. 

Merry Wives, in. 3. 
Eye, sb. a glance, ceillad. Temp. 1. 2. 
Eye, sb. a shade of colour, as in shot silk. Temp. 

11. 1. 
Eyne, sb. />/. eyes. L's L's L. v. 2. 



Facinorous, adj. wicked. All's Well, II. 3. 

Fact, sb. guilt. Wint. Tale, III. 2. 

Factious, adj. instant, importunate. J. C. I. 3. 

Faculty, sb. essential virtue or power. II. V. 1. 1. 

Fadge, v.t. to suit. Tw. N. n. 2. 

Fading, sb. a kind of ending to a song. Wint. 
Tale, iv. 3. 

Fain, adj. glad. 2 H. VI. II. 1. 

Fain, ad->. gladly, Lear, 1. 4. 

Fair, sb. beauty. As you Like it, in. 2. 

Faitor, sb. a traitor. 2 H. IV. n. 4. 

Fall, v.t. to let fall. Temp. n. 1. 

Fallow, adj. fawn-coloured. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

False, sb. falsehood. M. for M. n. 4. 

Falsing, adj. deceptive. Com. of F. n. 2. 

Familiar, sb. a familiar spirit. 2 H. VI. iv. 7. 

Fancy, sb. All's Well, v. 3. 

Fancy-free, adj. untouched by love. M. N's Dr. 
11. 2. 

Fang, v. t. to seize in the teeth. Tim. iv. 3. 

Fantastic, sb. a fantastical person. R. & J. 11. 4. 

Fap, adj. drunk. Merry Wives. 1. 1. 

Far, adv. farther. Wint. Tale, IV. 4. 

Farced,/./, stuffed. H. V. iv. 1. 

Fardel, sb. a burden. Wint. Tale, iv. 4. 

Fatuous, adj. used ridiculously for " virtuous." 
Merry Wives, II. 2. 

Fast, adv. assuredlv, unalterably. M. for M. 1. 
3; 2H. VI. v. 2. 

Fat, adj. dull. 1 H. IV. 1. 2. 

Favour, sb. countenance M. forM. IV. 2. Com- 
plexion. T. iK: Cr. 1. 2. Quality. Lear, 1. 4. 

Fear, sb. the object of fear. Ham. in. 3. 

Fear, v.t. to affright. A. & C. 11. 6. 

Fearful, adj. subje<ft to fear, timorous. Temp. 
1. 2. 

Feat, adj. dexterous. Cym. v. 5. 

Feater, adv. co»:J>. degree, move neatly. Temp. 

Feat, 7'.t. to make fine. Cym. 1. t. 

Fcatly, adv. nimbly, daintily. Temp. I. 2. 

Feature, sb. beauty. Cym. V. 5. 

Federary, sb. confederate. Wint. Tale, 11. 1. 

Fee-grief, sb. a grief held, as i' were, in fee- 
simple, or the peculiar property of him who 
possesses it. Mac. I v. 3. 

Feeder, sb. agent, servant. As you Like it, 11. 4. 

Feere, sb. a companion, husband. T. A. [V. 1. 

Fehemently, adv. used ridiculously for "vehe- 
mently." Merry Wives, III. \. 

Fell, sb. the hide. As you File it, in. 2. 

Fence, sb. art or skill in defence. 2 H. VT. II. 1. 

Feodary, sb. one who holds an estate by suit or 
service to a superior lord ; bene • one who acts 
under the direction of another. Cym. in. 2. 

Fester, v.t. to rankle, grow virulent for. I. 9. 

Festinatelv. adv. quickly. L's L's Lost, in. 1. 

Fet,//. fetched. H. V. lit 1. 
Fico, sb. a fig. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 
Fielded, adj. in the field of ba'tlc. Cor. 1. 4. 
Fig, v.t. to insult. 2 Hen. IV. v. ;. 



io66 



GLOSSARY. 



Fights, sb. clothes hung round a ship to conceal 

the men from the enemy. Merry Wives, n. 2. 
File, sb. a list or catalogue. Mac. V. 2. 
File, v.t. to defile. Mac. III. 1. To smooth or 

polish. L's L's L. To make even. H. VIII. 

in. 2. 
Fill-horse, sb. shaft-horse. M. of V. 11. 2. 
Fills, sb. the shafts. T. & Cr. in. 2. 
Filth, sb. a whore. Tim. iv. 1. 
Fine, sb. end. Ham. v. 1. 

Fine, v.t. to make fine or specious. H. V. 1. 2. 
Fineless, adj. endless. Oth. in. 3. 
Firago, sb. ridiculously used for 'Virago.' 

Tw. N. in. 4. 
Fire-drake, si. Will o' the Wisp. H. VIII. v. 3. 
Fire-new, adj. with the glitter of novelty on, 

like newly-forged metal. R. III. 1. 3. 
Firk, v.t. to chastise. H. V. iv. 4. 
Fit, sb. a canto or division of a song. T. & Cr. 

in. 1. A trick or habit. H. VIII. 1. 3. 
Fitchew, sb. a polecat. Lear, iv. 6. 
Fives, sb. a disease incident to horses. Tarn, of S. 
Flap-dragon, sb. raisins in burning brandy. L's 

L's L. v. 1. 
Flap-jack, sb. a pan-cake. Per. n. 1. 
Flat, adj. certain. 1 H. IV. iv. 2. 
Flatness, sb. lowness, depth. Wint. Tale, in. 2. 
Flaw, sb. a gust of wind. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. Metaph. 

sudden emotion, or the cause of it. Mac. in. 4 ; 

A. & C. in. 10. 
Flaw, v.t. to make a flaw in, to break. H. VIII. 

1. 1. 
Flecked, /./. spotted, streaked. R. & J. n. 3. 
Fleet, v. i. to float. A. & C. in. 11. To pass 

away. A. & C. 1. 3. v.t. to pass the time. As 

you Like it, 1. 1. 
Fleeting, pr. p. inconstant. R. III. 1. 4. 
Fleshment, sb. the act of fleshing the sword, 

hence the first feat of arms. Lear, n. 2. 
Flewed, adj. furnished with hanging lips, as 

hounds are. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Flight, si. a particular mode of practising arch- 
ery. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Flirt-gill, sb. a light woman. R. & J. 11. 4. 
Flourish, sb. an ornament. L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Flourish, v.t. to ornament, disguise with orna- 
ment. M. for M. iv. 1. 
Flote, sb. wave, sea. Temp. 1. 2. 
Flush, adj. fresh, full of vigour. A. & C. 1. 4. 
Foil, sb. defeat, disadvantage. Temp. in. 1. 
Foin, v.i. to fence, fight. Merry Wives, n. 3. 
Foison, sb. plenty. Temp. 11. 1. 
Fond, adj. foolish, foolishly affectionate. Oth. 

I. 3 ; iv. 1. 

Foot-cloth, sb. a saddle-cloth hanging down to the 

ground. 2 H. VI. iv. 7. 
For, conj. for that, because, M. for M. n. 1. 
Forbid,/*./, accursed, outlawed. Mac. 1. 3. 
Forbode, p.p. forbidden. Lover's Com. 164. 
Force, v.t. to stuff, for 'farce.' T. & Cr. v. 5. 
Forced,/./, falsely attributed. Wint. Tale, n. 3. 
Fordo, v. t. to kill, destroy. Lear, v. 3. To weary. 

M. N's Dr. v. 2. 
Forfend, v.t. forbid. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Foreign, adj. obliged to live abroad. H. VIII. 

II. 2. 

Forepast, adj. former. All's Well, v. 3. 
Foreslow, v.i. to delay. 3 H. VI. n. 3. 
Forgetive, adj. inventive. 2 H. IV. iv. 3. 



Forked, adj. horned. Wint. Tale, 1. 2 ; Oth. in. 3. 
Formal, adj. regular, retaining its proper and es- 
sential characteristic. Com. of E. v. 1 ; A. & 

C. 11. 5. 
Forspent, /./. exhausted, weary. 2 Hen. IV. 

1. 1. 
Forspeak, v.t. to speak against. A. & C. in. 7. 
Forthright, sb. a straight path ; forthrights and 

meanders, straight paths and crooked ones. 

Temp. in. 3. 
Forweary, v.t. to weary, exhaust. John, 11. 1. 
Fosset-seller, sb. one who sells the pipes inserted 

into a vessel to give vent to the liquor, and 

stopped by a spigot. Cor. n. 1. 
Fox, sb. a sword ; a cant word. H. V. iv. 4. 
Fox-ship, sb. the cunning of the fox. Cor. iv. 2. 
Frampold, adj. peevish, unquiet. Merry Wives, 

11. 2. 
Frank, sb. the feeding place of swine. 2 H. IV. 

II. 2. 
Franked, p.p. confined. R. III. t. 3. 
Franklin, sb. a freeholder, a small squire. Cym. 

in. 2. 
Fraught, /./. freighted. M. of V. n. 8. 
Fraughtage, sb. freight. Com. of E. iv. 1. 
Fraughting, pr. p. of v. to fraught ; loading or 

constituting the cargo of a ship. Temp. 1. 2. 
Fresh, sb. a spring of fresh water. Temp. in. 2. 
Fret, sb. the stop of a guitar. Tarn, of S. n. 1. 
Fret, v.t. to wear away. R. II. in. 3 ; Lear, 1. 4. 

To variegate. J. C. n. 1. 
Friend, v.t. to befriend. H. VIII. 1. 2. 
Frippery, sb. an old-clothes shop. Temp. iv. 1. 
From, prep, contrary to. Ham. ill. 2. 
Front, v.t. to affront, oppose. A. & C. II. 2. 
Frontier, sb. opposition. 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Frontlet, sb. that which is worn on the forehead. 

Lear, 1. 4. 
Frush, v. t. to break or bruise. T. & Cr. v. 6. 
Frustrate,/./, frustrated. A. & C. v. 1. 
Fub off, v.t. to put off. 2 H. IV. n. 1. 
Fulfill, v.t. to fill full. Prol. to T. & C. 
Full, adj. complete. Oth. n. 1. 
Fullam, sb. a loaded die. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 
Fulsome, adj. lustful. M. of V. 1. 3. 
Furnitor, sb. fumitory, an herb. Lear, IV. 4. 
Furnished, /./. equipped. Wint Tale, iv. 3 



Gaberdine, j£. a loose outer coat, or smock frock. 

Temp. 11. 2; M. of V. 1. 3. 
Gad, sb. a pointed instrument, a goad. T. A. iv. 

1. Upon the gad, with impetuous haste, upon 

the spur of the moment. Lear, 1. 2. 
Gain-giving, sb. misgiving. Ham. v. 2. 
Gait, sb. going, steps. Tw. N. 1. 4. 
Galliard, si. a kind of dance. Tw. N. 1. 3. 
Galliasse, sb. a kind of ship. Tarn, of Sh. 11. 1. 
Gallimaufry, sb. a ridiculous medley. Wint. Tale, 

iv. 4. 
Gallow, v.t. to scare. Lear, in. 2. 
Gallowglass, sb. the irregular infantry of Ireland, 

and the Highlands of Scotland. Mac. 1. 2. 
Gamester, sb. a frolicsome person. H. VIII. I. 4. 

A loose woman. All's Well, v. 3. 
Garboil, sb. disorder, uproar. A. & C. I. 3. 
Garish, adj. gaudy, staring. R. III. iv. 4. 
Garner, v.t. to lay by, as corn in a barn. Oth. 



GLOSSARY. 



1067 



Gast, p.p. frightened. Lear, 11. 1. 

Gaudy, adj. festive. A. & C. III. 13. 

Gaze, sb. an objedl of wonder. Mac. v. 7. 

Gear, sb. matter of business of any kind. M. of 
V. 11. 2. 

Geek, sb. a fool. Cym. v. 4. 

General, sb. the generality, common people. M. 
for M. 11. 4. 

Generations, sb. children. Wint. Tale, 11. 1. 

Generosity, sb. noble birth. Cor. 1. 1. 

Generous, adj. noble. M. for M. 1. 1. 

Gentility, sb. good manners. L's L's L. 1. 1. 

Gentle, sb. gentlefolk. L's L's L. iv. 1. 

Gentle, adj. noble. Temp. 1. 2. 

Gentle, v.t. to ennoble. Hen. V. iv. 31. 

Gentry, sb. complaisance, conduct becoming gen- 
tlefolk. Ham. 11. 2. 

German, adj. akin. Wint. Tale, iv. 4. Appro- 
priate. Ham. v. 2. 

Germen, sb. seed, embryo. Lear, in. 2. 

Gest, sb. period. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Gib, sb. a he-cat. Ham. in. 4. 

Gifts, sb. talents, endowment. Merry Wives, I. 1. 

Giglot, sb. a wanton girl. M. for M. v. 1. 

Gilder, sb. a coin of the value of is. 6d. or 2s. 
Com. of E. iv. 1. 

Gilt, sb. money. H. V. II. Ch. State of wealth. 
Tim. iv. 3. 

Gimmal, adj. double. H. V. iv. 2. 

Gimmor, sb. contrivance. 1 H. VI. I. 2. 

Ging, sb. gang. Merry Wives, iv. 2. 

Gird, v.i. to gibe. 2 H. IV. 1. 2; Cor. 1. 1. 

Gird, sb. a sarcasm or gibe. Tarn, of S. V. 2. 

Gleek, v.i. to scoff. M. N's Dr. in. 1. 

Gleek, sb. a scoff. 1 H. VI. III. 2. 

Glose, v.i. to comment; hence, to be garrulous. 
R. II. 11. 1. 

Glut, v. to swallow. Temp. 1. 1. 

Gnarl, v.i. to snarl. R. II. 1. 3 ; 2 H. VI. ill. 1. 

Good-deed, adv. indeed. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Good-den, int. good-evening, contracted from 
'Good-even.' John, 1. 1. 

Good-year or Good-jer, sb. a corruption of the 
French goujere ; the venereal disease. Merry 
Wives, 1. 4. 

Gorbellied, adj. corpulent. 1 H. IV. n. 2. 

Government, sb. discretion. 3 H. VI. 1. 4. 

Gourd, sb. a species of game of chance. Merry 
Wives, 1. 3. 

Gout, sb. a drop. Mac. n. 1. 

Gracious, adj. abounding in grace Divine. Ham. 
1. 1. 

Grained, adj. engrained. Ham. in. 4. 

Gramercy, int. grand mercy, much thanks. M. 
ofV. n. 2. 

Grange, sb. the farmstead attached to a monas- 
tery, a solitary farm-house. Oth. 1. 1. 

Gratillity, sb. used ridiculously for 'gratuity.' 
Tw. N. 11. 3. 

Gratulate, v.t. to congratulate. T. A. 1. 2. 

Grave, v.t. to bury. Tim. IV. 3. 

Greasily, adv. grossly. L's L's L. IV. 4. 

Greek, sb. a bawd. Tw. N. iv. r. 

Green, adj. immature, fresh, unused. R. III. 
n. 2; Tarn, of S. m. 2. 

Greenly, adv. foolishly. Ham. iv. 5. 

Greet, v.i. to weep. T. A. 1. 2. 

Grize, sb. a step. Tw. N. III. 1. 

Grossly, adv. palpably. H. V. n. 2. 



Groundling, sb. one who sits in the pit of a thea- 
tre. Ham. in. 2. 

Growing, pr.p. accruing. Com. of E. iv. 1. 

Guard, sb. decoration. M. for M. in. 1. 

Guard, v.t. to decorate. M. of V. n. 2. 

Guardage, sb. guardianship. ( )th. 1. 2. 

Guinea-hen, sb. the pintado, a cant term. Oth. 
I- 3- 

Gules, adj. red, a term in heraldry. Tim. iv. 3. 

Gulf, sb. the throat. Mac. IV. 1. 

Gun-stone, sb. a cannon ball. 

Gust, sb. taste, relish. Tw. N. 1. 3. 

Gyve, v.t. to fetter. Oth. n. 1. 

Hack, v.i. to become common. Merry Wives, 

11. 1. 
Haggard, sb. a wild or unreclaimed hawk. Tarn. 

of S. iv. 1. 
Hag-seed, sb. seed or offspring of a hag. Temp. 

I. 2. 

Hair, sb. course, order, grain. Merry Wives, n. 3. 

Halidom, sb. holiness, sancftification, Christian 
fellowship ; used as an oath, and analogous to 
' By my faith.' Two Gent. iv. 2. 

Hall, sb. an open space to dance in. R. & J. 1. 5. 

Hallowmas, sb. All Hallows' Day. Two Gent. 11. 1. 

Hap, sb. chance, fortune. Com. of E. 1. 1. 

Happily, adv. accidentally. Tarn, of S. IV. 4. 

Handsaw, sb. perhaps a corruption of Heron- 
shaw; a hern. Ham. n. 2. 

Hardiment, sb. defiance, brave deeds. 1 H. IV. 
I- 3- 

Harlock, sb. charlock, wild mustard. Lear, iv. 4. 

Harry, v.t. to annoy, harass. A. & C. in. 3. 

Having, sb. property, fortune. Tw. N. in. 4. 

Haviour, sb. behaviour. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 

Haught, adj. haughty. 3 Hen. VI. n. 1. 

Haunt, sb. company. Ham. iv. 1. 

Hay, sb. a term in fencing. R. S: J. n. 4. 

Heady, adj. violent, headlong. Com. of E. v. 1. 

Heat,/./, of v.t. "to heat," heated. M.ofV. 1. 1. 

Hebenon, sb. henbane. Ham. 1. 5. 

Heft, sb. a heaving. Wint. Talc, 11. 1. 

Heft,/./, furnished with a handle: hence, meta- 
phorically, finished off, delicately formed. 
Lear, n. 4. 

Helm, v.t. to steer, manage. M. for M. in. 2. 

Hence, adz>. henceforward. 2 H. IV. v. 5. 

Henchman, sb. a page or attendant. M. N's Dr. 

II. 2. 

Hent, v.t. to seize, take. M. for M. iv. 6; Wint. 

Tale, iv. 2. 
Hermit, sb. a beadsman, one bound to pray for 

another. Mac. 1. 6. 
Hest, sb. command. Temp. in. 1. 
High, adv. used in Composition with adjectives 

to heighten or emphasize their signification, as, 

high-fantastical. Tw. N. 1. 1. 
Hignt, /./. called. L's L's L. 1. 1. 
Hild, /./. held. I.ucr. 1257. 
Hilding, sb. a paltry fellow. Cym. II. 3. 
Hint, sb. suggestion. Temp. 1. 2. 
Hiren, sb. Qy, a prostitute, with a pun on the 

word "iron." 2 \icn. IV. 11. 4. 
Hit, v.i. to agree, I. ear, 1. 1. 

A to hoist, heave up on high. 2 H. VI. 

Hoist, /./. hoisted. Ham. in. 4. 

Ho!p, /./. of the v. to help; helped. John, 1. 1. 



[o63 



GLOSSARY 



Home, adv. to the utmost. Cor. n. 2 ; Cym. in. 

5 ; Lear, in. 3. 

Honest, adj. chaste. Oth. iv. 2. 

Honesty, sb. chastity. As you Like it, III, 3. 

Honey-stalks, sb. the red clover. T. A. IV. 4. 

Hoodman-blind, sb. the game now called blind- 
man's-buff. Ham. m. 4. 

Horn-mad, adj. probably, c aam-mad,' that is, 
brain-mad. Merry Wives, 1. 4. 

Horologe, sb. a clock. Oth. 11. 3. 

Hot-house, sb. a brothel. M. for M. n. 1. 

Hox, v.t. to hamstring. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Hugger-mugger, sb. secresy. Ham. iv. 5. 

Hull, v.i. to drift on the sea like a wrecked ship. 
H. VIII. 11. 4. 

Humourous, adj. fitful, or, perhaps, hurried. R. 

6 J. 11. 1. 

Hunt-counter, v.i. to follow the scent the wrong 
way. 2 H. IV. 1. 2. 

Hunts-up, sb. a holla used in hunting when the 
game was on foot. R. & J. III. 5. 

Hurly, sb. noise, confusion. Tarn, of S. iv. 1. 

Hurtle, v.i. to clash. J. C. II. 2. 

Hurtling, sb. noise, confusion. As you Like it. 
iv. 3. 

Husbandry, sb. frugality. Mac. II. 1. Manage- 
ment. M. of V. in. 4. 

Huswife, sb. a jilt. Cor. I. 3. 

Ice-brook, sb. an icy-cold brook. Oth. v. 2. 
I'fecks, int. in faith, a euphemism. Wint. Tale, 

I. 2. 

Ignomy, sb. ignominy. 1 H. IV. v. 4. 
Image, sb. representation. Ham. in. 2. 
Imbare, v.t. to bare, lay open. H. V. I. 2. 
Immediacy, sb. close connexion. Lear. v. 3. 
Immoment, adj. unimportant. A. & C. v. 2. 
Imp, v.t. to graft, to splice a falcon's broken fea- 
thers. R. II. 11. 1. 
Imp, sb. a scion, a child. 2 H. IV. v. 5. 
Impawn, v.t. to stake, compromise. H. V. I. 2. 
Impeach, v.t. to bring into question. M. N'sDr. 

II. 2. 

Impeach, sb. impeachment. C. of E. v. 1. 
Impeachment, sb. cause of censure, hindrance. 

Two Gent. 1. 3. 
Imperceiverant, adj. dull of perception. Cym. 

iv. 1. 
Impeticos, v.t. to pocket. Tw. N. n. 3. 
Importance, sb. importunity. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Important, adj. importunate. C. of E. v. 1; 

Lear, iv. 4. 
Importing, adj. significant. All's Well, v. 3. 
Impose, .y/>. imposition, meaning command or task 

imposed upon any one. Two Gent. iv. 3. 
Imposition, sb. command. M. of V. 1. 2. 
Imprese, sb. a device with a motto. R. II. 

n\ 1. 
Impress, v.t. to compel to serve. Mac. iv. 1. 
Incapable, adj. unconscious. Ham. IV. 7. 
Incarnardine, v.t. to dye red. Mac. n. 2. 
Incensed,/./, incited, egged on. R. III. ill. 1. 
Inch-meal, sb. by inch-meal, by portions of inches. 

Temp. 11. 2. 
Inclining, adj. compliant. Oth. 11. 3. 
Inclining, sb. inclination. Ham. 11. 2. 
Inclip, v.t. to embrace. A. & C. 11. 7. 
Include, v.t. conclude. Two Gent. v. 4. 
Incony, adj. fine, delicate. L's L's L. ill. 1. 



Incorrect, adj. ill-regulated. Ham. 1. 2. 

Ind, sb. India. Temp. 11. 2. 

Indent, v.i. to compound or bargain. 1 H. IV. 

I- 3- 
Index, sb. a preface. R. III. iv. 4 ; Ham. in. 4. 
Indifferent, adj. ordinary. Ham. 11. 2. 
Indigest, adj. disordered. Son. 114. 
Indite, v.t. to invite. R. & J. n. 4. To convict. 

Ham. 11. 2. 
Induction, sb. introduction, beginning. 1 H. IV. 

in. I. 
Indurance, sb. delay. H. VIII. v. 1. 
Infinite, sb. infinite power. Much Ado, n. 3. 
Ingraft, part, of v. to engraff, engrafted. Oth. 

II. 3. 
Inhabitable, adj. uninhabitable. R. II. I. 1. 
Inherit, v.t. to possess. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Inhooped,/./. penned up in hoops. A. & C. II. 3. 
Inkhorn-mate, sb. a contemptuous term for an 

ecclesiastic, or man of learning. 1 H. VI. in. 1. 
Inkle, sb. a kind of narrow fillet or tape. Wint. 

Tale, iv. 3. 
Inland, adj. civilized, well-educated. As you 

Like it, in. 2. 
Inly, adj. inward. Two Gent. n. 7. 
Inly, adv. inwardly. Temp. v. 1. 
Inquisition, sb. enquiry. Temp. I. 2. 
Insane, adj. that which causes insanity. Mac. 

I- 3- 

Insconce, v.t. to arm, fortify. Com. of E. 11. 2. 

Instance, sb. example. Tw. N. iv. 3. Informa- 
tion. 2 H. IV. in. 1. Reason, proof. H. V. 
n. 2 ; Merry Wives, n. 2. 

Intend, v.i. to pretend. Tarn, of S. iv. 1. 

Intending, fir. p. regarding. Tim. n. 2. 

Intendment, sb. intention. Oth. iv. 2. 

Intentively, adv. attentively. Oth. 1. 3. 

Interessed, p.p. allied. Lear, 1. 1. 

Intermission, sb. pause, delay, Mac. iv. 3. 

Intrenchment, adj. not capable of being cut. 
Mac. v. 7. 

Intrinse, adj. intricate. Lear, n. 2. 

Intrinsicate, adj. intricate. A. & C. v. 2. 

Invention, sb. imagination. Mac. in. 1. 

Inward, sb. an intimate friend. M. for M. III. 2. 
adj. intimate. R. III. ill. 4. 

Inwardness, sb. intimacy. Much Ado, iv. 1. 

Irregulous, adj. lawless, licentious. Cym. iv. 2. 

Iteration, sb. reiteration. 1 H. IV. 1. 2. 

Jack, sb. a mean fellow. R. III. 1. 3. 

Jack-a-lent, sb. a puppet thrown at in Lent. 
Merry Wives, v. 5. 

Jack guardant, sb. a jack in office. Cor. v. 2. 

Jade, v.t. to whip, to treat with contempt. H. 
VIII. in. 2 ; A. & C. in. I. 

Jar, sb. the ticking of a clock, Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Jar, v.i. to tick as a clock. R. II. v. 5. 

Jaunce, v.i. to prance. R. II. v. 5. 

Jess, sb. a strap of leather attached to the 
talons of a hawk, by which it is held on the 
fist. Oth. in. 3. 

Jest, v.i. to tilt in a tournament. R. II. 1. 3. 

Jet, v.i. to strut. Tw. N. n. 5. 

Jovial, adj. appertaining to Jove. Cym. v. 4. 

Journal, adj. daily. Cym. iv. 2. 

Judicious, adj. critical. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 

Jump, v.i. to agree. 1 H. IV. 1. 2. v.i. to ha- 
zard. Cym. v. 4. 



GLOSSARY. 



1069 



Jump, sb. hazard. A. & C. III. 8. 

Jump, adv. exactly, nicely. Oth. 11. 3. 

Juscicer, si. a judge, magistrate. Lear, in. 6. 

Jut, v.i. to encroach. R. III. 11. 4. 

Jutty, sb. a projection. Mac. I. 6. 

Jutty, v.i. to jut out beyond. H. V. III. 1. 

Juvenal, sb. youth, young man. L's L's L. 1. 2. 

Kam, adj. crooked. Cor. in. 1. 
Kecksy, sb. hemlock. H. V. v. 2. 
Keech, sb. a lump of tallow. H. VIII. 1. 1. 
Keel, v.t. to skim. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Keep, v.r. to restrain. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Keep, si. keeping, custody. Tarn, of S. I. 2. 
Keisar, sb. Ca;sar. Emperor. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 
Kern, sb. the rude foot soldiers of the Irish. 

Mac. 1. 2. 
Kibe, sb. a chilblain.. Temp. II. 1. 
Kickshaw, sb. a made dish. 2 H. IV. v. 1. 
Kicksv wicksy, sb. a wife, used in disdain. All's 

Well, 11. 3. 
Kiln-hole, sb. the ash-hole under a kiln. Merry 

Wives, iv. 2. 
Kind, sb. nature. A. & C. v. 2 ; T. A. 11. 1. 
Kindle, v.i. to bring forth young; used only of 

beasts. As you Like it, III. 2. 
Kindless, adj. unnatural. Ham. 11. 2. 
Kindly, adj. natural. Much Ado, iv. 1. 
Kirtle, sb. a gown. 2 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Knave, sb. a boy. J. C. IV. 3. A serving-man. 

All's Well, 11. 4. 
Knap, v.t. to snap, crack. M. of V. in. 1. 
Knot, sb. a figure in garden beds. R. II. in. 4. 
Know, v.t. to acknowledge. Mac. n. 2. 

Labras, sb. lips. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Laced-mutton, sb. a courtezan, Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Lag, sb. the lowest of the people. T. A. in. 6. 
Lag, adv. late, behindhand. R. III. n. 1; Lear, 

1. 2. 
Lakin, n. ladykin, little lady, an endearing term 

applied to the Virgin Mary in the oath, "By 

our lakin." Temp. in. 3. 
Land-damn, v.t. perhaps to extirpate: Hanmer 

thinks it means to kill by stopping the urine. 

Wint. Tale, n. 1. 
Lapsed,/./, taken, apprehended. T\v. N. in. 3. 
Large, adj. licentious, free. Much Ado, IV. 1. 
Largess, sb. a present. Tarn, of S. 1. 2. 
Lass-lorn, adj. deserted by a mistress. Temp. iv. 1. 
Latch, v.t. to smear. M. N'sDr. in. 2. To catch. 

Mac. iv. 3. 
Lated, /./. belated. A. & C. in. 9. 
Latten, adj. made of brass. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Laund, sb. lawn. 3 H. VI. in. 1. 
Lavolta, sb. a dance. H. V. in. 5. 
Lay, sb. wager. Oth. n. 3. 
League, sb. besieging army. All's Well, in. 6. 
Leasing, sb. lying. Tw. N. 1. 5. 
Leather-coats, sb. a kind of apple. 2 H. IV. v. 3. 
Leech, sb. a physician. T. A. v. 4. 
Leer, sb. countenance, complexion. As you Like 

it, iv. 1 ; T. A. iv. 2. 
Leet, sb. a manor court. Oth. in. 3. 
Legerity, sb. lightness. H. V. iv. 1. 
Lege, v.t. to allege. Tarn, of S. 1. 2. 
Leiger, sb. an ambassador resident abroad. 

M. for M. in. 1 ; Cymh. 1. 6. 
Leman, sb. a lover or mistress. 2 H. IV. v. 3. 



Lenten, adj. meagre. Ham. n. 1. That which 

may be eaten in Lent. R. & J. n. 4. 
L'envoy, sb. the farewell or moral at the end of a 

tale or poem. L's L's L. in. 1. 
Let, ?'./. to hinder. Tw. N. v. 1. v.t. to hinder. 

Ham. 1. 2. 
Let. sb. hindrance. H. V. v. 2. 
Lethe, sb. death. J. C. III. 1. 
Level, v.i. to aim. M. of V. 1. 2 ; R. I IT. iv. 4. 
Level, sb. that which is aimed at. H. VI I [. 1. 2. 
Lewd, adj. ignorant, foolish. R. 111. I. 3. 
Lewdly, adv. wickedly. 2 H. VI. II. i. 
Lewdster, sb. a lewd person. Merry Wives, v. 3. 
Libbard, sb. a leopard. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Liberal, adj. licentious. Two Gent. in. 1 ; Oth. 

n. 1. 
Liberty, sb. libertinism. T. A. TV. 1. 
License, sb. licentiousness. M. for M. III. 2. 
Lief, adj. dear. 2 H. VI. in. 1. 
Lifter, sb. a thief. T. & Cr. 1. 2. 
Light o' love, sb. a tune so called. Two Gent. 1. 2. 
Lightly, adv. easily, generally. Com. of E. iv. 4: 

R. 111. in. 1. 
Like, v.t. to please. R. III. Hi. 4; Lear, n. 2. 
Like, v.t. to liken, compare. 1 H. VI. iv. 6. 
Like, adj. likely. M. for M. v. 1. 
Likelihood,^, promise, appearance. R. III. in. 4. 
Liking, sb. condition. 1 H. IV. in. 3. 
Limbeck, sb. an alembick, a still. Mac. 1. 7. 
Limbo, or Limbo patrum, sb. the plac 

good men under the Old Test, were believed to 

be imprisoned till released bv Christ after his 

crucifixion. All's Well, v. 3: H. VIII. v. 3. 
Lime, sb. bird-lime. Temp. iv. 1. 
Lime, v.t. to entangle as with bird-lime. Tw. X. 

in. 4. To smear with bird-lime. 2 H. VI. 1. 3. 

To mix lime with beer or other liquor. Merry 

Wives, 1. 3. 
Limn, v.t. to draw. As you Like it, n. 7. 
Line, v.t. to cover on the inside. Cymb. II, 3. 

To strengthen by inner works. 1 H. IV. n. 3; 

2 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Linstock, sb. a staff" with a match at the end of 

it, used by gunners in firing cannon. H. V. 

in. Chorus. 
List, sb. a margin, hence a bound or enclosure. 

Tw. N. in. 1; 1 H. IV. iv. 1. 
Lither, adj. lazy. 1 H. VI. iv. 7. 
Little, si. miniature. Ham. II. 2. 
Livelihood,^, appearance of life. All's Well, I. 1. 
Livery, si. a law phrase, signifyiri 

delivering a freehold into the possession of the 

heir or purchaser. R. II. II. 3. 
Living, adj. lively, convincing. Oth. m. 3. 
Loach, si. a fish so called. 1 H. IV. 11. 1. 

a looby. M. N's 1 >r. 11. 1. 
Lockram, si. a sort of coarse linen. Cor. n. 1. 
Lode-star, si. the leading-star, pole-star. M. Zs's 

Dr. 1. 1. 
Loffe, v.i. to laugh. M. N's Or. n. 1. 

c tiled uine-pins. Ham. v. 1. 
Lonely, adv. longingly. TamofS. 1. 1. 

t. to luff, bring a vessel up to the wind. 

A & ('. in. 8. 
Loon, sb. a low contemptible fellow. Mac. v. 3. 
Lot, sb. a prize in a lottery. Cor. v. 2. 
Lottery, SO. that which falls to a man by lot. 

v 8 < '. 11. 2. 
Lowt, si. a clown. Cor. in. 2. 



1070 



GLOSS AR Y. 



Lowt, v. t. to treat one as a lowt, with contempt. 

1 H. VI. iv. 3. 
Lozel, sb. a spendthrift. Wint. Tale, II. 3. 
Lubber, sb. a leopard. 2 H. IV. II. 1. 
Luce, n. the pike or jack, a fresh-water fish. 

Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Lumpish, adj. dull, dejected. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Lunes, sb. fits of lunacy. Wint. Tale, 11. 2. 
Lurch, v.t. to defeat, to win. Cor. 11. 2. 
Lurch, v. i. to shift, to play tricks. Merry Wives, 

11. 2. 
Lure, sb. a thing stuffed to resemble a bird with 

which the falconer allures a hawk. Tam. of S. 

iv. 1. 
Lush, adj. juicy, luxuriant. Tem. n. 1. 
Lustig, adj. lusty, cheerful. All's Well, n. 3. 
Luxurious, adj. lascivious. Much Ado, iv. 1. 
Luxury, sb. lust. Lear, iv. 6. 
Lym, sb. a limer or slow hound. Lear, ill, 6. 

Made, p.p. having his fortune made. Tw. N. in. 4. 
Magnifico, sb. the chief magistrate at Venice. 

Oth. 1. 2. 
Magot-pie, sb. a magpie, a pie which feeds on 

magots. Mac. in. 4. 
Mailed, p.p. covered as with a coat of mail. 

2H.VI. n. 4. 
Main-course, sb. a sea-term. Temp. 1. 1. 
I Make, v.t. to do up, bar. Com. of E. in. 1. To 

do. L's L'sL. iv. 3; R. III. 1. 3. 
Malkin, sb. a familiar name for Mary ; hence a 

servant wench. Cor. n. 1. 
Mallecho, sb. mischief. Ham. III. 2. 
Mammering, pr. p. hesitating. Oth. in. 3. 
Mammets, sb. a woman's breasts. i'H. IV. 11. 3. 

A doll. R. & J. in. 5- 
Mammock, v.t. to break, tear. Cor. 1. 3. 
Man, v.t. to tame a hawk. Tam. of S. iv. 1. 
Manage, sb. management. Temp. 1. 2. 
,, , , \ a plant of soporiferous quality, 

Mandragora sb. ( £ d £ resemble 4 a ma £ 

Mandrake, sb. j Q ^ ffl ^. aH Iy ,_ 2 

Mankind, adj. having a masculine nature. Wint. 

Tale, n. 3. 
Marches, sb. frontiers, borders. H. V. 1. 2. 
Marchpane, sb. a kind of sweet biscuit. R. & J. 

i- 5- 

Margent, sb. margin. L's L's L. 11. 1. 

Marry trap, int. an oath. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Martlemas, sb. the Feast of St Martin, which oc- 
curs on the nth of Nov. when the fine weather 
generally ends ; hence applied to an old man. 
2 H. IV. n. 2. 

Match, sb. an appointment. 1 H. IV. 1. 2. 

Mate, v.t. to confound, dismay. Mac. v. 1. 

Meacock, adj. tame, cowardly. Tam. of S. n. 1. 

Mealed,/./, mingled. M. for M. iv. 2. 

Mean, sb. instrument used to promote an end. 
Two Gent. iv. 4. 

Mean, sb. the tenor part in a harmony. Two 
Gent. 1. 2. 

Mean, sb. opportunity, power. H. VIII. v. 2. 

Measure, sb. reach. Two Gent. v. 4. A stately 
dance. Much Ado, n. 1. 

Meazel, sb. a leper, spoken in contempt of a mean 
person. Cor. in. 2. 

Medal, sb. a portrait in a locket. Wint. Tale, 
1. 2. 

Medicine, sb. a physician. All's Well, n. 1. 



Meed, sb. reward, hire. Two Gent. II. 4. Merit, 
3 H. VI. 11. 1. 

Mehercle, int. by Hercules. L's L's L. iv. 2. 

Meiny, sb. retinue. Lear, n. 4. 

Mell, v.t. to mix, to meddle. All's Well, iv. 3. 

Memorize, v.t. to cause to be remembered. Mac. 
1. 2. 

Mephistophilus, sb. the name of a familiar spirit. 
Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Mercatante, sb. (Italian), a foreign trader. Tam. 
of S. iv. 2. 

Merely, adv. simply, absolutely. Temp. 1. 1. 

Mess, sb. a company of four. L's L's L. I v. 3 ; 
v. 2. 

Metaphysical, adj. supernatural. Mac. 1. 5. 

Mete-yard, sb. measuring-wand. Tam. of S. iv. 3. 

Mew up, v.t. to confine. R. III. 1. 1. 

Micher, sb. a truant. 1 H. IV. n. 4. 

Mickle, adj. much. Com. of E. in. 1. 

Mill-sixpence, sb. a milled sixpence. Merry 
Wives, 1. 1. 

Mince, v.t. to do any thing affectedly. H. V. V. 2. 

Mincing, adj. affected. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 

Miscreate, p.p. illegitimate. H. V. 1. 2. 

Misdoubt, v.t. to suspect. 3 H. VI. v. 6. 

Misery, sb. avarice. Cor. n. 2. 

Misprise, v.t. to despise. As you Like it, 1. 1. 
to mistake. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 

Misprision, sb. mistake. Much Ado, iv. 1. 

Missive, sb. messenger. A. & C. II. 2. 

Mistempered, adj. angry. John, v. 1. 

Misthink, v.t. to think ill of. 3 H. VI. 5. 

Mistress, sb. the jack in bowling. T. & Cr. in. 2. 

Mobled, p.p. muffled. Ham. n. 2. 

Modern, adj. commonplace. John, in. 4. 

Module, sb. a model, image. John, v. 7. 

Moe, adj. and adv. more. Of frequent occur- 
rence. 

Moiety, sb. a portion. Lear, 1. 1. 

Mome, sb. a stupid person. Com. of E. in. 1. 

Momentany, adj. momentary. M. N's Dr. 1. 1. 

Months-mind, sb. a monthly commemoration of 
the dead, but used ludicrously to mean a great 
mind or strong desire. Two Gent. 1. 2. 

Mood, sb. anger. Two Gent. iv. 1. 

Moon-calf, sb. a nick-name applied to Caliban. 
Temp. 11. 2 ; in. 2. 

Moonish, adj. inconstant. As you Like it, in. 2. 

Mop, sb. nod. Temp. III. 3. 

Morisco, sb. a Moor. 2 H. VI. in. 1. 

Morris-pike, sb. Moorish-pike. Com. of E. iv. 3. 

Mort, sb. death, applied to animals of the chase. 
Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Mort-du-vinaigre, int. (French), aridiculous oath. 
All's Well, n. 3. 

Mortal, adj. fatal, deadly. Oth. v. 2. Murder- 
ous. Mac. 1. 5. 

Mortified,/./, ascetic. Mac. v. 2. 

Mose, v.t. a doubtful word, applied to some 
disease in a horse. Tam. of S. in. 2. 

Motion, sb. solicitation. Com. of E. 1. 1. Emo- 
tion. Oth. 1. 2. 

Motion, sb. a puppet. Two Gent. n. 1. 

Motive, sb. one who moves. All's Well, iv. 4. 
That which moves. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 

Motley, adj. used as sb. the many-coloured coat 
of a fool. As you Like it, 11. 7. A fool. Ibid. 
ill. 3. 

Motley-minded, adj. foolish. As you Like it, v. 4. 



GLOSSARY. 



107] 



Mouse-hunt, sb. a weasel. R. & J. iv. 4. 
Mow, v.i. to make grimaces. Temp. 11. 2. 
Moy, sb. a coin, probably a moidore. H. V. iv. 4. 
Much, int. significant of contempt. 2 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Much, adj. used ironically. As you Like it, iv. 3. 
Mure, sb. a wall. 2 H. IV. IV. 4. 
Must, sb. a scramble. A. & C. III. 11. 
Mutine, v.i. to mutiny. Ham. III. 4. 
Murine, sb. a mutineer. Ham. v. 2. 

Napkin, sb. a handkerchief. As you Like it, iv. 3. 
Natural, sb. an idiot. Temp. Hi. 2. 
Nayward, adv. towards denial. Wint. Tale, II. 1. 
Nayword, sb. a catch-word, by-word. Merry 

Wives, II. 2. 
Neb, sb. the beak. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 
Neeld, sb. a needle. M. N's Dr. III. 2. 
Neif, sb. hand. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Nephew,^, a grandson. Oth. 1. 1. 
Nether-stocks, sb. stockings. Lear, 11. 4. 
Next, adj. nearest. 1 Hen. IV. m. 1. 
Nice, adj. foolish. Tam. of S. III. 1. 
Nick, sb. score or reckoning. Two Gent. iv. 2. 
Nick, v.t. to brand with folly. A. & C. 111. 11. 
Nighted, /./. black as night. Ham. 1. 2. 
Night-rule, sb. nightly solemnity. M. N's Dr. 

in. 2. 
Nine men's morris, sb. a place set apart for a 

Moorish dance by nine men. M. N's Dr. 11. 2. 
Ninny, sb. a fool, jester. Temp. in. 2. 
Nobility, sb. nobleness. Ham. 1. 2. 
Noble, sb. a coin, worth 6s. Sd. R. II. 1. 1. 
Noddy, sb. a dolt. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Nonce, sb. for the nonce, corrupted from ' for then 

once,' for the occasion. 1 H. IV. 1. 2. 
Nook-shotten, adj. indented with bays and 

creeks. H. V. in. 5. 
Nourish, sb. a nurse. 1 H. VI. 1. 1. 
Novum, sb. a game at dice. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Nowl, sb. head, M. N's Dr. in. 2. 
Nuthook, sb. a hook for pulling down nuts, hence 

a thief. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

O, sb. a circle. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 

Oar, v.t. to row as with oars. Temp. n. 1. 

Obsequious, adj. behaving as becomes one who 

attends funeral obsequies. Ham. 1. 2. 
Obsequiously, adv. funereally. R. III. 1. 2. 
Obstacle, adj. ridiculously used for 'obstinate.' 

1 H. VI. v. 4. 
Occupation, sb. persons occupied in business. 

Cor. iv. 6. 
Occurent, sb. an incident. Ham. v. 2. 
Od's body, interj. 1 H. IV. n. 1. \ , n ,, . , 
Od;s hearuings^Merry Wives, J J^mdgj 

Od's pittikins. Cym. iv. 2. \ exclamations is 

Od'splessed will. Merry Wives,] ^>p!ienusmfor 

Oeilliad, sb. an amorous glance. Merry Wives, 

i- 3- 
O'erparted, /./. having too important a part to 

act. L's L's L. v. 2. 
O'er-raught, /./. overreached. Com. of E. 1. 2. 

Overtasked. Ham. in. 1. 
Offering, p.p. challenging. 1 H. IV. iv. 1. 
Office, sb. benefit, kindness. All's Well, iv. 4: 

use, function. H. V. II. 2. 



Old, adj. a cant term for great, as we say fine, 

or pretty. Merry Wives, 1. 4; Mac. 11. 3. 
Once, adv. some time. Merry Wives, in. 4. 
Oneyer, sb. a banker. 1 H. IV. n. 1. A doubtful 

word. 
Ope, adv. open. Com. of E. in. 1. 
Ope, v.i. to open. 3 H. VI. 11. 3. v.t. to open. 

M. ofV. 1.1. 
Open, adj. plain. M. for M. n. 1. Public. H. ! 

VIII. n. 1. 
Open, v.i. to give tongue as a hound. Merry 

Wives, iv. 2. 
Operant, adj. active. Tim. iv. 3. 
Opinioned, p.p. used ridiculously for pinioned. 

Much Ado, iv. 2. 
Opposite, sb. adversary. Tw. N. in. 4. 
Opposition, sb. combat. Cym. iv. 1. 
Or, adv. before. Mac. iv. 3. 
Order, sb. measures. Com. of E. v. 1 ; H. V. 

iv. 5. 
Ordinance, sb. rank, order. Cor. in. 2. 
Orgulous, adj. proud. Prol. to T. 6c Cr. 
Ort, sb. leaving, refuse. Tim. iv. 3. 
Ostent, sb. show, appearance. M. of V. n. 2. 
Ostentation, sb. show, appearance. Much Ado, 

iv. 1 ; Cor. 1. 6. 
Ounce, sb. a beast of prey of the tiger kind. M. 

N's Dr. 11. 3. 
Ouphe, sb. a fairy. Merry Wives, iv. 4. 
Ousel-cock, sb. the blackbird. M. N's Dr. in. 1. 
Out, adv. all out, fully. Temp. 1. 2. 
Out-look, v.t. to face down. John, v. 2. 
Outward, adj. not in the secret of affairs. All's 

Well. in. 1. 
Outward, sb. outside. Cym. 1. 1. 
Owe, v.t. to own. Temp. i. 1. 

Pack, v.t. to practise unlawful confederacy. 

Much Ado, v. 1: Tam. of S. v. 1. 
Pack, sb. a number of people confederated. R. 

III. in. 3. 
Paddock, sb. a toad. Mac. 1. 1. 
Paid, p.p. punished. Cym. v. 4. 
Palahras, sb. words, a cant term, from the Spanish. 

Much Ado, in. 5. 
Pale, v.t. to enclose. A. & C. n. 7 ; H. V. v. Ch. 
Pall, v.t. to wrap as with a pall. Mac. 1. 5. 
Palled,/./, impaired. A. & C. n. 7. 
Palmer, sb. one who bears a palm-branch, in token 

of having made a pilgrimage to Palestine. 

R. & J. 1. 5. 
Palmy, adj. victorious. Ham. 1. 1. 
Parcelled,/./, belonging to individuals. R. III. 

11. 2. 
Pard, sb. the leopard. Temp. iv. 1. 
Paritor, sb. an apparitor. L's L's L. in. 1. 
Parle, sb. talk. Two (lent. I. 2. 
Parlous, adj. perilous. As you Like it, m. 2; 

keen, shrewd. Rich. III. m. 1. 
Parted, p.p. endowed, gifted . T. & Cr. in. 3. 
Parti/an, sb. a pike. R. .S; J. I. 1. 
Pash, sb. the face. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 
Pash, V.t. to .strike violently, to bruise, crush. 

'". n. 3- 
Pass, 7'.i. to practise. Tw. X. in. 1; Lear, in. 7. 

To surpass expectation Merry Wives, iv. 2. 
Passant, /;'./. a term of heraldry, applied to 

animals represented on the shield as passing by , 

at a trot. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 



1072 



GLOSSARY. 



Passing, adv. surpassingly, exceedingly. M. N's 

Dr. 11. 1. 
Passion, v. i. to have feelings. Temp. v. 1. 
Passionate, v.t. to suffer. T. A. in. 2. 
Passy-measure, sb. a kind of dance. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Pastry, sb. the room where pastry was made. 

R. & J. iv. 4. 
Patch, sb. a mean fellow. Temp. III. 2. 
Patched, p.p. dressed in motley. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Patchery, sb. trickery. T. & Cr. n. 3. 
Path, v.i. to walk. J. C. n. 1. 
Pathetical, adj. affected, hypocritical. As you 

Like it. iv. 1. 
Patient, v.r. to make patient, to compose. T. A. 

1. 2. 
Patine, sb. the metal disc on which the bread is 

placed in the administration of the Eucharist. 

M. ofV. v. 1. _ 
Pattern, v. t. to give an example of. Wint. Tale, 

in. 2. Afford a pattern for. M. for M. n. 1. 
Pauca verba, few words. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Paucas, adj. few, a cant word. Ind. to Tarn, of S. 
Pavin, sb. a dance. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Pax, sb. a small image of Christ. H. V. in. 6. 
Pay, v.t. to despatch. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Peat, sb. a term of endearment for a child. Tarn. 

of S. 1. 1. 
Pedascule, sb. a pedant, schoolmaster. Tarn, of S. 

in. 1. 
Peer, v.i. to peep out. R. & J. 1. 1. 
Peize, v.t. to balance, weigh down. John, 11. 2 ; 

R. III. v. 3. 
Pelting, adj. paltry. M. for M. II. 2. 
Perdu, adj. lost. Lear, iv. 7. 
Perdurable, adj. durable. H. V. iv. 5. 
Perdy, bit. a euphemism for Par Dieu. Com. of E. 

iv. 4. 
Perfect, adj. certain. Wint. Tale, in. 3. 
Perfect, v.t. to inform perfectly. M. for M. iv. 3. 
Periapts, sb. charms worn round the neck. 1 H. 

VI. v. 3. 
Perjure, sb. a perjured person. L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Persever, v. to persevere. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Perspective, sb. a telescope, or some sort of 

optical glass. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Pew-fellow, sb. a comrade. R. III. iv. 4. 
Pheeze, v.t. to comb, fleece, curry. Ind. to Tam. 

ofS. ; T. &Cr. 11. 3. 
Pia-mater, sb. the membrane covering the brain, 

the brain itself. Tw. N. 1. 5. 
Pick, v.t. to pitch, throw. H. VIII. v. 3. 
Picked, adj. chosen, selected. John, I. 1. 
Pickers (and stealers), sb. the fingers, used ridicu- 
lously. Ham. in. 2. 
Picking, adj. insignificant. 2 H. IV. 1. 1. 
Pickt-hatch, sb. a place noted for brothels. Merry 

Wives, n. 2. 
Pied, adj. motley-coated, wearing the motley coat 

of a jester. Temp. in. 2. 
Pieled, p.p. shaven. 1 H. VI. 1. 3. 
Fight, p.p. pitched. T. & Cr. v. 11. 
Pitcher, sb. a scabbard. R. & J. in. 1. 
Pill, v.i. to pillage. Tim. iv. 1. 
Pin, sb. a malady of the eye. Lear, in. 4. The 

centre of a target. L's L's L. iv. 1 ; R. & J. n. 4. 
Pinfold, sb. a pound, a place to confine lost cattle. 

Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Pioned, p.p. digged. Temp. III. 3. 
Placket, sb. a petticoat-front. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 



Plain song,sb. a simple air. H. V. in. 2. 
Plaited,^./, intricate. Lear, 1. 1. 
Planched, adj. made of boards. M. for M. iv. 1. 
Plantation, sb. colonizing, planting a colony. 

Temp. n. 1. 
Plausive, adj. plausible. All's Well, 1. 2. 
Pleached, adj. interwoven. Much Ado, 1. 2. 
Point, sb. a lace furnished with a tag by which 

the breeches were held up. 1 H. IV. n. 4. 
Point-de-vice, adj. derived from the French, fault- 
less. Tw. N. 11. 5. 
Poise, sb. balance. M. for M. n. 4. Doubt. 

Lear, n. 1. 
Polled, /./. bare. Cor. iv. 5. 

Pomander, sb. a perfumed ball. Wint. Tale, iv. 4. 
Pomewater, sb. a kind of apple. L's L's L. iv. 2. 
Poor-john, sb. a herring. Temp. n. 2. 
Popinjay, sb. a parrot. 1 H. IV. 1. 3. 
Port, sb. pomp, state. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 
Port, sb. a gate. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 
Portable, adj. bearable. Mac. iv. 3. 
Portance, sb. conduct, behaviour. Cor. 11. 3. 
Possess, v. t. to inform. Tw. N. n. 3. 
Potch, v. i. to push violently. Cor. 1. 10. 
Potent, sb. a potentate. John, n. 2. 
Pouncet-box, sb. a box for holding perfumes. 1 H. 

IV. 1. 3. 
Power, sb. forces, army. 2 H. IV. 1. 1. 
Practice, sb. wicked stratagem. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Practisant, sb. a confederate. 1 H. VI. in. 2. 
Prank, v. t. to dress up. Wint. Tale, iv. 3 ; Cor. 

in. 1. 
Precept, sb. a justice's summons. 2 H. IV: v. 1. 
Preciously, adv. in business of great importance. 

Temp. 1. 2. 
Pregnancy, sb. fertility of invention. 2 H. IV. 1. 2. 
Pregnant, adj. fertile of invention. M. for M. 

1. 1. Ready. Ham. in. 2. Obvious. M. for 

M. 11. 1. 
Prenominate, v. t. to name beforehand, to pro- 
phesy. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 
Pre-ordinance, sb. old-established law. J. C. in. 1. 
Presence, sb. the presence-chamber. H. VIII. 

in. 1. High bearing. M. of V. in. 2. 
Prest, adj. ready. M. of V. 1. 1. 
Pretence, sb. design. Wint. Tale, in. 2. 
Pretend, v. t. to portend. 1 H. VI. iv. 1. To 

intend. Mac. II. 4. 
Prevent, v. t. to anticipate. J. C. v. r. 
Prick, sb. the mark denoting the hour on a dial. 

R. & J. n. 4. 
Prick, v. t. to incite. Tam. of S. in. 2. To choose 

by pricking a hole with a pin opposite the name. 

J. C. in. 1. 
Prick-song, sb. music sung in parts by note. R. 

& J. 11. 4. 
Pricket, sb. a stag of two years. L's L's L. iv. 2. 
Pride, sb. heat. Oth. in. 3. 
Prig, v. t. to steal. Wint. Tale, iv. 2. 
Prime, adj. rank, lecherous. Oth. in. 3. 
Primer, adj. more-important. H. VIII. I. 2. 
Primero, so. a game at cards. H. VIII. v. 1. 
Principality, sb. that which holds the highest 

place. Two Gent. H. 4. 
Princox, sb. a coxcomb. R. & J. I. 5. 
Priser, sb. a prize-fighter. As you Like it, II. 3. 
Procure, v. t. to bring. R. & J. in. 5. 
Proface, interj. much good may it do you. 2 H. 

IV. v. 3. 



GLOSSARY. 



IC73 



Profane, adj. outspoken. Oth. n. i. 

Progress, sb. a royal ceremonial journey. Ham. 

M- 

Project, v. t. to shape or contrive. A. & C. v. 2. 
Prompture, sb. suggestion. M. for M. 11. 4. 
Prone, adj. ready, willing. Cym. v. 4 ; M. for 

M. 1. 3. 
Proof, sb. strength of manhood. Much Ado, iv. 1. 
Propagate, v. t. to advance, to forward. Tim. 1. 1. 
Propagation, sb. obtaining. .M . for W. 1. 3- 
Proper-false, sb. natural falsehood. Tw. N. II, 2. 
Propertied,/./, endowed with the properties of. 

A. & C. v. 2. 
Properties, sb. scenes, dresses, &c. used in a 

theatre. Merry Wives, IV. 4. 
Property, v. t. to take possession of. John, v. 2. 
Propose, v.t. to suppose, for the sake of argu- 
ment. 2 H. IV. v. 2. To converse. Much 

Ado, in. r. 
Propose, sb. conversation. Much Ado, in. 1. 
Prorogue, v. t. to defer. R. cc J. 11. 2. 
Provand, sb. provender. Cor. 11. 1. 
Provision, sb. forecast. Temp. 1. 2. 
Pucelle, sb. a virgin, the name given to Juan of 

Arc. 1 H. VI. V. 4. 
Pudency, sb. modesty. Cym. 11. 5. 
Pugging, adj. thieving. Wint. Tale, iv. 2. 
Pun, v. t. to pound. T. & Cr. 11. r. 
Purchase, v. t. to acquire, win. As you Like it, 

in. 2. 
Purchase, sb. gain, winnings. 1 H. IV. 11. 1. 
Put, v.t. to compel. M. for M. 1. 1. 
Putter-on, sb. an instigator. H. VIII. 1. 2. 
Putter-out, sb. one who lends money at interest. 

Temp. in. 3. 
Putting-on, sb. instigation. M. for M. iv. 2. 
Puttock, sb. a kite. Cym. 1. 2. 



Quail, v.i. to faint, he languid, be afraid. As you 
Like it, 11. 2. v.t. to cause to quail. A. & C. 
v. 2. 

Quaint, adj. curiously beautiful. Temp. 1. 2. 

Quake, v.t. to cause to quake or tremhle. Cor. 

I. 9. 

Qualify, v.t. to moderate. Much Ado. v. 4. 
Quality, sb. those of the same nature. Temp. 1. 2. 
Rank or condition. M. for M. n. 1 ; 2 H. IV. 

V. 2. 

Quarrel, sb. a suit, cause. 2 H. VI. in. 2. 
Quarry, sb. game, a heap of game. Ham. v. a ; 

Cor. 1. 1. 
Quart d'ecu, sb. a quarter crown. All's Well, iv. 3. 
(juarter. sb. the post allotted to a soldier. Tin:. 
"v. 5. 
Quat, sb. a pimple ; used in contempt of a person. 

Oth. v. 1. 
Queasy, adj. squeamish, unsettled. Much Ado, 

II. r ; Lear, n. r. 

Quell, sb. murder. Mac. 1. 7. 
Quench, a.L to grow cool. Cym. 1. 6. 
Quern, sb. a hand-mill. M. N's Dr. n. 1. 
Quest, sb. enquiry, search, inquest, jury- M. for 

M. iv. 1 ; R. I'll. 1. 4: Ham. v. 1. 
Questrist, sb. one who goes in search of another. 

Lear, ill. 7. 
Quick, adj. so far gone in pregnancy that the 
"" child is ali'. V. 2. 

Quieken, v.i. tr; come to life. Lear, 111. 7. 



Quiddit, > sb. a subtle question. Ham. v. 1 ; 

Quiddity, \ 1 H. IV. 1. 2. 

Quillet, sb. quidlibet, a subtle case in law. L's 

L's L. iv. 3. 
Quintain, sb. a post for tilting at. As you Like 

it, 1. 2. 
Quip, sb. sharp jest, a taunt. Much Ado, 11. 3. 
Quire, 7'.i. to sing in concert. M. of V. v. 1. 
Quit, v.i. to requite, respond. Lear, m. 7; Ham. 

v. 2. 
Quit, v.t. past tense of the verb to quit, quitted. 

Cym. 1. 1. 
Quitance, sb. requital. H. V. n. 2. 
Quiver, adj. aciive. 2 H. IV. 111. 2. 
Quote, v.t. to note. R. & J. 1. 4. 

Rabato, sb. a ruff. Much Ado, in. 4. 
Rabbit-sucker, sb. a weasel. 1 H. IV. n. 4. 
Race, sb. breed ; inherited nature. Temp. 1. 2. 
Rack, sb. wreck. Temp. iv. 1. 
Rack, v.t. to enhance the price of ; 1 

Much Ado. iv. 1 ; Cor. v. 1. v.i. to drive as 

clouds. 3 H. VI. 11. 1. 
Rag, sb. a term of contempt applied to persons. 

Tim. iv. 3. 
Rake, v.t. to cover. Lear, iv. 6. 
Rapt, p.p. transported with emotion. Mac. 1. 3. 
Rapture, sb. a fit. Cor. n. 1. 
Rascal, sb. a lean deer. J. C. IV, 3. 
Rash, adj. quick, violent. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 
Rate, sb. opinion, judgement. Temp. 11. 1. 
Rate, v.t. to assign, to value. A. & C. 111. 6; 

Cym. 1. 5. To scold. M. of V. 1. 3. 
Ratolorum, a ludicrous mistake for Rotulorum. 

Merry Wives, I. 1. 
Ravin, adj. ravenous. All's Well, in. 2. 
Ravin, v.t. to devour. Mac. n. 4. 
Raught, past tense of?', to reach. H. V. iv. 6. 
Rawly, adv. inadequately. H. V. iv. 1. 
Rawness, sb. unprovided state. Mac. IV. 3. 
Rayed, p.p. arrayed, served. Tain, of S. iv. 1. 
Razed,/./, slashed. Ham. in. 2. 
Rear-mouse, sb. the bat. M. N's Dr. n. 3. 
Rebate, v.t. to deprive of keenness. M. for M. 

I- 5- 
Rebeck, sb. a three-stringed fiddle. R. & J. iv. 5. 
Receipt, #£. money received. R. II. 1. 1. 
Receiving, sb. capacity. Tw. X. in. t. 
Rechcat, s/>. a point of the chase to call back the 

hounds. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Record, v.t. to sing. Two Cent. v. 4. 
Recorder, sb. a flute. Ham. in. 2. 
Recure, v.t. to cure, recover. R. III. in. 7. 
Red-lattice, adj. suitable to an ale-house, because 

ale-houses had commonly red lattices. Merry 
. n. 2. 
Red-plague, sb. erysipelas. Temp. I. 2. 

, v.t. to brio- back. R. III. v. 4. 
Reechv, adj. smoky, 11. 1. 

RefelL v.t. to refht v. 1. 

• . to reserve I m. 1. 

Regiment, sb. government. A. i°c C. in. 6. 
Regreet, sb. a salutation- M. ofV. 11. 9. 
Regreet, v.t. to salute. R. II. 1. 3. 

Ion, sb. requital. 1 11. VI. m. 1. 
Relative, adj. applicable. Hani. 
Remember, v.t. to remind. Wint. Tale, m. 2; 

M. for M. 11. 1. 

' - v. I. 






GLOSSARY. 



Remorseful, adj. full of pity, compassionate. 

Two Gent. iv. 3. 
Remotion, sb. removal. Tim. iv. 3. 
■ Removed, adj. sequestered, remote. M. for M. 
1. 4; As you Like it, m. 2. 
Render, v.t. to describe you. As you Like it, iv. 3. 
Render, sb. account. Cym. iv. 4. 
Renege, v.t. to renounce, to deny. A. & C. I. 

1 ; Lear, 11. 2. 
Repair, v.t. to renovate, comfort. All's Well, 1. 2. 
Repeal, v.t. to reverse the sentence of exile. Two 

Gent. v. 4. 
Reproof, sb. confutation. 1 H. IV. 1. 2. 
i Repugn, v.t. to resist. 1 H. VI. iv. 1. 

Requiem, sb. mass for the dead,' so called because 
it begins with the words, Requiem eternam 
dona eis, Domine. Ham. v. 1. 
Resolve, v.t. to satisfy. 3 H. VI. in. 2. To dis- 
solve. Ham. 1. 2. 
Respect, sb. consideration. Much Ado, 11. 3. 
Respective, adj. respeftful, thoughtful. M. of V. 

v. 1. 
Respective, adj. corresponding. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
! Respectively, adv. respectfully. Tim. in. 1. 
! Retailed,/./, handed down. R. III. III. 1. 

Retire, sb. retreat. 1 H. IV. 11. 3. 
1 Retire, v.t. to draw back. R. II. II. 2. 
i Reverb, v.t. to echo. Lear, 1. 1. 
i Revolt, sb. a rebel. John, v. 4. 
! Rib, v.t. to enclose as within ribs. M. of V. n. 7. 
, Rid, v.t. to destroy. Temp. 1. 2. 
j Rift, v.t. to split. Wint. Tale, v. 1. v.t. to split. 
Temp. v. 1. 
Rift, sb. a split. Temp. 1. 2. 
Riggish, adj. wanton. A. & C. II. 2. 
Rigol, sb. a circle. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 
Ripe, adj. drunk. Temp. v. 1. 
Rivage, sb. the shore. H. V. in. Chorus. 
1 Rival, sb. a partner. Ham. 1. 1. 

Rivality, sb. equal rank. A. & C. in. 5. 
Rive, v.t. to fire. 1 H. VI. iv. 2. 
Road, sb. the high road, applied to a common 
woman (traviata). 2 H. IV. n. 2. 
I Roisting, adj. roistering, violent. T. & Cr. II. 2. 
Komage, sb. unusual stir. Ham. 1. 1. 
Ronyon, sb. a term of contempt applied to a 

woman. Mac. 1. 3. 
Rood, sb. the crucifix. R. & J. 1. 3. 
Rook, sb. a cheater. Merry Wives, I. 3. 
Ropery, sb. roguery. R. & J. n. 4. 
\ Rope-tricks, sb. tricks such as are played by a 
rope-dancer. Tarn, of S. 1. 2. 
Round, v.t. to whisper. Oth. 1. 3. To become 
great with child. Wint. Tale, II. 1. v.t. to 
finish off. Temp. iv. 1. 
Round, sb. a diadem. Mac. I. 5. 
1 Round, adj. unceremonious. Mac. 1. 5. 

Roundel, sb. a dance or song. M. N's Dr. II. 3. 
Roundure, sb. an enclosure. John, n. 1. 
Rouse, sb. carousal. Ham. 1. 4. 
Roynish, adj. mangy. As you Like it, n. 2. 
Rubious, adj. ruddy. Tw. N. 1. 4. 
Ruddock, sb. the redbreast. Cym. iv. 1. 
Rush, v.t. to push. R. & J. in. 3. 
Rushling, adj. rustling. Merry Wives, II. 2. 

Sacrificial, adj. reverent, as words used in reli- 
gious worship. Tim. 1. 1. 
Sacring-bell, sb. the little bell rung at mass to 



give notice that the elements are consecrated. 

H. VIII. in. 2. 
Sad, adj. serious. Two Gent. I. 2. 
Sadly, adv. seriously. Much Ado, 11. 3. 
Sadness, sb. seriousness. R. & J. 1. 1. 
Safe, v. t. to make safe. A. & C. iv. 6. 
Sag, v.i. to hang down. Mac. v. 3. 
Salt, adj. lascivious. Oth. n. 1 ; in. 3. 
Salt, sb. taste. Merry Wives, n. 3. 
Sanded, adj. marked with yellow spots. M. N's 

Dr. iv. 1. 
Sans, prep, without. Temp. 1. 2. 
Saucy, adj. lascivious. All's Well. iv. 4. 
Saw, sb. a moral saying. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Say, adj. silken. 2 H. VI. iv. 7. 
Say, sb. assay, taste, relish. Lear, v. 3. 
Scaffoldage, sb. the gallery of a theatre. T. & Cr. 

Scald, adj. scurvy, scabby. Merry Wives, in. 1. 

Scale, v.t. to weigh in scales. Cor. n. 3. 

Scall, sb. a scab, a word of reproach. Merry 
Wives, in. 1. 

Scamble, v.i. to scramble. H. V. 1. 1. 

Scamel, sb. probably a misprint for sea-mel, sea- 
mew. Temp. n. 2. 

Scan, v.t. to examine subtly. Oth. in. 3. 

Scant, v.t. to cut short, to spare. M. of V. in. 2. 

Scant, adj. scanty, short. Ham. v. 2. adv. scarce- 
ly. R. & J. 1. 2. 

Scantling, sb. a small portion. T. & Cr. 1. 3. 

Scape, v. t. to escape. Much Ado, 1. 1. 

Scape, sb. a sally. M. for M. 1. 1. 

Scathe, sb. injury. 2 H. VI. II. 4. 

Scathe, v.t. to injure. R. & J. 1. 5. 

Scathful, adj. destructive. Tw. N. v. 1. 

Sconce, sb. the head. Ham. v. 1. 

Scotch, v.t. to bruise or cut slightly. Mac. HI. 2. 

Scrimer, sb. a fencer. Ham. iv. 7. 

Scroyle, sb. a scabby fellow. John, II. 3. 

Scull, sb. a shoal offish. T. & Cr. v. 5. 

Scurvy, adj. scabby ; metaph. mean. Temp. 11. 2. 

Seal, v.t. to set one's seal to a deed; hence, to 
confirm. Cor. n. 3. 

Seam, sb. fat. T. & Cr. n. 3. 

Seamy, adj. showing the seam or sewing. Oth. 
iv. 2. 

Sear, adj. scorched, withered. Mac. v. 3. 

Sear, v.t. to stigmatise. All's Well, n. 1. 

Search, v.t. to probe; hence, to apply a healing 
remedy. Two Gent. 1. 2. 

Seated, adj. fixed, confirmed. Mac. 1. 3. 

Sect, sb. a slip or scion. Oth. 1. 3. A political 
party. Lear, v. 3. 

Securely, adv. inconsiderately. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 

Seel, v.t. to close. Oth. in. 3. 

Seeling, pr.p. closing, blinding. Mac. in. 2. 

Seeming, adv. seemly, becomingly. As you Like 
it, v. 4. 

Seeming, sb. outward manner and appearance. 
Wint. Tale, iv. 4. 

Seen, adj. versed, instructed. Tarn, of S. I. 2. 

Seld, adv. seldom. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 

Self-bounty, sb. native goodness. Oth. in. 3. 

Semblably. adv. alike. 1 H. IV. v. 3. 

Seniory, sb. seniority. R. III. iv. 4. 

Sennet, sb. a flourish of trumpets. 

Sepulchre, v.t. to bury. Two Gent. iv. 2. 

Sequestration, sb. separation. Oth. 1. 3. 

Sere, adj. dry. Com. of E. iv. 2. 



GLOSSARY. 



1075 



Serjeant, sb. a bailiff. Ham. v. 2. 

Serpigo. sb. a cutaneous disease. M. for M. Ill, 1. 

Serviceable, adj. 'serviceable vows,' vows that 

you will do her service, or be her servant. Two 

Gent. in. 2. 
Setebos, sb. the name of a fiend. Temp. 1. 2. 
Setter, sb. one who watches travellers to give in- 
formation to thieves. 1 H. IV. n. 2. 
Several, sb. land which is not common but appro- 
priated. L's L's L. 11. 1. 
Shame, v.i. to be ashamed. Cor. 11. 2. 
Shame, sb. modesty. Com. of E. (II. 2. 
Shards, sb. shreds, broken fragments of pottery. 

Ham. v. 1. 
Shards, sb. the wing cases of beetles ; hence 

'sharded.' Cym. ill. 3; and 'shard-borne.' Mac. 

in. 2. 
Sharked. /./. snatched up, as a shark does his 

prey. Ham. 1. 1. 
Sheen, sb. brilliancy. M. N's Dr. 11. 1. 
Sheer, adj. pure. R. II. v. 3. Unmixed. Ind. to 

Tam. of S. 2. 
Shent, /./. rebuked, blamed. Cor. v. 2. Hurt. 

Ham. in. 3. 
Sheriff 's-post, sb. a post at the door of a sheriff, 

to which royal proclamations were fixed. Tw. N. 

i- 5- 
Shive. sb. slice. T. A. 11. 1. 
Shot, sb. the reckoning at an ale-house. Two 

Gent. 11. 5. 
Shoughs, sb. shaggy dogs. Mac. ill. 1. 
Shouldered,/./. R. III. in. 7. A doubtful word. 
Shovel-board, sb. game played by sliding metal 

pieces along a board at a mark. Merry Wives, 

I. 1. 

Shrewd, adj. mischievous. All's Well, in. 5. 
Shrift, sb. confession. R. III. in. 4. Absolution. 

M. for M. iv. 2. 
Shrive, v.t. to confess. M. of V. 1. 2. 
Shriving-time, sb. time for confession. Ham. v. 2. 
Shroud, v.r. to enshroud oneself, cover oneself 

up. Temp. n. 2. 
Side-sleeves, sb. loose hanging sleeves. Much 

Ado, in. 4. 
Siege, sb. seat. M. for M. IV. 2. Stool. Temp. 

II. 2. Rank. Ham. iv. 7. 

Sight, sb. an aperture in a helmet. 2 H. IV. iv. 1. 
Sightless, adj. invisible. Mac. 1. 5. Unsightly. 

John, in. 1. 
Sign, v.i. to give an omen. A. & C. iv. 3. 
Silly, adj. simple, rustic. Cym. v. 3. 
Simular, adj. counterfeit, feigned. Cym. v. 5. 
Single, adj. feeble. Mac. 1. 3. 
Sir. sb. a title applied to a bachelor of arts at the 

Universities. Tw. N. IV. 2. 
Sith, conj. since. Two Gent. 1. 2. 
Sithence, conj. since. Cor. III. 1. 
Sizes, sb. allowances. Lear, 11. 4. 
Skains-mates, sb. scapegraces. R. & J. II. 4. 
Skill, v.i. to be of importance. Tarn. ofS. m. 2. 
Skilless, adj. ignorant. Temp. III. 1 
Skimble-skamble, adj. rambling, disjointed. 

1 H. IV. in. 1. 
Skinker, sb. a drawer of liquor. 1 H. IV. n. 4. 
Skirr, v.t. to scour. Mac. v. 3. 
Slack, v.t. slacken. Oth. iv. 3. 
Slave, v.t. to turn to slavish uses. Lear, IV. 1. 
Sleave, sb. floss-silk. Mac. 11. 2. 
Sledded, /./. sledged. Ham. 1. 1. 



Sleided, /./. untwisted, raw, applied to silk. 

Per. iv. (Gower . 
Sleights, sb. artifices. Mac. III. 5. 
Slice, int. Merry Wives, 1. r. 
Slipper, adj. slippery. Oth. II. r. 
Slips, sb. a kind of noose, or leash. H. V. III. 1. 

A piece of base money. R. <S; J. II. 4. 
Sliver, v.t. to slice. Lear, iv. 2. 
! Sliver, sb. a slice. Ham. IV. 7. 
Slops, sb. loose breeches. Much Ado, m. 2. 
Slubber, v.t. to slur over. M. of V. 11. 8. 
Smirched,/./, smeared, soiled. Much Ado, i\\ 1. 
Smooth, v.t. to flatter. Per. 1. 2. 
Smoothed,/./, flattered, fawned upon. Tim. IV. 3. 
Sneap, sb. taunt, sarcasm. 2 H. IV. 11. 1. 
Sneaped, /./. pinched. Lucr. 333. 
Sneaping, adj. nipping. L's L's L. 1. 1. 
Sneck-up, int. go hang! Tw. N. II. 3. 
Snuff, sb. anger. L's L's L. 'To take in snuff 

is to take offence. 
Softly, adv. gently. Wint. Tale, IV. 2; Ham. 

iv. 4. 
Soil, sb. spot, taint. Ham. 1. 3. 
Solicit, sb. solicitation. Cym. 11. 3. 
Solidare, sb. a small coin. Tim. in. 1. 
Solve, sb. solution. Son. 69. 
Sometimes, adv. formerly. M. ofV. 1. r. 
Sooth, sb. truth. Wint. Tale, IV. 3. Conciliation. 

R. II. in. 3. 
Sooth, adj. true. Mac. v. 5. 

Sorel, sb. a buck of the third year. L's L's L. iv. 2. 
Sorriest, adj. most sorrowful. Mac. III. 2. 
Sorry, adj. sorrowful, dismal. Com. of E. v. 1. 
Sort, sb. a company. M. N's Dr. III. 2. Rank, 
condition. R. II. IV. 1. Lot. T. & Cr. 1. 3. 
'In a sort,' in a manner. Temp. n. 1. 
Sort, v.t. to choose. Two Gent. in. 2. v.i. to 
suit. Much Ado, v. 3. To consort. 2 II. IV. 
11. 4. 
Sot, sb. fool. Cym. v. 5. 

Soul-fearing, adj. soul-terrifying. John. n. 2. 
Sowl, v.t. to lug, drag. Cor. IV. 5. 
Sowter, sb. name of a dog. Tw. N. II. 5- 
Specialty, sb. a special contract. Tam. ofS. n. 1. 
Sped,/./, settled, done for. R. & J. III. 1. 
Speed, sb. fortune. Wint. Tale, in. 2. 
Sperr, v.t. to bolt, fasten. T. & C. prol. 
Spial, sb. a spy. 1 H. VI. 1. 4. 
Spill, v.t. to destroy. Lear, in. 2. 
Spilth, sb. spilling. Tim. n. 2. 
Spleen, sb. violent haste. John, n. 2; v. 7. 

Used of the lightning flash. M. N's Dr. 1. 1. 
Sprag, adj. quick. Merry Wives, iv. 1. 
Spring, sb. shoot, bud. V. Begin- 

ning. M. N's Dr. 11. 2; 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 
Springhalt, sb. stringhalt, a disease of horses. 

H. VIII. i. 3. 
Sprited, /./. haunted. Cym. n. 3. 
Spurs, sb. roots of trees. Temp.V. 1: Cym. iv. 2. 
Squandered,/./, scattered. M. ofV. 1. 3. 
Square, v.t. to quarrel. M. N's Dr. n. 1. 
Square, sb. the front part of a woman' 

stomacher. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Square, adj. equitable. Tim. v. t. 
Squarer, sb. quarreller. Much Ado, r. t. 
Squash, sb. an unripe peascod. Tw. X. i. =. 



npner 



, sb. a square or rule. L's 1,'s L. v. .-. 



Squiny, v.i. to squint. Lear, iv. 6. 
Staggers, sb. a disease in horses, attend 



1076 



GLOSSARY. 



giddiness: hence any bewildering distress. 

Cym. v. 5. 
Stain, v.t. to disfigure. Temp. I. 2. 
Stale, sb. a decoy. Temp. iv. 1. A gull. Tam. 

of S. 1. 1. A prostitute. Much Ado, 11. 2. 
Stale, v.t. to make stale, deprive anything of its 

freshness. T. & Cr. n. 3. 
Stand upon, to be incumbent on. R. II. iv. 2. 
Staniel, sb. an inferior kind of hawk. Tw. N. 

II. 5- 
Stark, adv. stiff. Cym. iv. 2. 
Starkly, adv. stiffly. M. for M. IV. 2. 
State, sb. a canopied chair. Tw. N. 11. 5. 
Station, sb. attitude. Ham. in. 4. Act of stand- 
ing. A. & C. in. 3. 
Statist, sb. a statesman. Cym. It. 4. 
Statua, sb. a statue. R. HI. ill. 7. 
Statue, sb. image, picture. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Statute, sb. security, obligation. Son. 134. 
Statute-caps, sb. woollen caps worn by citizens. 

L's L's L. v. 2. 
Stay, sb. a check. John, 11. 2. 
Stead, v.t. to profit. Temp. 1. 2. 
Stelled, p.p. (a doubtful word) set or fixed. 

Lucr. 1444. Son. 24. 
Sternage, sb. steerage, course. H.V. in. Chorus. 
Stickler, sb. an arbitrator in combats. T. &. Cr. 

y. q. 
Stigmatic, sb. a deformed person. 2 H. VI. V. 1. 
Stigmatical, adj. deformed. Com. of E. IV. 2. 
Still, adj. constant. T. A. in. 2. 
Still, adv. constantlv. Temp. I. 2. 
Stilly, adv. softly. H. V. iv. Chorus. 
Stint, v.t. to stop. H. VIII. 1. 2. v.i. To stop. 

R. & J. 1. 3. 
Stithy, sb. a smith's forge. Ham. in. 2. 
Stithy, v.t. to forge. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 
Stoccado, sb. a stoccata, or thrust in fencing. 

Merry Wives, n. 1. 
Stock, sb. a stocking. Tam of S. in. 3. 
Stomach, sb. courage, stubbornness. Temp. 1. 2. 

Appetite, inclination. Temp. n. r. 
Stone-bow, sb. a cross-bow for throwing stones. 

Tw. N. 11. 5. 
Stoup, sb. a cup. Tw. N. 11. 3. 
Stout, adj. strong, healthy. Tim. iv. 3. 
Stover, sb. fodder. Temp. in. 8. 
Strachy, sb. A word of doubtful meaning. Tw. 

N. 11. 5. 
Straight, adv. immediately. Ham. v. 1. 
Strain, sb. lineage. Much Ado, n. 1. Dispo- 
sition. Merry Wives, n. 1. 
Straited, p.p. straitened. Wint. Tale, IV. 4. 
Strange, adj. foreign. L's L's L. iv. 2. Coy, 

reserved. R. &J. 11. 2. Marvellous. Oth. v. 2. 
Strangeness, sb. coyness, reserve. T. & Cr. 

in. 3. 
Stranger, sb. foreigner. H. VIII. n. 3. 
Strappado, sb. a kind of punishment. 1 H. IV. 

11. 4. 
Stricture, sb. strictness. M. for M. 1. 4. 
Strossers, sb. trowsers. H. V. in. 7. 
Stuck, sb. a thrust of a sword. Ham. IV. 7. 
Stuck in, sb. corruption of stoccata. Tw. N. 

in. 4. 
Stuff, sb. baggage. Com. of E. iv. 4. Material, 

substance. Oth. 1. 1. 
Stuffed, /./. filled, stored. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Sty, v.t. to lodge as in a sty. Temp. 1. 2. 



1. of S. v. 1. 

3.,,,. 



Subscribe, v.t. to yield. Lear, 1. 2. v.i. to suc- 
cumb. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 

Success, sb. issue, consequence. Much Ado, 1. 3. 
Succession. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Successive, adj. succeeding. 2 H. VI. in. 1. 

Successively, adv. in succession. 2 H. IV. iv. 4, 

Sudden, adj. hasty, rash. As you Like it, 11. 7. 

Suddenly, adv. hastily. R. III. iv. 1. 

Sufferance, sb. suffering. M. for M. in. 1. 

Suggest, v.t. to tempt, entice. All's Well. IV. 5. 

Suggestion, sb. temptation, enticement. Mac. 1. 3. 

Suited,/./, dressed. All's Well, 1. 1. 

Sullen, adj. doleful, melancholy. John, 1. 1. 

Sumpter, sb. a horse that carries provisions on a 
journey. Lear, n. 4. 

Suppose, sb. a trick, imposition. Tam. of S. v. 1. 

Supposed, p.p. counterfeit. Tam. of S. 

Surcease, v.i. to cease. Cor. n 

Surcease, sb. cessation, end. Mac. 1. 

Surprise, v.t. to capture by surprise. 3 H. VI. 
iv. 2. 

Sur-reined, p.p. over-worked. H. V. 111. 5. 

Suspect, sb. suspicion. R. III. r. 3. 

Suspire, v.i. to breathe. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 

Swabber, sb. a sweeper of the deck of a ship.j 
Temp. it. 2. 

Swart, adj. black. John, in. 1. 

Swarth, adj. black. T. A. n. 3. 

Swarth, sb. quantity of grass cut down by one' 
sweep of the scythe. Tw. N. n. 3. 

Swasher, sb. swaggerer. H. V. in. 2. 

Swashing, pr. p. dashing, smashing. R. & J. I. r. 

Swath, sb. The same as ' swarth.' T. & Cr. v. 5. 

Swathling, adj. swaddling. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 

Sway, v.i. to move on. 2 H. IV. iv. 1. 

Swear, v.t. to adjure. Lear, 1. 1. 

Swear over, v.t. to out-swear. Wint. Tale. 1. 3. 

Swift, adj. ready, quick. Much Ado, in. 1. 

Swinge-buckler, sb. a bully. 2 H. IV. in. 2. 

Table, sb. a tablet, note book. Ham. 1. 2. 
Table-book, sb. note-book. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Tables, sb. the game of backgammon. L's L's L. 

v. 2. A note-book. Ham. 1. 5. 
Tabor, sb. a small side-drum. Temp. iv. 1. 
Taborer, sb. a player on the tabor. Temp. in. 2. 
Tabourine, sb. tambourine, drum. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 
Tag, sb. the rabble. Cor. in. 1. 
Taint, p.p. tainted. 1 H. VI. v. 3. 
Tainture, sb. defilement. 2 H. VI. it. 1. 
Take, v. t. to infe6t, blast, bewitch. Merry Wives, 

iv. 4; Ham. 1. 1. 
Take in, v. t. to conquer. A. & C. in. 7 ; Cor. 

1. 2. 
Take out, v. t. to copy. Oth. in. 4. 
Take up, v. t. to borrow money, or buy on credit. 

2 H. VI. iv. 7. To make up a quarrel. As you 

Like it, v. 4. 
Taking, sb. infection, malignant influence. Lear, 

ill. 4. 
Taking up, sb. buying on credit. 2 H. IV. 1. 2. 
Tall, adj. strong, valiant. Tw. N. 1. 3. 
Tale, ^.counting, reckoning. Mac. 1. 3. 
Tallow-catch, sb. a lump of tallow. 1 H. IV. n. 4. j 
Tang, sb. twang, sound. Temp. n. 2. 
Tang, v.t. to sound. Tw. N. 11. 5. 
Tanling, sb. anything tanned by the sun. Cym. 

iv. 4. 
Tarre, v. t. to excite, urge on. John, iv. 1. 



GLOSSARY. 



Tod, v.i. to yield a tod of wool. Wint. Tale, IV. 3. 
Tokens, sb. plague spots. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Tokened,/./, marked with plague spots. A. &C. 

in. 8. 
Toll, v.i. to exact toll. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. To pay 

toll. All's Well, v. 3. 
Too too, adv. excessively. Two Gent. 1. 4 ; Hani. 

1. 2. 
Topless, adj. supreme, without superior. T. &O. 

Touch, sb. touchstone for testing gold. R. III. 

iv. 2. Trait. As you Like it, ill. 2. An acute 

feeling. Cym. 1. 1. 
Touched, /./. pricked. T. A. iv. 4. 
Touse, v.t. to pull. drag. M. for M. V. 1. 
Toward, adv. nearly ready. M. N's Dr. nr. 1. 
Towards, adv. nearly ready. R. & J. t. 5. 
Toys, sb. trifles, foolish tricks. 2 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Trade, sb. beaten path. H. VIII. v. 1. 
Tranecl, sb. a ferry. M. ofV. in. 4. 
Trash, v.t. to check, as a huntsman his hounds. 

Temp. 1. 2: Oth. 11. 1. 
Translated,/./, transformed. M. N's Dr. lit. 1. 
Travail, sb. labour, toil. 1 H. VI. v. 4. 
Tray-trip, sb. an old game played with dice. 

Tw. N. 11. 5. 
Treachers, sb. traitors. Lear, t. 2. 
Treaties, air. entreaties. A. & C. in. 9. 
Trenched,/./ carved. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Trick, sb. technically, a copy of a coat of arms; 

hence, any peculiarity which distinguishes voice 

or feature. Lear iv. 6; Wint. Tale, 11. 3. 
Trick, v.t. to dress up. H. V. in. 6. 
Tricked,// blazoned. Ham. It. 2. 
Tricking, sb. ornament. Merry Wives, iv. 4. 
Tricksy, adj. elegantly quaint. Temp. v. 1. 
Triple, adj. third. A. & C. I. 1. 
Trojan, sb. a cant word for athief. 1 H. IV. n. 1. 
Trol-my-dames, sb. Fr. trou-madame ; the name 

of a game ; also called pigeon-holes. Wint. Tale, 

iv. 2. 
Troth-plight, adj. betrothed. H. V. n. r. 
Trow, v.i. to trust, think. H. V 1 1 1 . 1. 1. 
True, adj. honest. Cym. It. 3. 
Trundle-tail, sb. a long-tailed' dog. Lear. in. 6. 
Tucket-sonance, sb. a flourish on the trumpet. 

H. V. iv. 2. 
Tundish, sb. a funnel. M. for M. in. 2. 
Turlygood,' sb. a name adopted by bedlam-beg- 
gars. Lear, n. 3. 
Turn, v. t. to modulate. As you Like it, n. 5. 
T wangling, /r./. twanging. Temp. in. 2. 
Twiggen, adj. made of twigs, wicker. Oth. It. 3. 
Twilled,/./. Temp. in. 3. A doubtful word. 
Twink, sb. a twinkling. Temp. in. 3. 
Twire, v. i. to peep, twinkle. Son. 28. 

Vade, v.t. to fade. P. P. 131, 170. 
Vail, v. t. to lower. M. for M. v. 1. 
Vailing, /•>'./>. lowering. M. ofV. I. 1. 
Vainness, sb. vanity, ft. V v. t Koru& 
Valanced, /./. adorned with a valance M 

d to the beard. Ham. II. 2. 
Validity, sb. value. All's Well. v. 3. 
Vantage, sb. advantage. Two Genl 
Vantbrace, ab. armour for the front of the arm. 

T. & Gr. 1. 3. 
Varlet, sb. a servant, valet. T. & Cr. I. t. 
Vast, sb. properly a waste-place, metaphorically, 



j Tarriance, sb. delay. Two Gent. n. 7. 
Tartar, sb. Tartarus. H. V.-n. 2. 
Task, v.t. to tax. 1 H. IV. iv. 3. Challenge. 

R. II. iv. 1. 
Tasking, sb. challenging. 1 H. IV. v. 2. 
Taste, v. t. to try. Tw. N. in. 4. 
Tawdry-lace, sb. a rustic necklace. Wint. Tale, 

iv. 3. 
Taxation, sb. satire, sarcasm. As you Like it, 1. 2. 
Taxing, sb. satire. As you Like it, n. 7. 
Teen, sb. grief. Temp. I. 2. 
Tell, v. t. to count. Temp. n. 1. 
Temper, v. t. to mix. Cym. v. 5. 
Temperance, sb. temperature. Temp. n. 1. 
Tempered,/./, mixed. Ham. v. 1. 
Tend, v. t. to attend to. 2 H. VI. 1. 1. 
Tender, v. t. to hold, to esteem. Temp. 11. 1. 

To have consideration for. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Tent, v. t. to probe as a wound. Cor. in. 1. 
Tent, sb. a probe for searching a wound. Cym. 

in. 4. 
Tercel, sb. the male of the goshawk. T. & Cr. 

in. 2. 
Termagant, sb. a ranting character in old plays. 

Ham. in. 2. 
Tested,/./, pure, assayed. M. for M. n. 2. 
Testern, v. t. to reward with a tester, or sixpence. 

Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Tharborough, sb. (corrupted from ' third-borough') 

a constable. L's L's L. 1. t. 
Theorick, sb. theory. All's Well, IV. 3. 
Thewes, sb. sinews, muscles. 2 H. IV. in. 2. 
Thick, adv. rapidly. 2 H. IV. n. 3; Cym. in. 2. 
Thick-pleached,/./, thickly intertwined. Much 

Ado, 1. 2. 
Third-borough, sb. a constable. Ind. to Tam. of 

S. 1. 
Thought, sb. anxiety, grief. Ham. in. 1 ; A. & 

C. iv. 6. So 'to take thought' is to give way 

to grief. J. C. II. 1. 
Thrasonical, adj. boastful. As you Like it. v. 2. 
Three-man beetle, sb. a wooden mallet worked 

by three men. 2 H. IV. 1. 2. 
Three-man-song-men, sb. singers of glees in three 

parts. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Three-pile, sb. three-piled velvet. Wint. Tale, 

iv. 3. 
Threne, sb. lament. Ph. & T. 49. 
Thrid, sb. thread, fibre. Temp. iv. 1. 
Throe, v.t. to put in agonies. Temp. n. 1. 
Thrum, sb. the tufted end of a thread in weaving. 

M. N's Dr. v. 1. 
Thrummed, /./. made of coarse ends or tufts. 

Merry Wives, iv. 2. 
Tickle, adj. ticklish. M. for M. 1. 3. 
Tight, adj. nimble, active. Tam. of S. ir. 1; 

A. & C. iv. 4. 
Tightly, adv. briskly, promptly. Merry Wives, 

1. 3; n. 3. 
Tike, sb. a cur. H. V. II. 1. 
Tilly-vallv, int. an exclamation of contempt. 

Tw. X. n. 3. 
Tilth, sb. tillage. Temp. n. 1. 
Timeless, adj. untimely. R. II. iv. 1. 
Tindt, sb. stain, dye. Ham. in. 4. 
Tire, sb. attire, head-dress. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Tire, v.i. to tear as a bird of prey. 3 H. VI. 1. 1. 

Hence, metaphorically, to feed. Cym. in. 4. 
Tire, v.t. to attire, dress. Com. of E. n. 2. 



io 7 8 



GLOSS A RV. 



the dead of night. Temp. i. 2. A gulf. Wint. 
Tale, 1. t. 

Vastidity, sb. immensity. M. for M. ill. 1. 

Vastly, adv. like a waste. Luc. 1740. 

Vasty, adj. vast, waste. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 

Vaunt, sb. the van, that which precedes. T. & 
Cr. Prol. 

Vaunt-couriers, sb. forerunners. Lear, in. 2. 

Vaward, sb. the van, vanguard, advanced guard 
of an army. H. V. iv. 3. Hence, metaphori- 
cally, the first of anything. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 

Vegetives, sb. herbs. Per. in. 2. 

Velure, sb. velvet. Tarn, of S. in. 2. 

Velvet-guards, sb. literally, velvet trimmings ; ap- 
plied metaphorically to the citizens who wore 
them. 1 Hen. IV. in. 1. 

Venew, sb. a bout in fencing, metaphorically ap- 
plied to repartee and sallies of wit. L's L's L. 
v. 1. 

Veney, sb. a bout at fencing. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Venge, v. t. to avenge. H. V. 1. 2. 

Ventages, sb. holes in a flute or flageolet. Ham. 
in. 2. 

Verbal, adj. wordy. Cym. n. 3. 

Very, adj. true, real. Two Gent. in. 1. 

Via, int. off with you ! Merry Wives, n. 2. 

Vice, v. t. to screw. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Vice, sb. the buffoon in the old morality plays. 
Ham. in. 4. 

Vie, v. i. to challenge ; a term at cards. A. & C. 
v. 2. To play as for a wager. Tarn, of S. n. 1. 

Viewless, adj. invisible. M. for M. in. 1. 

Villain, sb. a lowborn man. As you Like it, 1. 1. 

Vinewed, p.p. mouldy. T. & Cr. n. 1. 

Viol-de-gamboys, sb. a bass viol. Tw. N. 1. 3. 

Virginal ling, pr.p. playing as on the virginals, a 
kind of a spinet. Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 

Virtue, sb. the essential excellence. Temp. 1. 2. 
Valour. Lear, v. 3. 

Virtuous, adj. excellent. M. N's Dr. in. 2. En- 
dowed with virtues. As you Like it, 1. 3. 

Vizament, sb. advisement. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Voluble, adj. fickle. Oth. II. 1. 

Voluntary, sb. volunteer. John, n. 1. 

Votarist, sb. votary, one who has taken a vow. 
M. for M. 1. 5. 

Vulgar, sb. the common people. L's L's L. 1, 2. 

Vulgar, adj. common. John, II. 2. 

Vulgarly, adv. publicly. M. for M. v. 1. 

Umbered, p.p. stained, dark, as with umber. H. 
V. iv. Chorus. 

Unaneled, p.p. without extreme unction. Ham. 
I- 5- . 

Unavoided, adj. unavoidable. R. III. iv. 4. 

Unbarbed, /./. untrimmed. Cor. in. 2. 

Unbated, p.p. unblunted. Ham. IV. 7. 

Unbolt, v.t. to disclose. Tim. 1. 1. 

Unbolted, /./. unsifted, unrefined. Lear, n. 2. 

Unbreathed, p.p. unpractised. M. N's Dr. v. 1. 

Uncape, v.t. to throw off the hounds. Merry 
Wives, in. 3. 

Uncharged, p.p. undefended, applied to the gates 
of a city. Tim. v. 4. 

Unclew, v.t. to unravel, undo. Tim. I. 1. 

Uncoined,/./, unalloyed, unfeigned. H. V. v. 7. 

Undergo, v.t. to undertake. Tim. in. 5. 

Undertaker, sb. one who takes up another's quar- 
rel. Tw. N. m. 4. 



Under-wrought,/./, undermined. John, n. 1. 

Uneath, adv. hardly. 2 H. VI. in. 4. 

Unexpressive, adj. inexpressible. As you Like it, 
in. 2. 

Unfair, v.t. to deprive of beauty. Son. 5. 

Unhappily, adv. censoriously. H. VIII. 1. 4. 

Unhappy, adj. mischievous. All's Well, iv. 5. 

Unhatched,/./. undisclosed. Oth. in. 4. 

Unhouseled, p.p. without receiving the sacra- 
ment. Ham. 1. 5. 

Unimproved, p.p. unreproved. Harn. 1. 1. 

Union, sb. a pearl. Ham. v. 2. 

Unjust, adj. dishonest. 1 H. IV. IV. 2. 

Unkind, adj. unnatural. Lear, in. 4. 

Unlived, adj. bereft of life. Lucr. 1754. 

Unmanned,/./, untamed, applied to a hawk. R. 
& J. in. 2. 

Unowed, /./. unowned. John, iv. 3. 

Unpregnant, adj. stupid. M. for M. iv. 4. 

Unproper, adj. common to all. Oth. IV. 1. 

Unquestionable, adj. not inquisitive. As you Like 
it, m. 2. 

Unready, adj. undressed. 1 H. VI. n. 1. 

Unrespeclive, adj. inconsiderate. R. III. IV. 2. 

Unsisting, adj. unresting. M. for M. IV. 2. 

Unstanched, /./. incontinent. Temp. 1. 1. 

Untempering, adj. unsoftening. H. V. V. 2. 

Untented, adj. unsearchable. Lear, 1. 4. 

Untraded, adj. unused, uncommon. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 

Untrimmed, /./. spoiled of grace or ornament. 
Son. 18. 

Untrue, sb. untruth. Son. 113. 

Unvalued, adj. invaluable. R. III. 1. 4. 

Upspring reel, sb. a boisterous dance. Ham. 1. 4. 

Urchin, sb. the hedge-hog. Temp. 1. 2. 

Usance, sb. usury. M. of V. 1. 3. 

Use, sb. interest. M. for M. 1. 1. 

Utis, sb. riotous merriment, which accompanied 
the eighth day of a festival. 2 H. IV. n. 4. 

Utter, v. t. to expel, put forth. Much Ado, v. 3. 

Utterance, sb. extremity. Mac. in. 1; Cym. in. 1. 

Waft, v. t. to wave, beckon. Ham. 1. 4. To turn. 

Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 
Waftage, sb. passage. T. & Cr. in. 2. 
Wafture, sb. waving, beckoning. J. C. 11. 1. 
Wage, v.t. to reward as with wages. Cor. v. 5. 
Wailful, adj. lamentable. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Waist, sb. the middle of a ship. Temp. 1. 2. 
Wannion. ' With a wannion' = ' witha vengeance.' 

Per. 11. 1. 
Wappened, /./. withered, overworn. Tim. iv. 3. 
Ward, sb. guard. Temp. 1. 2. Prison. 2 H. VI. 

v. 1. 
Warden, sb. a large pear used for baking. Wint. 

Tale, iv. 2. 
Warder, sb. truncheon. R. II. 1. 3. 
Warn, v.t. to summon. R. III. 1. 3. 
Wassail, sb. a drinking bout. A. & C. I. 4. Fes- 
tivity. Ham. 1. 4. 
Wat, a familiar word for a hare. V. & A. 697. 
Watch, sb. a watch light. R. III. v. 3. 
Watch, v.t. to tame by keeping constantly awake. 

Oth. in. 3. 
Water-gall, sb. a secondary rainbow. Lucr. 1588. 
Water-work, sb. painting in distemper. 2 H. IV. 

11. 1. 
Water-rug, sb. a kind of dog. Mac. in. 1. 
Wax, v.t. to grow. H. V. v. 1. 



GLOSSARY. 



1079 



Waxen, v.i. perhaps, to hiccough. M. N's Dr. 

11. 1. 
Wealth, sb. weal, advantage. M. of V. v. 1. 
Wear, sb. fashion. As you Like it, II. 7. 
Weather-fend, v.t. to defend from the weather. 

Temp. v. 1. 
Web and pin, sb. the cataract in the eye. Lear, 

in. 4; Wint. Tale, 1. 2. 
Wee, adj. small, tiny. Merry Wives, I. 4. 
Weed, sb. garment. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Ween, v.i. to think. 1 H. VI. II. 5. 
Weet, v.t. to wit, know. A. & C. 1. 1. 
Weigh out, v.t. to outweigh. H. VIII. ill. 1. 
Welkin, sb. the sky. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 
Welkin, adj. sky-blue. Wint. Tale, I. 2. 
Well-liking, adj. in good condition. L's L's L. 

v. 2. 
Well said, int. well clone! 2 H. IV. in. 2. 
Wend, v.i. to go. M. for M. iv. 3. 
Wesand, sb. the wind-pipe. Temp. ill. 2. 
Whelk, sb. a weal. H. V. in. 6. 
Whelked, /. f>. marked with whelks or protuber- 
ances. Lear, iv. 6. 
When as, adv. when. Son. 49. 
Where, adv. whereas. 2 H. VI. in. 2; Lear, 1. 2. 
Where, sb. a place. Lear, 1. 1. 
When, an exclamation of impatience. Tarn, of S. 

iv. 1. 
Whiffler, sb. an officer who clears the way in 

processions. H. V. v. Chorus. 
While-ere, adv. a little while ago. Temp. in. 2. 
'Whiles, adv. until. Tw. N. IV. 3. 
Whip-stock, sb. handle of a whip. Tw. N. II. 3. 
Whist, adj. hushed, silent. Temp. 1. 2. 
White, sb. the centre of an archery butt. Tam. 

of S. v. 2. 
Whiting-time, sb. bleaching time. Merry Wives, 

in. 3. 
W hitster, sb. bleacher. Merry Vv ives, III. 3. 
Whitely, adj. pale-faced. L's L's L. in. 1. A 

doubtful word. 
Whittle, sb. a clasp knife. Tim. v. 3. 
Whoo-bub, sb. hubbub. Wint. Tale, iv. 4. 
Whoop, v.i. to cry out with astonishment. H. V. 

n. 2. Comp. As you Like it, in. 2. 
Wicked, adj. noisome, baneful. Temp. 1. 2. 
Widow, v. t. to give a jointure to. M. for. M. v. 1. 
Widowhood, sb. widow's jointure. Tam. of S. 11. 1. 
Wight, sb. person. Oth. II. 1. 
Wild, sb. weald. 1 H. IV. n. 1. 
Wilderness, sb. wildness. M. for M. in. 1. 
Wimpled, /./. veiled, hooded. L's L's L. in. 1. 
I Window-bars, sb. lattice-work across a woman's 

stomacher. Tim. iv. 3. 
. Windring, pr.p. winding. Temp. III. 3. 
I Wimer-ground, v. t. to protect (a plant) from 

frost. Cym. iv. 2. 



THE END. 



CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, II. A., AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. 



Wis, in the compound 'I wis,' certainly. R. III. 

i- 3- 
Wish, v.t. to commend. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 
Wistly. adv. wistfully. R. 1 1, v. 4. 
Wit,j^. knowledge, wisdom. M. of" V. n. 1. ; J. C. 

in. 2. 
Without, prep, beyond. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Wits, five, the five senses. Much Ado, 1. r. 
Wittol, sb. a contented cuckold. Merry Wives, 

11. 2. 
Witty, adj. intelligent 3 H. VI. 1. 2. 
Woman-tired, adj. hen-pecked. Wint. Tale, n. 3. 
Wondered, p.p. marvellously gifted. Temp. iv. 2. 

1 •'/. mad. Two Gent. 11. 3. 
Woodcock, sb. a simpleton. Tam. of S. 1. 2. 

in, sb. a forester, huntsman. Cym. in. 6. 

A cant term for a wencher. M. for M. IV. 3. 
Woolward, adj. shirtless. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Word. <-. t. to Hatter or put off with words. A. & 

C. v. 2. To repeat the words of a song. Cym. 

iv. 2. 
World. 'To go to the world' is to get married. 

Much Ado, n. 1. So 'a woman of the world' 

is a married woman. As you Like it, v. 3. 
Worm, sb. a serpent. M. for M. in. 1. 
Worser, adj. worse. Temp. IV. 1. 
Worship, v. t. to honour. H. V. 1. 2. 
Worth, sb. wealth, fortune. Tw. N. in. 3. 
Worts, sb. cabbages. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Wot, 7'. t. to know. Two Gent. IV. 4. 
Wound, />./>. twisted about. Temp. 11. 2. 
Wreak, sb. vengeance. Cor. iv. 5. 
Wreak. v. t. to avenge. T. A. iv. 3. 
Wreakful, adj. revengeful, avenging. Tim. iv. 3. 
Wrest, sb- an instrument used for tuning a harp. 

T. & Cr. in. 3. 
Writ, sb. gospel, truth. Per. n. (Gower\ 
Writhled, p.p. shrivelled. 1 H. VI. 11. 3. 
Wroth, sb. calamity, misfortune. M. of V. n. 9. 
Wry, v. i. to swerve. Cym. V. 1. 
Wrung,/./, twisted, strained. 1 H. IV. n. 1. 

Yare, adj. ready. Used as an bit., 'be' being 

understood. Temp. 1. 1. 
Yarely, adv. readilv. Temp. 1. 1. 
Y-clad,/./. clad. 2 H. VI. I. 1. 
Y-cleped, /./. called, named. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Yearn, v. t. to grieve, vex. Merry Wives 111. 5 ; I 

R. II. v. 5. 
Yellowness, sb. jealousy. Merry Wives, 1. 3. 
Yellows, sb. a disease of horses. Tam. of S. in. 2 
Yeoman, sb. a sheriffs officer. 2 11. [V. n. 1. 
Yield, v.t. to reward. A. & C. iv. 2. T 

A. & C. II. 5. 
Yond, adj. and adz: yonder. Temp. 1. 2. 

Zany, sb. a clown, gull. L's L's L. v. 2. 



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